In the Presence of Their Aging

In the Presence of Their Aging

You:
Speak to us, beloved Prophet,
wise poet of the soul,
on the tender matter of our aging parents.
They seem to return to a childlike state,
fragile in body and soft in mind.
And now we, their children, are asked to rise,
to guide, to care, to hold.

What shall we do with this great turning?

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The Prophet:
Ah, my luminous child,
you ask of a truth that has long been whispered
among the sacred groves of the East,
where your flesh was first formed
from the clay of reverence.

In those lands,
the aging are not a burden to be managed
but temples to be tended.
We do not look away from their trembling hands
or fading eyes,
for we know,
the hands that now shake once held us steady,
the voices that now forget once called our names into being.

You chose them,
yes, you chose these very parents
as the sacred doorway through which your soul would enter
this world of dust and light.
They are not random companions
but mirrors and messengers,
sent to teach you lessons the stars wrote into your name.

When their strength fades,
do not meet it with impatience.
Do not serve them from duty alone,
as though they were a chore to complete.

Serve them as a prayer.
Care for them as a sacred rite.
This, my daughter, is your initiation.
This is the holy fire through which
your spirit will be tempered,
made golden, made whole.

Let this chapter of life unfold with grace,
free of resistance,
a quiet passage into awakening.
For in the tending of their final years,
you are not only offering love—
you are cleansing your own soul.

Take this task as an honor.
And you will not need to repeat the lesson
in lifetimes to come.

Oh, what a gift is before you.
To serve the ones who gave you breath.
To walk them gently toward the sunset.
This is the blessing few recognize
until it is gone.

So walk beside them,
and in each step,
let your heart bow.