This is KZU.

This is KZSU, Stanford.

For all you knights of entitled opinions and all you souls in astral and all you venerable trustees of this

radio program, welcome back to our Feast of Friends on 90.1 FM, where our revels have not yet

ended, and we keep the beat going for the Great Brigade. In his poem, Cold Spring Morning, the American poet W.S. Murrowin wrote,

The Self Has No Age.

A few verses later, he declares,

The sky has no sky, except itself this white morning in May.

I don't know about the sky, I don't know about the self,

yet the sky I see today is not the same as it was in time past. When I was seven, it was my

body's covenant with the cosmos. By 20, it was a veil between me and the future. By 40, it had become the face of an

abstraction. Today, it's the dome of a house. I know I won't inhabit for too much longer. Shortly,

it will be the answer to what today still remains a question.

If the self has a sky, then it also has a celestial age.

So let me offer up to the brigade a sentence that you may want to remember on your future birthdays.

Nothing in the universe, be it the newborn infant or the universe itself, is without age.

If a phenomenon does not age, it is not of this world.

And if it is not of this world, it is not a phenomenon.

The topic of our show today is aging. We have some unusual ideas about aging in America.

We tend to think of it as a curse, a loss, an impoverishment, an expulsion from the Garden of Eden.

Yet how thoughtless is that?

Aging is the metabolism of life, and unfolding into your essence and who you already are.

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