I woke to read in a REAL newspaper that people over 40 are becoming more of a bother now. Our ‘old ways’ mean little. I used to work for the number one Newspaper in Colorado. Used to. Greed killed it, that and a man filled with jealously because his newspaper was not as popular. He got his dirty mangled claws into it and ripped it to shreds sending hundreds of people, mostly the over 40 crowd into the gutter.

Apparently, if you were of our generation who stood tall, demanded our rights, and were willing to work labor jobs and actually sweat on the job, we now mean nothing and simply melt into oblivion because no one cares. Our lives now meaningless and our talents now in death throes, we are supposed to step aside and politely die off.

Our knowledge is no longer needed. Our wisdom, what life taught us no longer matters. My elders were respected, yes even revered for their knowledge and what they could pass onto the next generation. Advice, it appears is not necessary. You see, we are old and our wisdom is antiquated and belongs in some dusty hall in a museum no one walks through anymore. Much like a library.

We followed our parents and grandparents advice and made our lives better for it—once we got past the hormone stage, and grew up enough to listen. Each generation goes through this, yes, but we all grew up and LISTENED to our elders. Respected them. Loved them. We will not be around in 50 years to see if any of what we tried to teach the next group will remain.

Everything falls by the way—such as newspapers where real people went out on the street and found real news to report.

Pressmen, late at night, shoved rolls of newsprint in presses so you could have you paper and donuts too.

Farmers earned the right to come home after a day of sweat from working on the farm, (food, by the way does come from farms, not grocery stores with magic wands)

While you sleep, someone is out there working on roads. Waiting on tables getting crap for pay.

Making bread.

Someone is taking the endless trash that we all put out at the curb. Human Hands DO all these things.

Taking the night shift at so many jobs you never head of and may never know ever existed as they are eliminated, and sent to China so some big business can offer their CEO’s their 30th luxury car to park in a huge dark garage and collect dust.

It will not be long before they will not know what to do with all the old useless people who have some ignored right to hold a job because somewhere it says age discrimination is illegal.

SO many are homeless. WHO cares? Ignore them and they do not exist. Ignore the elders too. After all, what do we have to contribute? Wisdom is a thing of the past. Who need it anyway?

Spring cleaning brings to mind uncluttering closets, cleaning the mess from under the bed and getting rid of “stuff.” It calls for more than simply dusting off the surface and addressing appearances. We need to get to the underbelly to clear away what is not aligned with what we want and where we are headed.

Are there relationships holding you back, with trade-offs damaging to your soul? Does the accumulation of things in your surroundings create distraction or bring you joy? We can get lost in the clutter of our thoughts by way of judgments, patterns and limiting beliefs. Possessions can control our lives as we seek the best or latest or newest.

It can be scary to let go, to open doors and allow the light. Light needs space to radiate.

Letting go is the first step. Clear the way. Relish the deliciousness of empty space. You don’t need to fill it. Space allows for something to emerge from within. Where can you let go, creating that opening?

Take a breath. Release it. Take another. Devote some dedicated time of concentration/meditation. It doesn’t need to be hours of quiet, perhaps only 15 minutes. Then allow the question to simmer within you through the weekend. Let responses bubble up into your awareness. Notice new ways of thinking, of images or ideas that arise spontaneously. Pay attention to your dreams. Let it happen. Be aware. See where it leads you next. Let yourself savor this process of receiving from yourself. Don’t judge whatever comes up, just receive it. Make notes.

On Monday you may want to share something from this process. Sharing can be an important way to anchor an insight in your body. It can lead you to deeper insight. It can stimulate action. Feel free to use this arena to share whatever moves you. Conversations are happening on the website Friday Focus question from the Baca Journey and on The Baca Journey Facebook Page.

I have more beads than brains. I had to have every color of every style of bead made. I started collecting them twenty years ago. Yes, I do bead work, but not as much as I did in my thirties. Still, I have enough beads, thread,needles, bone beads and everything that goes with them to fill our two spare bedrooms.

I used to be quite thin and had many hippies clothes. I still have them. Nice skirts and tops I could never fit into again unless I went on a starvation diet. Swirling skirts, embroidered tops… and more beads.

My walls are covered is beaded belts, hatbands, even beaded pictures. I have a crazy plant which has taken over two walls weaving through the Nature pictures and beaded items and now makes it way though my book shelves… and my beads.

I have magazines worth probably nothing to anyone, yet I pull out the True West, Old West, Frontier West, Wild West, Native Magazines, and still read them. I have many, many notebooks of over seven-hundred magazines my grandmother gave me that I have to look at. Am I a hoarder? or a collector? Is there a difference?

My story includes many sentences that sound incorrect to today’s ear. In the early to mid 1800′s, several hundred years later than my own story, many dialects mingled, and in many cases, some of it sounded Shakespearean. I have book from the 1800′s and some are hard to understand. My writing may confuse some, but has also delighted others. They told me so.

All this reminded me of a story in Circles. I left out much of the story that had nothing to do with simply tell the story so it would be less to read. I feel it is an important lesson for us all.

