SENIORS ARE OLD CHICKENS

By observation life is a pecking order.

They’re all around us. Birds, dogs, cats, tigers, humans. Chickens.

What separates the species is our developed sense of survival, and for humans; our sophisticated sense of masking realities sometimes known as bullshit.

Although I don’t speak bird nor dog nor cat nor tiger nor chicken, I believe when an aberration occurs within their pecking order, they generally will say cynically, “Oh crap! This is bullshit!”

And….walk away.

I think in general as a species, we do the same.

Being different is a lot different than striving to be different and full of risks of being eaten alive when you’re old.

In a simplistic sense, being different in old age is in itself not a bad thing as long as you keep to yourself. Courteous tolerance mostly prevails in a bus full of people which is no different than being in a dirt yard full of chickens.

In a not so simplistic sense, striving to be different is a bit sketchy if you’re striving to be different in a crowd. Striving to be different in a bus full of people generally encroaches personal space of people that will challenge their ire.

In all fairness with regard to the diversity of simplicity, the venue makes all the difference here.

The point here, is by observation, we live in a world of a prescribed pecking order. And this truism is especially pervasive for us older Seniors.

Within any realm of species, real or perceived, there is an under current of the pecking order which exists to establish order, expectations, and boundaries. It’s not to say that it’s all fair or all good but probably all founded on the premise of survival of the species.

Most species recognize that the one with the biggest muscle and the longer teeth, and often the most twisted-mind is not to be messed with as by now, it makes no sense to be “dead right” or “dead wrong” just to prove a point. Generally, most people understand the pecking order of things and try to stay out of harms way to ensure our survival.

In a simplistic sense, in the realm of being old, “seniors” are perceived to act and live within the sphere of reality perceived by others as acceptable.

It’s safer to be among the flock of old chickens. Generally, seniors find safety and acceptance within the same and generally recognize the pecking order even within this. Seniors are basically are left alone (not neglected) in the spirit of “Live and Let Live”.

By the time we become “seniors” we’re either regarded with courteous grace if we fit the bill of senior conformity, or regarded in utter contempt, if we dare to be different blasting society’s belief or expectation of how a senior should be.

The wild card is how far society tolerates its expectation of what seniors look like, how seniors behave and whether or not seniors co-exist in a society driven by a pecking order. Seniors by most expectations are expected to be quaint, quiet, gentle, non-judgmental (wiser) and oblivious to other species in the field of life.

Within the pecking order the senior chickens are expected to know their place, know their space, and pretty much stay there.

Within the pecking order old chickens and old hens just don’t tread on others particularly the younger, more dominating of the pack.

There was a brief time decades ago, between feeling youthful and feeling older, when for an inexplicable reason, the sight of old men bothered me. I don ‘t mean they “bothered me” like being the proverbial dirty old man, but more succinctly, they bothered me in the way of how they walked, behaved, and generally had an air like they can do anything they want and be excused for it because, just because they’re a senior.

This irritated me to no end. In the pecking order of things, these renegade old chickens seemed to me, were flaunting their self-pity and selfish entitlement. Perhaps this appeared to be senior arrogance.

It was seriously, easy to exclaim: Hey man! Senior Discounts doesn’t equate to Senior Liberties! Stand in line like the rest of us!

Do you get turned on when a old guy acts like a young stud? Or how about an old woman acting like a young stud-dette?

I recently saw an advertisement of a senior man who discovered an age-defying pill to make his body muscular and in world of body-building definition: Ripped!

I was impressed! But while his body was huge, muscular and ripped, his head was aged! It looked like a classic Frankenstein head-transplant.

Fortunately in the context of the advertisement, he was a living example of muscle revitalization, not senior libido gone wild.

I’m no expert on horny chickens or young-at-heart old horny men or old horny women but in the pecking order of things, old horny chickens running amok in a yard of young chickens and hens just seems perverted.

Pecking order or peck order is the colloquial term for the hierarchical system of social organization. It was first described by Thorleif Schjelderup-Ebbe in 1921 under the German terms Hackordnung or Hackliste and introduced into English in 1927.[1]

” The original use of pecking order referred to the expression of dominance in chickens. Dominance in chickens is asserted by various behaviours, including pecking, which was used by Schjelderup-Ebbe as a measure of dominance and leadership order. In his 1924 German-language article, he noted that “defense and aggression in the hen is accomplished with the beak“.[2] This emphasis on pecking led many subsequent studies on fowl behaviour to use it as a primary observation, however, it has been noted that roosters tend to leap and use their claws in conflicts.[3]

The term dominance hierarchy is often used for this type of social organisation in other animals.

“Pecking order is a basic concept in social stratification and social hierarchy that has its counterparts in other animal species, including humans, although the term “pecking order” is often used synonymously.”

Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pecking_order

HOW DO YOU TELL SOMEONE YOU’RE DYING?

Alone.

I’m told I’m a spiritual type. This probably means people who care about me, want me to have a place in this world and in my afterlife.

It tells me, they are telling me it’s okay I don’t do Church, I don’t do bible study, I don’t confess in front of other people to prove my commitment.

It tells me, they accept the fact that in my own search in understanding the fragility of humankind, I found also the brutality of our species as well as the capability of our species to love and endure.

It tells me, they understand my search to decipher doctrines, oral history, myths, prejudices, hate, decimation of other civilizations in the name or guise of a religion.

