Infinity

Infinity
∞
A Novel
By ZL














1.

Vampires are “hot” again. I’ve seen it so many, timeless times (oh the layers of irony).

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button made a nice twist on the concept—though so badly justified, introduced, explained—a man makes a clock that runs backward, and lo behold, a baby is born who grows young? Strange. Beautiful story, but strange, weak underlying justification, premise.

Oh well. No matter.

Back to vampires, briefly. Their myth’s take on the phenomenon is much more compelling. Fear, passion, desire, predator/ prey, elite royal lineage, passing-on immortality like some sort of dread-yet-seductive disease, forcing its “victim” to become a “bloodsucker”, a serial killer, agelessness traded-in for the price of another’s continued life.

Then, there’s the Deepak Chopra approach. He has it figured out. As much of a New-Age cliché as he may seem to some, he’s an M.D., and the basis of his most compelling insights—especially in a book that may seem ages-old to some in this hyper-fast-paced world today, written in 1993—called Ageless Body, Timeless Mind—subtitled, significantly, The Quantum Alternative to Growing Old—gets the facts of the true phenomenon almost exactly right.

I should know.

I was born over 400 years before Dr. Chopra.

Thankfully—it turned out to have been an auspicious time, and place, to have been born.

Though my ancestors on my mother’s side of the bloodline came from much deeper in the eastern heart of Europe, and included Russian/ west-Asian influence as well—and my father’s ancestry was a blend including far northern Scandinavian heritage, Anglo-Saxon (from England), and Spanish/ Moorish (an early Spanish relation, exploring not to conquer but simply explore, spent a generation living in a village in sub-Saharan West Africa, finally returning to Spain with an exquisitely beautiful wife, my great-great-grandfather and his sister (both over a decade old at the time) in tow)—at the time of my birth, in 1500, my family lived on the western coast of Portugal, staring out over an expanse of sea which, reports kept streaming in like an ecstatic new religion—had just been discovered to be the threshold of a New World.

My family, you may have already surmised, were more adventurous and ripe for challenge, and new experiences, than many of their contemporaries. On both sides, they had been so for generations—willing to journey, willing to love and marry outside the local village, religion, outside the race (there was no word “race” at the time, but believe me, most dared not ever tread outside their own village’s five-mile radius in those days, much less marry there…). For whatever reason, I come from a lineage of such adventurers, misfits of their era. I’m certain it was the source of the initial spark, and the passionate love affair my parents shared through their lifetimes. They were adventurous, they didn’t say no—interestingly, they rarely ever fought, and never once in the vindictive, abusive way which is so commonplace among so many couples I’ve witnessed throughout my long life so far—but especially in the last half-century (and in the century previous, I saw the dynamic building up, becoming more and more common, extreme). Previous to the stresses of the past two centuries’ “progress”, women were commonly treated like property, slave-like servants of their husbands. This dynamic was also absent in my parents’ love-relationship, and I’m deeply proud to say I’ve succeeded in attaining-to a similar ideal in my relationships. The great sadness in this—and it was well-portrayed an d the most poignant element in Benjamin Button—is loving so much, and being cursed to lose that love to the vagaries of aging and mortality.

It is certainly the most cursed thing about the privileged life I’ve lived.

There are, of course, many blessings.

And of course, the loves themselves have been the highlights of my existence. Each of them, for as long as she lasts, or as long as the relationship lasts.

Unfortunately, this immortality thing is not contagious.

Damn.

Neither is it genetic, apparently—my only relatives still alive are my own great-great-great etc. nieces and nephews.

A lonely existence, in many respects.

I have certainly loved, greatly, deeply, fully, fully-shared. Several times. Completely loyal, a lifetime together, faithful, completely in love. Eventually, each has died.

It’s an ecstatic, joyful, wondrous life. It keeps going. I stay approximately the same age, bodily. One would guess my age to be around twenty-five to thirty—a well-maintained twenty-five to thirty. I know this, because people always guess—and believe—that to be my age.

You might imagine, and you’d be right, that I have not been able to stay in one location for many years at a time. I can extend a stay amongst previously-strangers for well over a decade—but with the number of decades I’ve lived, that is a blur of not-long, one after the other.

It’s wonderful, in many respects—but difficult and redundant as well, certainly. And always means losing previous relationships, friendships, loves, families.

The next question, I know, is—How?

I don’t know. But I can say this: I’ve always known. My childhood certainty that life would just continue, that once grown I wouldn’t age into decrepitude, that I’d just continue—in most, this sentiment would fade as reality overtook the belief. In my case, though—I’ve continued, just as my childhood certainty foresaw.

I have always maintained healthy habits, eating, and behaviors. In all these years, I’ve never smoked, anything, my drinking of alcohol has never been excessive, harmful or addictive. I’ve slept well, average nine hours of sleep each night—and in all these lives I’ve lived I early-on embraced a lifestyle of growing my own food crops. I was doing it before the word “organic” meant much, certainly nothing pertaining especially to gardening or farming. I learned to farm and garden for my own sustenance hundreds of years before any chemicals were “developed” to combat pests and weeds and whatnot, allowing monstrous-scale “production” of food for a massive population, “market”… I have never participated in such a market, have always gleaned food from the land I live upon, free of chemicals designed to kill.

And “exercise”. When you build your own home, cultivate your own crops, don’t eat animal products (sorry, animal-addicts—it is not as healthy, in really obvious ways—blood pressure, heart disease, cancer, diabetes, all nonexistent comparatively with red-meat and dairy-consumers), and love to hike and bike and generally wander as I always have—any additional exercise is merely bonus. Lifting free weights keeps my muscles toned, balanced, strong, stretching has been a lifelong practice—not “Yoga” necessarily, which I know has been gaining in popularity here for decades. Yoga’s great, fine, I’ve done it, I like it—but I’ve always done, and developed, my own forms of enjoyable stretching. The body likes it. Cats don’t learn “yoga”—but they certainly know incredible, vast amounts about stretching. That’s the kind of stretching I’ve always done. I recommend it, if you don’t do it, currently—by whatever name.