Tuesday, May 9, 2017
The bush spoke it was thunder, it was earthquakes, it was the pounding hooves of the herd, it was the many thousand flapping wings of every bird, it was the roar of a waterfall, it was the rush and scrape of an avalanche, and the felling of a tree, it was all of these and more. It was what is.
The words rushed through Sal, wind through wheat.
"YOU HAVE COME TO ME"
"THIS IS GOOD, WE HAVE MUCH TO DO, I HAVE MUCH TO SHOW YOU"
"I am afraid"
"THIS IS GOOD, WHAT YOU HAVE TO DO WILL BE HARD, WHAT I HAVE TO SHOW YOU WILL BE TERRIBLE, I HAVE PREPARED MIGHTY WORKS FOR YOU TO PERFORM"
"but what if I fail?"
"YOU CANNOT, I AM SORRY THAT YOU CANNOT, I AM PLEASED THAT YOU CANNOT"
"how can I not fail? I have failed at most everything in my life."
"I AM THE ONE WHO BUILT YOUR HAND, I HAVE BUILT THIS TASK TO FIT YOUR HANDS, DOES THE BEAM SHAPED BY THE CARPENTER FEAR THAT IT WILL NOT FIT ITS PURPOSE?"
"If I am the beam then, yes I fear that I am not equal to any task that you would give me."
A great sigh came from the bush, and at the same time a chuckle.
"I HAVE TAKEN YOUR EYES SO THAT YOU MIGHT SEE"
and once again blackness filled the world around him, and Sal only felt the sand beneath him, and the wind on his skin.
The heat from the bush was gone. The things he had learned were gone, rushed out of his head as a herd of horses gallops along the plain and is gone from sight, over a ridge, leaving behind only their thunderous hooves. He felt shaken and sick. He fell forward and caught himself on his hands, and he dry heaved for what seemed like hours. Cars rushed past on the highway. He was alone and blind, somewhere in Nebraska.