You can’t blame the barbarism of a civilization of any age, collectively or singularly. As a species, we’re full of defects. History just shows our egotism won’t give in. We’d rather decimate than admit fallacy.

Who cares if the broken skull found in an urban alley is deemed a crime scene or an archaeological relic of historic preservation?

Who cares if the broken skulls in the Catacombs of Paris or the catacombs of Cambodia are evidence of a finality we as a species will all succumb to?

Does it matter if such demise is driven by religion, prejudice, or something else more insane?

I happen to believe and do things with care about human kind and animal kind. I happen to care and empathize with too many people, too many situations, too many if’s and but’s, too many emotions.

When they cry, I cry. When they laugh I laugh. I feel sorrow, I feel fear, I feel anxiety, I feel loneliness, I feel anger. I feel like a sponge sometimes, soaking up stuff until I’m brimming with carrying too many loads emulating from too many people.

When is it that you have a feeling that carrying too much is too much. When is it that you feel as though you’re running out of fuel, your tires are worn and going flat, your ride is bumpy, slow, over burdened?

How do you tell someone you’re dying?

It’s said animals know when they’re dying and so do people.

An encyclopedia could fill up volumes of opinions, study, research into this so I won’t pile it up here. After all, knowing when you are dying begins with yourself. It begins with your inner self first.

It begins with an inkling. It begins when your buzzer for your Extra Sensory Perception suddenly chimes and in a rare occasion you don’t apply any gauge of skepticism. Instead, it’s an Ohhhh moment!

It begins with a sense of wondering if there is any sense to immortality.

Is there any rationale to immortality?

It begins when we realize, recorded history speaks of immortality but no one really knows of our outcome relative to it. Some may profess to know, and for those who do not, how much do we pull hair because we don’t?

It’s easier to be sheepish and just believe because the flock follows. Why so? Because they’re told to!

Either the enlightened or the insane speak of immortality. How in hell do we really know?

In all honesty, for the rest of us who don’t know, it’s just easier to just follow what sounds good to us? We are ever so hopeful, we will have a place among the Olympians.

Just having faith doesn’t cut it. Are we so pompous to believe our own immortality is a given just because secretly we want it so badly? Do we regard such immortality as a secret reward or secret entitlement?

Do we ever wonder if such desire may be delusional, or insanity fueled by own our selfish reasons to grant ourselves immortality?

Have you ever asked anyone who believes in immortality what they plan to do after they die?

Have you ever asked anyone who believes in immortality what they plan to do after their body is either buried or cremated or just left out to dry in the woods or out to sea?

If general human consensus is any indication, what concerns most humans is what kind of funeral they’re going have, how they will look, what kind of food will be served. Mostly, it’s stuff oral history is made of. Beliefs of what was passed down through generations. Never questioned, mostly just followed through.

Does immortality begin or end with a gorgeous funeral?

Do those who profess their own immortality know for certain what happens in their afterlife, do they know for certain that they are deserving to serve their Master be it spiritual or religious, or cult?

From what I have been told, they really don’t if they’re rational. This is a glaring contrast to those who chime away that their immortality is their right because they are chosen, that they are special, and they have faith that they will rise above all others.

It’s not my intention to debate such things. I am just asking.

So what is immortality?

Immortality as defined is, “the ability to live forever, eternal life, everlasting life, e.g. “eating the fruit gave the gods immortality.”

By contrast, it is easy to realize, the origin of immortality is first in the perspective of gods.

“That the belief in immortality has been widespread through history is no proof of its truth. It may be a superstition that arose from dreams or other natural experiences. … Aristotle conceived of reason as eternal but did not defend personal immortality, as he thought the soul could not exist in a disembodied state.”

Source: https://www.britannica.com/topic/immortality

Is immortality a part of explaining to someone that you’re dying?

There are stages to dying. The physiological process during the natural course of dying is the same for all humans. The deprivation of food and water due to the human body’s inert need or lack of need for food and water is accelerated with time.

Beyond this, how each person regards his or her immortality is probably not at all the same, but nonetheless it’s not difficult to see that the progression of dying and death itself is simple. It is the living who can sometimes make it more complicated than we really ought to.

The night air is still. The winds have died. Just hours ago the summer heat felt like a furnace scorching the earth and every living thing. But now, the night has cooled to restful calm. The night clouds look beautiful, comforting, and reassuring. Can death be so calm beautiful, comforting and reassuring?

There is so much anguish in the elderly in a care home. I shudder to think there is worse anguish in the privacy of a person’s home without professional attention, or worse, the anguish of the homeless and destitute on the street or some lonely isolated place on earth.

Do the anguished aging or diseased person have an inkling that they are dying?

Do the anguished aging or diseased person care about immortality? Do they believe they are chosen to have immortal life?

Do the anguished aging or diseased person know for certain of their immortality?

I don’t know. I am afraid to ask out of decency and respect of those so anguished and diseased.

I don’t know if I would even ask an anguished aging or diseased person if they believe they will live forever?

In the care home, I once heard an aging woman, diseased and curled up in her bed succumbing to disease, utter softly, “Why does God keep me alive?”

She brought tears to my eyes.

All I could do was stand there and say quietly to myself, “I don’t know. I am so sorry. I don’t know.”