Men and The Goddess

So, I turned 71 yesterday. Now birthdays at this point in life are not the excitedly anticipated events they once were. 71 is kind of a blah age, even though it is a prime number. But there’s no real milestone attached to it. Nothing exciting happens. And as I approached this non-milestone birthday I mused about what it really means anyway. Time is just an invention; it is relative based on our perceptions, perspective and the human compulsion to measure everything. I decided I am a “virtual 71” and this poem is an attempt to explain this:

Virtual 71

All time is relative;
I can be any age I want.
Measured in life-times,
I’m infinitely old.
Measured in the emptiness of time,
I am a new-born.

I can be any age
I consciously conjure
Between these infinite ends.
If I can be an age of my choosing
What age would I be?

Would I be younger
With fewer wrinkles?
More hair?
Few aches?
More care?

But then would I have
Less time?
More demands?
Less ease?
More stress?

Would I be older
With more wisdom?
Fewer chores?
More peace?
Fewer claims?

But then would I have
More wrinkles?
Less hair?
More aches?
Less mind?

Or would I be this age
With what I do have:
Few aches.
Enough hair.
Some wisdom.
Enough care.
Few demands.
Enough time.
Good energy.
Great health.
Much love!

What age would
A wise man choose?
I choose to be mine—
A Virtual 71!

©2016 Richard W. Bredeson. All rights reserved.