Walt Whitman

No. 12 of Song of the Road
By Walt Whitman 1819-1892

Allons! After the great Companions and to belong to them!
They too are on the road-they are the swift and majestic man-they are the greatest woman,
Enjoyers of calms of seas and storms of seas,
Sailors of many a ship, walkers of many a mile of land,
Habitues of many distant countries, habitues of far-distant dwellings,

Trusters of men and women: observers of cities; solitary toilers,
Pausers and contemplators of tufts: blossoms, shells of the shores,
Dancers at weddings-dances, kissers of brides, tender helpers of children, bearers of children,
Soldiers of revolts, standers by gaping graves, lowerers-down of coffins,

Journeyers over consecutive seasons over the years, the curious years each emerging from that which preceded it,
Journeyers as with companions, namely their own diverse phases,
Forth-steppers from the latent unrealized baby-days,
Journeyers gayly with their own youth, journeyers with their bearded and well-grain'd manhood,
Journeyers with their womanhood, ample unsurpass'd content,
Journeyers with their own sublime old age of manhood or womanhood,
Old age, calm, expanded, broad with the haughty breadth of the universe,
Old age, flowing free with the delicious near-by freedom of death.

Sometimes, I lose the magic of this life. I feel the gathering of the years as now and the ageism type of prejudice that comes with my job and life and I look out on the road that I am traveling and feel depressed. I walk to work everyday and have never missed one class. I get my assignments and the things I need to do on time; but I can't escape from the realization that I am viewed as a senior citizen. In other words, I am an old lady. I look in the mirror and wonder who took my youth away, who stole my identity as a young woman? I look in the faces and eyes of the people I work for and they, too, see just one more old lady.

Then I read Walt Whitman especially his "Song of Myself" and I feel again the magic. I am one of the journeyers with my own sublime old age of womanhood walking the long road of life. Whitman had discovered the power of the universe and let it filter through him and into his poetry. I, too, have the calm, expanded, broad with the haughty breadth of the universe flowing free as I walk. I had forgotten this.

Death is one of those things that all seniors have to walk with. We can't avoid it, but most of us realize that Death becomes a friend in our later years. Many people in the last days long for the presence of it. According to Whitman, death can help enjoy the freedom that we have when we live our lives. We could never have done that when we were younger. I am not ready to make that final exit right now, but it is nice to enjoy a talk or two with my neighbor who is never very far.

I remember all too well when I was a dancer at weddings, tender helpers of children and bearers of children. Now, I am a grandmother of children. I have also seen too many gaping graves and too many coffins lowered of soldiers before their time. I can remember my past memories and still enjoy the stars and seas, mountains and streams of a world still very much alive as I am for now. I am content now to remember the joys that Whitman gives me in his poetry and grateful that he did. Reading him, you can still hear him from where ever he is still walking his road and telling us all what a wonderful world we live in. That is a very rare talent.