Tuesday, January 27, 2015
Highway 90 - South
Jack dipped his hands into the mud bucket - deep - and grabbed a gob of goo. He smeared it over his head and face, down his chest and over his arms and legs. The others were too pre-occupied to notice him, as they smeared their mud over their bodies with passion - laughing like little children.
Selfies everywhere. The mud was suppose to be a cleanser, for the skin and soul - and when you mixed it with salty water, it would make everything better - and Jack was ready for anything 'better'.
It was foolish and silly, Jack thought. But, he whispered: "I'm here now, I'm here once, and I'm gonna do it." It was starting to get cold, the sun was dropping over Israel and the clouds were clearing over the hills in Syria to the east - just on the other side of the Dead Sea.
He walked down the rocky shore to the salty water - his bare feet aching as he navigated the stones - the stones that shouted out - "you don't belong here!". Jack couldn't recall any mention of Jesus ever coming down to the Dead Sea - but he could be wrong - yet, why would he, 'it was dead'! and Jesus was life!' There were no fish, no bugs, no weeds, no nothing - but salty, very salty, water.
He took a deep breath and fell back into the water, and floated like a bobber waiting for a large mouth bass to take him down.
Like those around him, all he could do was laugh - out loud. He had made it to the deepest point on the surface of the earth - about 400 meters below sea level. "It doesn't get any deeper than this!".
Jack reclined in his salty chair and watched the sun set. Glad to be alive, in the Dead Sea.