The Vision Quest

When I awoke, the voices had not yet stopped and this time I was determined to discover their source. I opened my eyes a little, closing them again quickly. The light was still so bright. I opened them again, this time halfway and forced myself to hold them open until the light felt like hammers against my head. I did this a few more times, until finally I could make out the shapes of people, black shadows against a white wall. I guessed then that they were the source of the voices. I couldn’t count how many there were, but by the volume of noise, perhaps a dozen or more. I couldn’t discern their faces or recognize the voices, especially with the pain that was throbbing inside my head. The ache grew, so I let myself slip back into another dream.

§

The mountain was quiet though the clouds that covered the top looked ominous. Moses looked to the camp below, throngs of people and animals everywhere, their fires flickering against the night sky. The sound of animals and babies crying permeated the air. Now free of their oppressors, the people had not yet begun to accept their independence. Even today, they had broken their promise to God, and had knelt before the gods of their neighbors. And when Moses had become angry and smashed the words of God on the ground, he could see that they would always see him as an outsider. After all, he had grown up in the palace of their masters, had dined at the Pharaoh’s table, slept in the best silk, and bathed in hot clean water.

All the while, they had lived as slaves, eaten whatever scraps of food they could find, made bricks from mud and straw, and slept amongst filth and depression. They would never look to him as a brother or leader, only as a savior who did not know where they were going. They were ungrateful to be led, unhappy to be taken from a land where they had become complacent. He had led them from one hard life to another. Though he had spoken directly with God and had been shown the promised land of milk and honey, they did not even believe him. Actually, they seemed to resent him. How could he, the son of the pharaoh, have spoken with God? After all, he was a citizen of Egypt, their enemy.

Moses was beginning to resent the way they looked at him. Even his wife was asking him why God had chosen him. Why not someone more common and like them? But he forgave her words. She was the daughter of a Midian merchant and knew so little of their sorrow. She had been used to life with her father, a life of relative prosperity and comfort, not this nomadic wandering through a desert to a country that might not even exist. And they were surrounded by enemies everywhere with cities and armies that might yet take them slave again. They had barely even tasted freedom, yet they could lose it again so easily. And still, Moses tried to be the man that God had commanded him to be. He stood at the foot of the mountain, leaning on his brother’s staff, waiting for the voice that would call him back up again. He would apologize to God and beg him to give his people another chance. He knew not what God’s reaction might be. Hopefully, he could convince God that it had been his fault, his own anger. The tablets could be remade. And what about the idols? Perhaps God would understand his people and forgive them, show them another sign, another reason to believe.

Then the sign came. As the sky began to rumble, the mountain began to shake. Flashes of lightning danced through the clouds, slowly at first, but increasing. The people below were slow to notice but one by one they all gazed upward at the mountaintop. There, at the summit, though the clouds were thick and black, a burning tree was clearly visible. Moses smiled as he remembered his first meeting with Him. That day was forever etched in his mind, his encounter with a bush that burned but was not consumed. Again he removed his sandals. Again he was standing on holy ground. Although God had chosen a humble bush before, now he had chosen a mighty cypress. And this time, the fire was not ordinary-looking in the least. It glowed in a splendorous anger, waves of color sprang out from its white core: reds and yellows danced over the the branches, illuminating the entire sky. And still the lightning flew through the dark clouds. The thunder rolled, shaking the mountain and the ground below. Within moments, every person was watching the tree that burned with a holy fire. They had seen many signs, many miracles and plagues before this. Most were more impressive than this. But this simple and dramatic sight captured them more than any previous wonder.

No one noticed as Moses, barefoot, ascended the mountain. Fear gripped him and squeezed his chest so that he felt unable to breathe. But the same fear propelled his legs forward even as the small rocks cut through his feet. This was no ordinary fear. This was the fear that was born from duty. No selfish sense of pride or bravery here, only the feeling of what must be done because... Because it must be done. Each step was a painful oblivion. With each heartbeat the fear grew into a crescendo that he feared his body would be annihilated. Now he was being controlled by a force that seemed to come from both within and without him. Still he walked for what seemed like eternity. And still the lightning and thunder crescendoed above.

Finally his eyes met with the tree, and his sight went dim. He fell to the ground as all around him went black and silent. At first he thought he must have fainted but the image of the burning tree was etched into his eyes so that he could see nothing else. The thunder and lightning had ceased. The fire around the tree had faded but not entirely. The sky seemed so black that he could not even see his own body, which now lay prostrate on the ground. Though his mind had not, his body had willed it, that he should lay helpless on the ground before his creator.