Over the next several weeks, I pondered on the singularity of the events the night of the sandstorm. What strange events they had been indeed. How could it have been that I would have chanced upon such a marvellous person as I had? And how had he bested the storm enough to have reached out in love and compassion toward me? Surely, I thought, there must be a way to overcome as he had, to reach out and think not of yourself in the perilous times, to not take only, but to give. Though I had encountered him but once, this man, this friend inspired me as a great mentor. I hoped to God I would meet him again.
One morning, about 4 weeks into my journey, I woke up to a terrible scene. Wild pigs, apparently driven by thirst and starvation, had gotten into my belongings and had torn through the skins to lap up the precious water therein. And what was more, they had eaten all my dried fruit and bread that was to have lasted for several more days. All they left were a few tracks, already disappearing with the winds, and a scene of destruction. (Truth be told, I wish I could have seen the pigs so I could have had a nice ham dinner!)
The morning was hot--the waves of heat were already rising ominously off the sands, the sun searing my face as if to taunt me. As my mind wrapped around the implications, I began to slip into despair. There were no trees to be seen, no rivulets or streams. Gratefully, I was able to calm myself enough to gather the rest of my belongings and head cautiously in the direction I needed to go; unfortunately, I couldn't shake the feelings of fear that filled my stomach instead of my breakfast.
To be Continued...
Image of desert from: http://mrogren.wikispaces.com/file/view/drydesert.jpg/170286117/drydesert.jpg
Image of waterfall from: http://sagejourney.com/imagelib/sitebuilder/pictures/photos/stream.jpg
The Past is Never Dead
1 week ago