An Old Friend Becomes a New Friend
One night I was talking loudly to myself, a common past-time to keep myself from feeling lonely, when I heard another voice. I looked up and saw an elderly man sitting on the other twin bed in my room.
“Who are you?” I asked curiously but not with surprise. He somehow felt familiar.
“A friend,” he replied gently. “I have been with you for a long time, and now it is time you know.”
“Are you God?” I asked aloud. “Are you the one I talk to? Is it you who tells me everything?”
“Yes, and no,” He smiled softly. “Call me by any name. In time you will understand. For now, I am here to comfort you and let you know you are not alone. I have been and will be with you always.”
With just these few words, we connected deeply. He was ancient, wise, kind and strong. I felt he knew everyone and everything, even God. I called him Grandfather Time. He seemed to be a sort of timekeeper, a witness to everything that had and was occurring simultaneously in multiple dimensions. He came and went from my life. Sometimes he would be with me for months, and then years would pass with no word from him. I would be out playing somewhere or alone in my room, when he would simply appear, and we would talk for hours.
He sat by my side and told me stories of cosmic happenings, planetary crossovers, elemental interceptions, and nature spirits. We would time-travel
Grandfather Time made everything simple and interesting. He knew the secret to every mystery and had a key for every door. “Everyone can hear you,” he would whisper, “but only those you befriend will listen. Respect and love them all, and they will always be there to serve you. Opposing them will break your connection, then yo
He taught me that living was an act of love, relationships as friendships, and giving and receiving as an exchange of gratitude and compassion.
“The deeper you go, the more aware you become,” he would always say.
Whenever I was upset I wanted him to be there to hold and comfort me. One day, in a terrible outburst, I accused him of not caring about me. “Where are you when I need you most?” I shouted angrily, fat tears spilling down my cheeks. “I am in your tears,” he answered quietly. “When you cry, I comfort and touch you. I am with you till you wipe me off.” I cried even more, for I loved him deeply. I did not want to wipe my tears because I did not want him to go away. I would often sleep with them on long, lonely nights, for those tears were Grandfather Time, my dear friend and confidant.