With age, I'm told, comes Enlightenment. With enlightenment, I infer, Inner Peace. With inner peace, I'm guessing, Holiness. Of a sort, at any rate, of your own definition. Presumably, somewhere in that mix, somewhere, comes wisdom. And so, here we are. Seeking wisdom. Or better yet, Wisdom. I am secure in the knowledge that older does not necessarily mean wiser. No. It merely means older. That's all. Wisdom, I think, arrives bit by bit in revelation. And in understanding the inherent way of Things. The loss of innocence. At first, when you realise that yes, even you too some day will die, must die. That the end will come, and that in some instances, you will not see it until it is too late. These are the tragic, unnatural deaths we read about in newspapers or see on glorious Technicolor on TV. But the sort I'm talking about is the sort where you realise that being bullitproof is a thing of the past; that it was at best a state of mind; a wishful one at that. The view from the top is breathtaking. It's when you discover that immortality is not within your grasp; that you will never be a space traveler; that one hundred thousand people will not ever scream your name in the pouring rain in a crowded stadium; that long after you're gone, the world will - unfortunately - still turn; that your brief time here on this Earth will most likely pass unmarked and even if you are loved, or beloved, even that glory is transient. In a way, it relieves a lot of pressure. If that's what you are looking for, of course. I had an epiphany last night, back in my old stomping ground, the gym pool. I was trying hard to not unofficially race the swimming team training alongside, and failing. And I was getting creamed by most of them. Repeatedly. The oldest of them was about 16, I suppose, and I could see the hunger in his eyes as their coach called out instructions. Three of those kids are very, very quick indeed; I didn't stand a hope in all Hell of even matching them for a second. In the locker room afterwards, I found out I couldn't match them out of the water, either. The fall from the top will kill you. I realised then as I do now that another bit of wisdom was coming my way. I was forced to accept that in the 366 days between my good mate Andrew and I, they probably are not going to find that cure for death. I kinda wish they would, you know. -d-