I'm pondering a lot just now about the mysterious process of growing old – that stripping unto death. Yet I don't see it as something negative, not as descent into the dark valley, but rather as the climb to the last peak – before which one must rid oneself of all superfluous baggage, discarding all hampering equipment. The armour, the skins and wrappings the soul has laid upon itself for its own security would seem to be falling away, so that it must meet what is to come at last directly, naked.