A week has elapsed but the time feels like a year. When a person dies, the whole life, even if life was a thousand years long, appears like one day because the expanse ahead is so vast. Rachel, my roommate, thinks I am peaking at 73 and I think she may be right. We are planing a party for the Ninth of Av, the anniversary of the the destruction of both the First and Second Temple on the same day, five hundred years apart. For two thousand years this day has been commemorated with fasting and crying, but a few years ago I decided the time had come for a change.
The Ninth day in the ancient calendar in the month of Av, the saddest day of the whole year, is destined to be a holiday—the most joyous day of the whole year. There is no question in my mind whatsoever, the time has already begun; last year when the eclipse crossed over America in the year 5777 (when Trump was inaugurated in that year he was seventy years, seven months and seven days—he is the buffoon we need) the bastion of Rome, the future had begun. Anyways, after that I decided to make this day a day of celebration because the past is over and the future is bright and beautiful—only 222 years until the Thousand Years of Woman and of Peace.
I have always been a person who peers into the future, so even while lost in this gloom of bad news and so much needless suffering going on in the world, the happiness is in the future; the closer the future, the greater the happiness. There is going to be a peaceful revolution in our country and we will rectify the wrongs and establish a new standard and plan of action based on the human being, not on the value of work. I am busily writing a document for this purpose. And Rachel is into it and wants to help. So we have decided to launch these ideas on the Ninth of Av with a party.
The epic story of my life is turning into a novel. What is happening seems unreal, as if this is something I would write in a story, but I am living the story; everyday I am the pen moving along the paper, dealing with comas and periods to achieve something coherent in the end. At night, the conclusion of the day, the editing takes place often sitting around talking about what has happened, what almost happened and what we hope will happen. Retiring at night is like turning the page in the book of life. After a lifetime of years, everyday is such a blessing; time speeds up and I let it go, focusing more on the present—the enjoyment of simplicity.
All and all, life is wonderful and if this is my peak, the only question is, how long do I stay on this pinnacle? Because, that which begins is destined to end.