The Metronome

THE METRONOME
    Once a metronome hypnotized itself.
    Over time, the rhythms it had settled into offered a reassuring steadiness in the face of everything that the metronome observed with concern going on around it, from manic excess to the most lethargic of existences. In every case, or so it seemed to the metronome, the yielding of a steady will to tempos beyond the range of those it personally knew and trusted was a telltale sign of an unsteadiness of character that let chance and circumstance hold sway. A surrender of the self to every alluring quaver of experience was the obvious peril in such lax demeanor.
    But if you could keep your head about you and not be swayed by passion or slowed by doubt, if you held out against impulse and kept to the trusted givens of a regulated life, then what could ever distract you? Even your inevitable winding down must find you self-mastered to the end.
    In short, existence was a continual test of how well one resisted impulse and the confusion brought on by momentary fancies through a steady balancing of eternal certainties. The shunning of extremes for a continual return to the middle was the unmistakable feature of a wisdom for the ages that would guide one through any challenge or dilemma, the metronome insisted. Proportion in all things had always been its governing philosophy and its constant reassurance.
    Whenever the hint of an irregularity in life or a departure from the expected might present itself, therefore, the metronome unfailingly conducted a complete check of its internal workings, noting the least slip in predictable conduct and correcting any aberration without delay. Were it not to do so, not to take this rectifying action as soon as the need for it became clear, as soon as even the suspicion of a faltering or errant will suggested itself, who could say what the ultimate repercussions might be? 
    Just as moderato can give way to allegro and allegro to presto, the control needed for a meaningful existence might yield to risky penchants, hardly noticeable at first but soon marking undeniable departures from the accepted norm, then wilder and even wilder excess (as though desires were taken as the measure of full being rather than simply the manic sway of the unknown) until all self-mastery threatened to be lost in utter abandon and ruination!
    Plenty of metronomes had ended their days as hopeless wrecks by yielding to these temptations, victims of their own inner weaknesses and the erratic behavior these brought on and ultimately shunned by all who hoped to retain some sense of their own constancy in an uncertain world. One could understand in principle how such things happen, how a life’s clockwork that had long been trusted never to slip a cog might one day simply begin to fall apart. But deliberately to embrace what must hasten that end—who was so unwise as to court such a fate?     
    Keeping yourself in proper order, the metronome was convinced, was the only way to ensure that what befell others would never befall you. Absolute predictability and restraint were the keys. Always. Not too far one way and not too far the other. To and fro, to and fro, back and forth, back and forth, until the pull of anything beyond this perfectly predictable life faded, lost its power to distract, and you were safe in yourself. 
    To and fro. To and fro. Back and for-th. Ba-ck an-d f--o-r---t----h-----