One
of the recurring topics in the Pagan blogosphere is that of a
generation gap. Elders feel shouldered aside, our teachings unwanted;
young Pagans feel stifled and held back by elders who trust them too
little, and try to control them too much.
Recently, I had a dream related to that problem.
In
the dream, I was wandering through a sprawling, chaotic Pagan
gathering. It was colorful and noisy, but I knew very few people who
were there, and the dream had an aimless quality until I came to a place
where someone had set out a dance floor. La Boca, Argentina. Alex Proimos, 2009.Many couples were already out on the floor, dancing together, ballroom style.
I
grew up in a family that dances. On New Year’s Eve, my parents would
put on old records and we would dance: my parents together, my brother
with my mother, and my father with me.
I love to dance.
However,
as I approached the dance floor, only one partner was available, a
young woman I did not know. I hesitated when she held out her arms to
me–not because, knowing how blissfully graceful it is to dance with
someone who is expert in the lead, I was reluctant to pair off with
another woman. I’ve danced with inexpert partners before, and I’m not a
good enough dancer to make up for whatever skills they might lack.
But I said yes, and she put her hand on my waist and I put mine on her shoulder, and off we went.
And it was wonderful! The music caught us up, and the dancing felt almost like flying.
Laughing, I encouraged my partner to spin me around, and she did, and that was wonderful, too.
Then,
in the way of dreams, my partner shifted from being simply an anonymous
dancer to someone I know: one of the many students I’ve come to love in
my job as a teacher.
Right at the moment I recognized her, she
leaned me back–way back!–in a dip almost to the floor. And in that
moment, I remembered that I no longer have the lithe and flexible body
of my girlhood, but an aging, thick-waisted one with a bad back.
Suddenly, I wasn’t sure this was a good idea. But I decided to trust
her, and she leaned me back… back… back… And held me in place, defying
gravity for an endless, impossible moment.
And then she pulled me up again into laughter, and I woke up.
I
woke up, but the dream stayed with me. I had no idea what it could
mean, but I didn’t have long to think about it, because that morning was
my Quaker meeting’s annual retreat, and I had to hurry off to join
them.
In hindsight, the timing of my dream was interesting.
One
of the jobs I’ve done at my meeting is helping run our “Young Friends”
group, for teens in the meeting. I’m not doing it now, but I’m still
close to some of the kids who were part of the group when I was. And of
all the young Quakers I know, there’s one I’m especially close to. She
often seeks me out after meeting to talk, or just to be together. In
fact, when she stays in worship, she often chooses to sit near me, and
when the teens come to join us for the last few minutes of worship, she
often sits next to me, cross-legged on the floor. She leans her head up
against me, and I take her hand or put an arm around her.
When
got to the retreat that morning, there she was. We only had a minute
together before our workshops began. But as we walked between the
buildings, I asked her, “How did you become such a good friend of mine?”
She grinned, and with a skipping step, she answered, “I don’t know. Luck?”
But it wasn’t luck–it was her. It was her making a choice.
I think my dream was telling me something, something important.
One
of the things I am learning as I age is how powerful is the longing to
pass something of meaning along to those who come after me. It’s true
in the Pagan community–the setting, after all, of my dream–it’s true
with the children of my friends, and it’s true in the classroom where I
teach English literature and how to proofread a term paper. Part of
growing into my crone-hood, for me, seems to be a hunger to take on this
eldering role, and when it happens, it is one of the most satisfying
things in my life.
But here’s the trick: I can’t make it happen.
I can’t, by force of will or cleverness, become a mentor to every
student in my classroom or my circle, every teenager in my meeting… or
even any particular student or young person.
I can be open to it. I can say yes, and I can take a few risks to follow that through.
But
although, like many people, I think I once had the impression that
eldering is about having answers to give to those that I mentor, I am
coming to understand that our answers are almost beside the point.
What
my dream was telling me, I think, is that “elder” is not a role we get
to choose, however deeply we may hunger for it. Neither the job nor
what it will encompass is really under our control. We do not choose
our partners. We do not choose the steps. It’s not about who we think needs us, or what we think they need to know.
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