Time is an illusion.
I can testify to that.
A while ago they celebrated my seventieth birthday.
I did not interfere.
I did not want to spoil their fun.
Let them think I am seventy.
Actually, I am not a day older than seven.
Somewhere along the line, they added a nought to my age. But I know it counts for nothing.
You see, time stopped when I reached seven.
By that momentous occasion, I achieved my life’s goal; I was well and truly established as the Centre of the Universe.
The whole world was now revolving around me.
I could say with Julius Caesar:
‘But I am constant as the northern star,
Of whose true-fix’d and resting quality
There is no fellow in the firmament.’
Pity, they knifed him straight after he said this; for his words were a wonderful description of me.
What impresses me most is my humility.
Even though the whole Universe spins around me, I never boast about this remarkable fact. That is why no one knows this stunning truth. There is where I moved at seven, and I have not moved away from that centre, not even an iota ever since.
Since then, I am timelessly eternal.
Time then died for me.
Others age, but not me.
I will always be seven.
Actually, my wife does know this, and she never stops reminding me about this miracle.
This is good; it helps me to remember my age.
Increasingly, I am a bit forgetful. So I ask my wife:
‘Dear, how old am I?’
‘You’re still seven!’-She reassures me.
But of course! I have had no need for time from seven on. I simply stopped the clock. Once you found perfection, why spoil it by passing time?
To quote Shakespeare again, this time from Hamlet’s soliloquy, which yes, you guessed it correctly, he actually wrote for me:
That ever I was born to set it right!’‘The time is out of joint. O cursed spite
That is correct.
I was born to set the time right, by stopping it.
No more past and future, just the eternal Seven. That sacred number!
The problem is that people do not realise that they are supposed to revolve around me. They want to do their own thing.
They just do not know what they are missing, so I try to remind them ever so poetically:
‘Time’s round an’ round, it never ends; is it not time to make your mends?
From ashes to ashes the body turns; from spring to winter the seasons return,
From rise to set, through day and night, time keeps revolving, dark or light,
Non-stop the clock just keeps on ticking, one’s born, other dies, it’s only fitting.
From dust to dust, from hunger to lust, the Earth’s spinning; you on its crust,
Circle the Sun, and before you know, you’re back where you started a year ago!
Now a year older, your hair’s not so plenty,
But you’ve not started living, till you’re seventy!
Your bones creaking, you’re sure you’ll croak,
But don’t you forget; it’s all a good joke!
For the clock’s just ticking, be good or bad; through exaltation and when you’re sad,
You come, and you go, but time never ends; ticky-tick-tock; there go the hands!
Tune into time and keep its beat; dance round the clock, it is so sweet!
Find the right speed; follow the rhythm; go with the flow and heed its wisdom!
Well, now that I have passed seventy, I am saying goodbye to being seven.
Spinning out of my ego’s orbit into the Sun’s unconditionally loving one, provides me with enough love to look after the kid within, as well as having plenty left over, to spread around.
Maybe then I shall, unlike many people, die knowing, that after all, I did not have to live all my life and even die as a seven-year-old.
When it comes to emotional maturity, how old are you?