Monday, 10/11/10 - Eight (by way of eighty eight)

The question was simple enough but Martin was having a hard time locating the answer. His ever-present smile faded and his brow descended like a wrinkled curtain at a Saturday movie matinee.

I watched him concentrating, biting his lower lip and absently pulling on his fingers, one then the next then the next, counting upward from some remembered point in time. I wish that I had not asked.

"I'll be eighty eight in October," he announced with the smile returning to his face. "But inside, I am going to be eight."

My concern over his odd response must have shown in my face.

"You don't believe me, do you?"

I have known Martin for several years. He is eighty seven and will be eighty eight in October. He has some minor health issues associated with his age but he has never shown signs of mental deterioration or dementia.

Part of me wanted this conversation to end. "I am not sure that I understand what you mean."

"Paul," he was still smiling but there was intensity in his eyes that hadn't been there earlier, "I have been living my life in reverse." He thought about what he had just said. "No, not like Dorian Gray staying forever young. Not like that at all."

I let him think. There were many questions but I had the feeling that if I just let him talk he would answer everything.

He surprised me with a question. "Do you feel smarter than you did twenty years ago?"

"Sure, I've learned a lot in twenty years."

"Do you feel wiser than you did twenty years ago?"

"Wiser?"

"Yes, wiser. Not smarter but wiser?"

"I guess so, sure."

"No offense but I don't think you are. I don't think any of us are. I think we are all born with all of the wisdom we need and from there we start losing it."

I was trying to follow along but he started speaking again before I could understand his meaning.

"I will die when I am ninety six years old."

"Don't say..." I started to protest.

"No, it's the truth. A gypsy woman read my palm when I was forty eight and she told me that I was half as old as I would ever be. She was the one who told me about the wisdom."

Martin held his right palm out to me and traced lines with his finger. "This is my life line, long and uninterrupted."

He showed me other lines and told me what they meant. I held out my palms to him.

"Oh, no, I can't read them. I just remember what she told me about my lines and what she told me about wisdom and how you only have so much space for things inside of you. She told me - and I believe it - that you are born with all of your wisdom intact. We are so full of wisdom that every new thing that we learn, every new word or fact, pushes out some amount of wisdom."

I wasn't following him. I let him talk on hoping to catch up.

"Like a glass full of water, anything you add will displace some of the water. Problem is that wisdom isn't wet, it spills out and you never even notice. What's worse is that we're replacing it with the knowledge and logic that allow us to justify all of the things we do that defy wisdom. Ask any child what is right or wrong and you will get a wiser answer than you will from any adult. The adult will give you a more informed response complete with reasons and rationalizations but a child will know, instinctively, what is right."

He paused, looking at me, waiting for some response. I still wasn't understanding. "So, what are you suggesting?"

"I'm sorry, what was I suggesting about what?"

"About wisdom and knowledge. It sounded like you were saying that they are mutually exclusive."

"I was?"

"Yes, and how the gypsy read your palm and told you that we are born full of wisdom."

"I said that?"

"Yes."

"Hmmmm, I don't remember."