It takes 1,000 years to grasp the nature of time and another 10,000 to understand what you have grasped. The world hurries by and the world hurries by, they’re born and they’re hatched, they eat and they mate and they die – and not one of them comprehends the crystalline structure of eternity. Only me. Such knowledge is a burden and I bear it philosophically, there being no other option.
Monday
There was a time when I moved. That was when most humans were hunter-gatherers and the surface world was full of glaciers. Movement is for the callow and the meaningless and soon I outgrew it. I saw through the confusion between movement and purpose and settled down in the perfect spot at the bottom of the sea. I’ve been there ever since, creating a masterwork in glass.
Tuesday
Humans study us, seeking to explore the depth of our genius, talking about architecture and fibre optics, yearning to steal our secrets. I have sat here for a dozen millennia, constructing the masterpiece that is myself. I do so by sequestering silicic acid from the all-surrounding water. And so, with infinite patience, six-pointed spicule by six-pointed spicule, I have become a vase of glass.
I’m at home 1,000 metres down in the dark chills where few predators venture
I’m at home 1,000 metres down in the dark chills where few predators venture
Wednesday
A glass sponge has a rigidity that less accomplished sponges willnever rival. I’m at home 1,000 metres below the surface in the safe dark chills where few predators venture, feeding by easing in the waters of my home and then easing them out again, filtering for myself what comes in the way of plankton or marine snow, the organic detritus that falls from the superficial world into the land of us deep ones.
Thursday
A day, a year, a century: ‘tis all one, more or less. I don’t experience time like the rest, but I have a gentle interest in those beings that are unable to escape the hurrying life. That’s why I keep pets. A pair of shrimps, to be precise. They entered my vase in search of food. Now they can’t get out and nor do they wish to. My crystal cave protects them, and they feed on the gentle snows of the deep seas when the particles stick to me. I protect, they see to my personal hygiene, we’re all content. At least for a time.
Friday
Newsletters
Choose the newsletters you want to receive
View more
For information about how The Observer protects your data, read our Privacy Policy
There have been times when I, a male and proud of it, possessed of a mind filled with visions of Venus, have filled the surrounding seas with sperm. And there have been times when I, a female full of strength, have joyfully welcomed sperm into myself and produced eggs. I live the passing centuries in the best of both worlds.
Saturday
Nothing much happened today, nothing much happened this year, nothing much happened this century. One millennium is much the same as another. The only difference is that my vase – my life work – my self – gets slightly more beautiful. Beautiful not only in itself, but in the intricate nature of its meaning. I’m a living crystal of time.
Venus’s flower basket CV
Eating habits The eternal snows
Lifespan Some say 23,000 years
Eating habits The eternal snows
Hobbies Contemplation, pet-keeping
Sexual preferences It depends
As told to Simon Barnes
Photograph by Jose Maria Barres Manuel / Alamy