Sinai

Inferior to a snail staggering across the surface of a sphere, perpetuating an endless journey, I am tossed between the boundaries of an unfathomable higher dimension, all the while shackled by the impossible fetlock of time. And sorrowful desire. And a Saharian dryness in spirit. Pride can never quite be tamed, neither can the solid gestalt of cultural stereotypes be dissolved, no matter how I elect to plunge into some refreshing pool of alternative outlook. A firmly entrenched worldview shall always be the final victorious seductress, even more so as the fizzles of a previously roaring flame continue to mock their wretched possessor. Blindfolded by a veil of time, spat on the face by mockers, waylaid by vicious coyotes, all simultaneously dancing to the rhythm of acute spasms of longing in the heart. Who could deny the need to plunge face first onto the sands of Sinai, rip off the blindfold and cauterize away all those cataracts? And when I turn away to grab hold of a hand, will its soft wrinkles and creases soothe me till the very, very end?