One Thousand Years
Genesage
" The Tide"
(Chp 4:12)
The tears had stopped.
No one else had noticed they had started except Caleb and Apple. It was obvious something was going on inside of Tom as his lips seemed to be mumbling. None really understandable, but something was coming out of his mouth.
His hands were trembling. That was obvious as they also clenched and unclenched held at his side. When open, the shaking was violent.
Tom’s face appeared angry. Dark clouds were furrows to his brow with lighting seeming to flash from his eyes. The thunder in his belly waged the onslaught. The pitch of his bow set to weather the gale. It was felt as much as was seen. But having seen, you could certainly “feel it” just by watching.
The turmoil was obvious.
Rolling like waves upon an ocean, gently lapping at the sand of a beach. On the other side of the struggle the feelings emanating from Rose were bi-polar. In opposition they seemed to pulse, to flow like an evitable tide against a rocky crag jutting out to an ocean.
Timelessly effort free “she” was wearing “him” down slowly.
Making the cragged rock he had been, grow rounder as the flow and ceaseless feelings washed over him. None stop it continued over and over again, non-ending.
Against the boundaries Tom had constructed to protect himself, the flow of emotion wore down Tom’s cliffs making caves in his soul to invade inside.
It was an epicurean struggle with futility on one side matched by the mercy on the other.
Purity could not be resisted.
The tides make sand from stubborn cliffs and the success of the process is as numerous as the sands of the sea.
It was a matter of time;
the inevitable against the evitable.
Tom's resistance was futile.
Sand could not be made were it not to stand up to the means with which it was created.
Sandcastles only lasted as the compact of the moisture in balance to the need created mortar seemingly to make castles stand tall. Till they fall.
Like so life, add one more drop of water or add a little more sand and that which was began as a castle lie again as sand.
So likewise Tom.
No one wanted to move. None had dared till now.
Suddenly Delilah left the group, leaving the scene of the sublime. No one stopped her as tense she left. Caleb watched as she went back along the path to Beth Eben, Eben's House.
It was the intermission of the scene playing out before them.
No one else really noticed. None could move the eyes that were riveted on the timeless drama before them. They were witnessing magnificence and what the outcome or result would be none knew. They only that something momentous was occurring and they were privileged to be there to see it.
As they watched, the shock waves rippled through them all.
The branch that had been torn, the shortened limb that had borne the blossoms Tom picked, reached out now to Him as if to bid him to take hold and walk.
Not a normal limb, nor a strong one, but the exact ends that were bereft of the place which had been so violently ripped out.
These mangled ends now reached forward.
Not in accusation, though violated, but in consolation in acute care.
"Walk forward."
" Closer."
"Come closer."
All the other limbs which would have been long enough now to reach out and touch Him strangely hung to the side. They drooped rather than reached up or out.
Their base making an almost lions "mane" around Rose.
The one limb, the only limb that could not reach Tom because it had been shortened, could not quite touch him.
It tried to vainly but could not reach him.
It extended itself out like a hand and waited.
Tom said,
"No."
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