Think of a single life as a river. At first, it’s narrowly contained within its banks, rushing past boulders, under bridges, over waterfalls. “Gradually the river grows wider, the banks recede, the waters flow more quietly, and in the end, without any visible break, they become merged in the sea, and painlessly lose their individual being.” This, I think, is the final task of old age: not a narrowing of our waters but a widening. Not raging against the dying of the light but trusting that the light lives in others. The wisdom of kairos. Everything has its time. Even this.
