(Computer title: Cog. Decline. Final submitted after Final Retreat)
Cognitive Decline
I had such an aversion to this topic that I kept forgetting the title, thinking it was
Cognitive Dissonance. So I decided to retitle my presentation: From Mindfulness
to Forgetfulness.
The challenge of aging still shocks me: luckily I’m too far sighted to bother about
my sagging dewlap, nor can I pluck the sprouting hairs on my chin; but most
confusing of all is my highly developed forgettery: I can’t remember where I left
my phone book (which I still use), and I can’t find my glasses. Seriously though,
my aging body and insults to my vanity are much less distressing to me than
changes in my cognitive functioning.
A few days ago, when I was feeling particularly discouraged by memory loss, fuzzy
brain, and lack of clarity, I said to my husband: “I need some kind re-insurance”. He
laughed and replied: “Well I don’t think I can give you that kind of insurance!” This
laughter helped me catch myself, instead of spinning into self-criticism and doubt. I
remembered also the comfort of being part of our loving Sangha, as I recalled Roberta
saying at our last retreat: “I can’t trust what comes out of my mouth!” Well, neither can I!
The practices of Five Antidotes for Working with Difficult Mind States remind me to
relax, acknowledge when I’m exhausted and need to rest, breathe and turn my attention to
the moment: the blessing of having tea with my husband at dawn, sun shining in the
window and the spaciousness of no agenda today. This helps me accept my confusion
and short term memory loss without judgment, comparison to others, or to how I used to
function.
Also, I’m reminded to not eat the fear-apple of dementia, then exaggerate and inflate the
story line, thus fanning my fear: ‘Am I headed towards Alzheimer’s?’ ‘Should I have an
MRI?’ Instead, I acknowledge that yes I am very forgetful; that I must take more time,
pay greater attention to details, and really concentrate on what I am doing/thinking in the
moment. I then have a great opportunity to dispel my sense of shame and separateness,
and acknowledge that indeed I am experiencing the truth of an aging body and brain,
have no control over what happens --- and thus acknowledge the great privilege of being
human, and living long enough to become an Elder.
I want to tell you of a deeper challenge: of how such moments bring up all my fire spuming inner dragon of feeling incompetent; and especially the shame of revealing my
diminishing mental functions. In those moments I don’t have the energy to use the
practices of our program. Instead I’m flooded with deep fears of a lifetime: of not being
seen, not being competent, smart or creative.
As I say this out loud, I’m shocked to observe how instantly I can wipe out my real
abilities and achievements. I also take this as a testimony to the value of grappling
diligently with life-long patterns. The practices of looking deeply, not denying,
witnessing others, and having my own inner state be witnessed, strengthen my capacity to
be truthful, and support my intention to love myself even when I am vulnerable.
Another potent practice for me has been to remind myself consciously to stay in the
present moment: to be vigilant when I start to multi- task, or to drift off into reverie. As
my ability grows I’m often surprised by what benefits arise, with no effort on my part;
such as unexpected joy, spaciousness, ease and moments that feel like pure presence –
some of the potential gifts of aging.
Just a few days ago when I thought I couldn’t write a coherent word about cognitive
decline, I went out to take a quick break. My six-year-old friend Lydia ran up to me and
asked, “When can we finish reading Make Way for Ducklings?” Lydia had been asking
me for several weeks, and previously, I was always too busy to take time out and be with
her. This time, I replied: “Can you come read in the teahouse with me right now?”
Instead of going back to my computer, I took her to my quiet teahouse and finished the
story, enjoying every moment of the seven baby ducks quack quacking as they marched
across Beacon St. to safety and their home on the Boston Commons pond. When she
snuggled up to me I felt the delight and peacefulness of simply being in this quiet
teahouse with my darling little friend, enjoying her pleasure and coziness. All my
anxiety about writing dissolved.
How often I have missed such an opportunity in my multi-tasking goal oriented younger
years. And how grateful I am now to experience spaciousness, lack of pressure and
contentment when I manage to stay present.
As I develop practices of presence, commitment to deep inquiry, and efforts to be truthful
with myself, I’m able to relax more, accept and even enjoy the camaraderie of my
challenging companion: the Heavenly Messenger of Aging.
A few weeks ago, when having lunch at my favorite restaurant, I changed tables. About
an hour later a young woman next to me asked if I’d seen anyone at her table? She had
turned in a purse she found on the floor under the table. Mine! Somewhat chagrinned I
spoke to the owner, a good friend, also in her seventies. She handed me my purse and
joked, “I was about to look and see if there was any cash in it!” Embarrassed, I replied,
“Well, I have a very active forgetterty! “Forgettery! Me too, she laughed – this week I
lost my I phone, my keys and my glasses. Bummer.”
I relaxed, grateful for her laughter. Recalling moments of struggle with our aging Moms,
I added:
“When Mom was just a little older than I am now, she had advanced dementia. One day I
was helping her dress. I had to search for her lost glasses, misplaced teeth, vanished
hearing aid, bra with “false boob” (prosthesis for her mastectomy), and her oterh
prosthesis for her amputated leg. Ever the tough determined Yankee, Mom laughed and
said: ‘Oh these moveable parts are such a nuisance!’ But she could remember poems, so
together we recited one of her favorites:”
“You are old, Father William," the young man said,
"And your hair has become very white;
And yet you incessantly stand on your head-Do you think, at your age, it is right?”
"In my youth," Father William replied to his son,
"I feared it might injure the brain;
But now that I'm perfectly sure I have none,
Why, I do it again and again." *
* Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures In Wonderland, Ch. 5, “Advice from a caterpillar”