Mirror Mirror On The Wall….

Growing older. Doubts, issues and questions. What is the purpose, the reason for us being here? Joys and disappointments that come with age.

An older man looks at me from the mirror.

It is I.

Imagination sees a different image.

A child

A child.

Shy and cross eyed.

Next, a young man with glasses and black hair.

And then my imagination refuses to play and an older man looks at me again.

I am almost 65.

Some people are asking me if I feel old.

Do I?

Yes, sometimes.

No, sometimes.

How do you define “old”?

I watch romantic movies sometimes.

And sadness creeps in.

Realization comes–it is all in the past for you, old man.

Romance is over.

Falling in love.

The joy of it and the heartbreak.

Be real.

What is the purpose of this all?Just look in the mirror.

But something in me keeps forgetting.

You are old,” my mind reminds.

And my body agrees with pains and aches.

An older man stares from the mirror.

I don’t like him.

Time is my enemy.

It goes by faster and faster.

As if it got tired dealing with me.

Summer, fall, winter, spring, summer.

And the next winter is closing in.

TimeTime is rushing me.

You are old.

Your body is tired

My world is not as bright and vibrant anymore.

The seasons keep changing as if in a time warp.

Summer, fall, winter, spring, summer.

But my life does not change much.

It seems sometimes that I am just a passive observer.

My mind is restless.

Mirror mirror on the wall.

What is the purpose of this all?

The eternal question.

And the mind hesitates, not knowing.

The mirror is silent.

You figure it out, old man.

I am trying.

A bittersweet feeling.

Mirror mirror on the wall.

Who is the luckiest of them all?

I think of my wife.

Mother of my children, my best friend, my lover.

My trusted companion in this short life’s journey.

I think of my kids.

All grown up smart and beautiful.

My grandkids who call me grandpa.

Mirror mirror on the wall.

I see a husband, a father and a grandpa.

An older man.

But not old yet.

Not yet.

My soul is resisting.

It ignores the mirror.

It disregards the mind, the logical arguments.

It dismisses the body’s aches and pains.

My soul refuses to grow old.

It wants to be young and full of hope.

Young forever.

All the mysteries and the beauty of this world.

I want to know more, to see more, to experience more.

Something in me wants to believe in miracles.

What if….

I want to see the unseen, to feel the life force of the world.

Without the limitation of Mind and Body

I am afraid that my imagination is getting old.

It is not as flexible anymore.

Mirror mirror on the wall.

Show me the wisdom of this all.

I want to see the young man you showed before.

I want to be young again.

Do I?

Do I want to read old chapters of my life again?

I did not enjoy it the first time around.

Would I rewrite some of these painful chapters? Maybe.

I am the Writer

But I cannot.

There is just one chance, one version available.

And I am still here, the book is still open.

There are some blank pages left to write.

I don’t know how many.

I don’t want to know.

Life is a mysterious journey.

I don’t want this book to end too soon.

And I am the Writer.