I don’t like old people.

I don’t respect old people.

Old people are exactly what they are – old.

Old is exactly what it is – OLD!

Old. Obsolete. Outdated. Worn out.

 

I like the old people, though!

Particularly, when they are young.

Especially, when they are young.

Exclusively, when they are young.

 

Our elders are these walking museums, accumulating all this precious useless antiques-of-a-KNOWLEDGE, until there is no more space left in their petty, narrow minds, for anything new, but the old of which they consist and the old which they are.

Sometimes, however, those same elders, somehow they do arrive at this socratesian realization of the futility of knowledge… so many years on this planet but it makes no fucking difference, they realize…

Sometimes, even, those same elders, they develop this beautiful, child-like quality of appreciation… the time has passed and so much has been, and so little left, but in the same time, what’s ever changed, and what is this moment different? The sun is the same…

Such appreciation of the moment is consequently a glimpse of the TRUTH, the only truth, living truth of life, which is only to be discovered from moment to moment… not as a dead process of accumulation.

 

And what is youth?

Youth is the quality of freshness, open-mindedness and sensitivity.

Young does not have his mind corrupted by the garbage of knowledge, by conclusions, by believes, by opinions.

Such a mind is beautiful, and such a mind is intelligent. A mind which has all the conclusions is not an intelligent mind. It’s not even a mind that knows intelligence, for he never uses it… not with the comfort of it’s conclusions.

Curiously enough, sometimes it’s the old that glimpses this youth. Some blissful smile. Slow and simple joys in life. Absence of ambition. ACCEPTATION.

I like old people not because they’re old but because they’re young.