In his gut Moss knew that in the nowhere before him lay somewhere in the haze... Binoculars to eyes penetrated it not. Moss smiled. Perhaps this day held danger enough to sate thrill, even peril enough to stab away the boredom of a mountain climber on flat land. "Haze in the desert," Moss stoked self, "means one of two, dust storm or mountain. Either way, I win."
Open truck tailgate pointed way to the haze. Off road bike cranked, spit fire, roared off truck bed, screamed through air; tires ripped desert sand. Dark rider twisted throttle till it twisted no more. And Moss jeered the unforgiving desert, spat at love lost, railed to heaven, "I need nothing nor nobody. All I need is me!"
Into the desert sand dark rider sped past cactus, past tumbleweed, past screech owl and rattler, but not past dark past. Past that stalked him, caught him twixt talons that pierced deeper into his ribs with every jarring of rock neath the tires of the motorized beast he rode. And the beast propelled Moss onward, pressed him toward date with fate... in the haze...
On and on Moss rode. "What lies waiting in the haze?" On he rode. "Will I be able to see once in?" On he rode. But the closer Moss got, the farther away the haze fled. "Is it real? Oasis or mirage? Dream or nightmare? Friend or foe?" The mind of Moss wandered, till time crushed in, till numbness crept from finger tips, through hands, up arms, into shoulders, up spine till paralyzing unsound mind. And on and on Moss rode atop dirge wailing motor of beast...
"Phrrreeeet, phom phom phom... phom!" The beast sputtered and died.
Moss woke. Woke to silence, to lack of movement, to realization, "Out of gas..." Moss dismounted, kicked kick stand down, before noticing, "I can't see a thing." And the dawn of the haze smote him, "I'm in!" I'm in the haze!" Moss let go of handle bar, strode deeper into the haze... THUD! "Owww!" Unforward progress ended at second step, ended hard, recoiled Moss back half a step. "What the..." He reached out, felt rock, "Its a cliff. If I hadn't run out of gas, I'd be dead."
Moss smiled, laughed, "Like I care." In the haze he reached back, felt handlebars, slid hands to saddle bags, took out climbing gear, and to and up the cliff he climbed into the haze... "Challenging, not being able to see," Moss grunted out, "but nothing and nobody is going to stop me."
Moss knew not how the hours flew, till his left hand reached up and in... to empty haze. "The peak!" He climbed up and over the edge, rolled over on his back. No rock poked him. With right hand he felt out and around. Moss contemplated out loud, "Smooth flat rock, too smooth, not the natural top of a cliff, more like..." Then he realized, "On the way up! The stones were uniform, equally spaced. I didn't catch on because they were so massive. I'm on top of a building, or a wall, a bulwark? Where am I? What is this? If only I could see through the haze."
Moss lay there wondering, thinking, concluding, "If its a wall, the other edge of it can't be far." He rolled over on stomach, inched forward into the haze for what he figured to be about twelve yards, till his fingers grasped it, "The other edge! The other side!"
As rapidly as an experienced but unable to see climber is capable, Moss was a tad quicker at rigging up the repelling gear. The thirst for perilous discovery goaded Moss over the edge of the wall.
Down... blindly down... further... further... further... until... end of repelling rope. "Stinking haze! I got no idea how far down the bottom is. If there is a bottom?" Literally at the end of his rope, Moss murmured, "I'm too tired to climb back up." He sighed, "So, time for a nap." In two shakes Moss set up the netting for a nap. And nap one exhausted Moss did, hanging there... in the net... at the end of his rope... in the haze...
How long was he out? Moss had no idea, before the voices woke him, especially one sweet voice... beckoning... enticing... inviting... luring...
"Moss, sweet Moss, awaken... come to me... come to me..." soft coo coaxed...
Moss half woke; longed to kiss sweet siren lips; reached out in the dream; and forgetting where suspended, in quest for siren lips leaned forward out of the netting, and fell... fell... fell... as echoed his last scream of life...
More than one glass of iced tea and plate of barbecue with potato salad went flying. All eyes jerked attention to the screamer, one confused and red faced Moss, flayed out on rear neath swinging back yard netting of hammock... and beneath the hands on hips of Mrs. Hazel Moss...
"Just who were you puckering up those unfaithful lips for, Mossy boy?" Queried Mrs. Hazel Moss. The interrogation had just begun... for at the end of the rope of life the haze burns away and all face the judgment...
The steps of all who walk in self alone keep not in step with the walk of the way. Why seek the haze of this world, which leads to fall; when tis better to seek and to see clearly in the light of Jesus love, which completes us...
John 8:12 KJ, "Then spake Jesus again unto them, saying, I am the light of the world: he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life."
Jeremiah 10:23 KJ, "O LORD, I know that the way of man is not within himself: it is not in man that walketh to direct his steps."
Proverbs 3:5 KJ, "Trust in the LORD with all thine heart; lean not unto thy own understanding."
...We all need Jesus...
Allegory & Scripture
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