I grow old

 

I’ve been the beginner learning my right foot from my left.
I’ve been the student learning the tools of my craft.
I’ve been the practitioner increasing the scope of my skills.
I’ve been the adept taking responsibility for the breadth of my art.

 I’ve been the instructor....
I guide the beginner.
I focus the student.
I encourage the practitioner.
I explore with the adept.
I draw out the instructor.
My vision is without bounds.
My abilities are less.
History but one tool in my arsenal.

 My studies have been vast, but my grasp of the circle is small.
I’ve found friendship and betrayal, joy and sorrow and loneliness.
And the utter certainty that I cannot pass my entire vision along.
None can walk my way, and their efforts are driven by their own needs.
Especially as I cannot take their freedom but can point the way.

 I remain the beginner as my body must be faced anew each day.
I remain the student learning the tools of my craft.
I remain the practitioner seeking to increase the scope of my skills .
I remain the adept trying to hold the sea in my arms.
I am the instructor.
I am senior.

 Perhaps I’ll be like Prufrock.
“I grow Old, I grow Old,
Shall I wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled?”

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comment from Arnold Rosenstock

RE:   "Perhaps I’ll be like Prufrock.

        “I grow Old, I grow Old,

        "Shall I wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled?”

 Only if you've arrived at the moment when you are regularly stepping on the ends of your trouser's legs. 

Until such time: 

"Do not go gentle into that good night.

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light."