grossly sincere

Walking along the crumbling earth, with dust at his heels and his clothes damp with sweat, he wanders the barren land. What little life dwells in the area stands brittle, miles and miles of complete nothingness ahead of him. The silence is suffocating, his breath and the crunch of pebbles below his feet the only efforts against the vast quiet, an ancient stillness rarely disturbed in the dry season.

In the distance, the heat claims the air and ground, heat waves warping the horizon. There is nothing to see. The man, stubborn in his ways, approaches the emptiness—there is nothing. There is no one. Wincing at the blazing sun above his head, he clings to his hope. The sky is washed blue, cruelly clear of clouds, nothing more to decorate the landscape. Ravines lay empty, yearning for the fall of rain, relieving them of falling apart.

He stares ahead, eyes empty, chest aching, his face red from the punishing sun. Looking down at his dusty boots, he thinks of the life he has led, and where his journey ends. He has left everything behind him, with nothing but himself to heave across the sand. As he looks up from the leather at his feet, the sky cracks open and a blinding light, brighter than the colossal star above, fills his vision.

As he staggers from the sudden burst, he shields his eyes, and upon opening them—a woman.

With bright eyes and obsidian locks cascading down her shoulders, she stands bare. He beckons to her, startled by the apparition. She stares ahead at him, silent, yet her gaze reveals all the knowledge he yearns for. He freezes at her beaming form and piercing eyes, filled with ecstasy as he savors the stillness between them.

The woman starts to move her lips, but no words come out. Her voice is in the silence of the land, in the celestial flames above, in the dried soil and dust.

He starts, “Unworthy am I, filthy, and meager in my spirit. You must condemn me, a man of no possessions, immaterial and sterile in character.” She smiles, the grace of her gentle expression shining upon him. “Come to me,” she speaks, and a cool breeze ushers him near.

The man trudges through the dust and collapses at her feet. Kneeling beneath her, he throws himself to the ground and he lets out a dry sob, a drop in his throat, the heat of tears forming in his eyes. She stands still, looking down at the man, vulnerable and wretched before her.

In the breeze around them, he hears, “You must keep searching. I am not the one you seek.”

With his hands in his eyes, he peers through his fingers, the woman nowhere to be found. The land is as empty as it was, and he aches with dread.

As he lays motionless, winded by their meeting, lightning rips through the sky. Drops of rain tap his shoulder, wetting his hair and his skin, mistaking the falling water for tears. The storm picks up, cracks of white-hot lightning and echoes of thunder crashing above when suddenly—the deafening sound of water rushing across arid land, spilling across the arroyo.

He closes his eyes, the rain mixing with sweat and tears. He looks up to the sky, and out at the horizon. There is more to see.