“I have a story to tell now. I remember it best as the cold season with little food. I was but a girl then, maybe nine or ten winters old. There was such promise of a good hunt that year.

“All the adults agreed to meet in the tall grasslands after hunters spotted countless humpbacks, with their now grown calves enjoying the rich offering of grass. As with every gathering, many came to see friends and relatives, and to trade. The hunt, a bonus, would feed many for the entire season. People came pulling empty drags, made of wood and grasses woven into ropes, to carry the anticipated bounty back home.
“Children scattered everywhere, and all the adults, even ones of other bands, made sure they were looked after and fed. Elders who had a hard time walking came on their own special traveling mats, covered on the bottom with thick leather, which people happily took turns pulling. Entire camps just pulled up and moved, knowing no one would disturb their chosen snow camps.

“A new band never before seen came with all their finery. Beautiful necklaces adorned every person, even the children. Some wore so many that no one could see them all, unless they walked up close. They wore fine tanned clothing of many colors of brown. Their quillwork, even from a distance, competed with Nature’s own colors. Heavy packs on the men’s backs meant they had much to trade—or so we thought.

“We did not know these new people, but we welcomed them and gave them food. Their hair, adorned with many shells, hung loose over their backs. They wore footwear so decorated it seemed a shame to walk in them for as long as they did. Not a single person looked like they were in traveling clothes, but dressed as if for a special occasion. Our bands always traveled simple, saving their good clothes until the gathering.

“Our elders noticed one thing that bothered them greatly. There was not a single elder among those people. An elder woman from our band walked up to a woman with a child, and asked why the grandmother was not caring for her child. The woman’s reply was not a kind one.
“‘Why would she be doing that? She is too old to travel this far. It is a six-day walk. She is in our camp, where all the elders belong who cannot walk this far.’”
“Our elder replied, ‘Ahh, then some of your band stayed behind to care for them. Too bad, all would have had a good time.’

“The young woman said, ‘We left no one behind who could not care for themselves. They would have made the walk take longer. One of our runners came into camp and told of this great gathering he saw from afar, so we came to see. The elders can hunt—at least some of them can—until we come back.’

“Her words were sharp to our elder, who stood and watched as the younger woman dragged her child by the hand. The little girl had to run to keep up.

“The elder woman did not know what to do. Never had anyone spoken such harsh words to her. She started to walk after the woman, but her daughter gently guided her back and told her to let it go, that they were not of their band. The daughter comforted her mother and told her that maybe they were just tired. They would be friendlier after a night’s rest.

“The next day was devoted to the hunt, and many men and women gathered their weapons and formed into groups. Each one had a special thing to do, and everyone waited for the men of the new band to join. None came. Not one person looked their way. Even after several of our own motioned them to join, they did not come. Instead, the new band, quickly gaining the name People With No Respect, sat in the shade eating food they did not bring. Our hunters left without them.

“After a successful hunt, all our bands joined in making meat, tanning hides, and carrying many loads to the place of the gathering. The People With No Respect offered no help.

“Their selfish manner, by the fifth sunrise, caused us concern. Many tried to trade for their beautiful necklaces, and offered their own, as well as much meat. The People With No Respect took everything offered to them, but gave nothing back. Some of them even spoke about wanting more meat to take back with them, saying we should give it to them just because they came so far.

“Many of our gathered bands did not want them around our children. After they took their playthings to share, the People With No Respect’s children took and kept them. Their parents started to brag about all the land they said belonged to them, and everyone knows no one can own the land any more than they can own the air Wind brings.
“They showed off by changing their clothes every day, so everyone could see they had much in vanity, but nothing in humility. The heavy burdens they brought with them were not to trade with, but to prove how special they thought they were.”

Feather Floating In Water stood up to be seen. “Grandmother, why would such a People be so mean? How could they even survive if they did not care for their elders and children? How could they have so much, but have so little? They were rich in things, but they were poor as a People. Without sharing and being respectful and… and being so lazy! Where did they get so much when they gave nothing? Grandmother, I do not understand how this could be so.”

White Paws jumped up and licked Feather’s face, whining and wagging his tail.
The boy hugged the wolf and smiled at his constant shadow. “I am so happy to have such a caring family, and a caring band. How sad those children must have been.”
He sat down and with one arm hugged White Paws, and with the other his grandfather. Hawk Soaring leaned over and hugged him back.

Everyone sat silent. Several children crawled into a parent’s lap.
She watched as everyone hugged their children. “We are gifted to have had elders who taught us, Grandson.”

She started the story again. “Our own people began to argue about how to make them leave. This was not our way, but we had to do something soon. The elders decided, and told the strangers to carry as much meat as they could, instead of our just chasing them off.

“We did not want to do this. Many felt it was more than a bribe, but rewarding them for being disrespectful. Some said to give them the meat anyway, to get them to leave us. Seeing no other way, we gave them the meat and told them the gathering was over. Without a word, they gathered all they came with, plus all the meat. They had no way to haul everything, so our elders gave up their traveling mats to them.