In visions

When the water comes, and it will, on a peaceful summer morning, I’ll have tied a boat to the top of the bluff. ‘They’ said Pike’s Peak is supposed to be safe and dry. Maybe we should go there. The masses flee from Colorado, and all directions southwest. The splitting of earth, in the plains, and a flood emitting from its cracks. Great waters crash into the great shelfs of the lands jutting up to the bright blue, crashing together, emitting ear-piercing claps. The pieces of land fit together like a giant jigsaw across the firmament. Plumes of smoke and dust rise quickly settled by the sheets of rain and terrorizing winds from minute to minute, like Mother Nature is schizophrenic, and can’t make up its mind. Our plan doesn’t work, to wait in a giant lifeboat, a pocket of air until the 7 days was over. She on one side of the widening crevice, and me on the other, jumping and screaming in the final seconds. The bluffs loose a multitude of boulders rumbling to the ground, like facing a catapult of giants. The rocks explode. Before we have a chance to hold hands, the chasm opens miles wide, revealing secrets and all that was hidden to the eyes of man – his ego is big, but he doesn’t know everything, or really anything. Winds blow debris, and I see houses, trucks and cars strewn like crumpled papers across the sky. Age old trees uprooted like the tearing of weeds from our humble garden. Storm clouds gather and disappear. The sound and fury so deafening. I feel it to my core, my soul. God tells us not to despair, to hold faith. We hold to anything but mostly to each other like Rhesus monkeys in a frightened hug. It is as it has been, and always will be. Darkness swallows the whole of Terra. A host of lights descend in rapture between the pits of a ravenous fire and the blissful heavens. A multitude of souls flies to the heavens. The new earth, it waits. I say in my last few breaths, in the great transformation: ‘I’ll come for you, if it’s the last thing I do.’