I don’t believe in God. I’m unreligious, so I never understood or appreciated or felt or even tried to imagine its pull.
Until now.
Until now, that I’m here with my own two eyes and on my own two feet.
As I stand on it, I feel its power vibrate through my bones. It binds my spirit to it like a magnet. I’m speechless and scared, for its calling is intoxicating. And only now I understand how it can send one or many mad.
I look across its dry expanse and feel it speak to me. It declares itself the cradle of beings, the birthplace of souls, the one and only enlightenment.
Even the sun seems different here. More primal, much older. It hovers just above the horizon, suspended in orange hue. I can’t tell if it’s rising or setting. The dusty air in which it sits seems static. As if the sun and the air themselves were holding their breath, not wanting to add to the carnage with inhales and exhales.
As I step out of the petrol station towards my car, I pass three people. They’re talking, while gazing into the distance towards a settlement of apartment buildings on the horizon. The settlement is still, as if it too was holding its breath. And I wonder how long it can do that for.
‘It’s ours now. I hope they let us choose whichever apartment we want.’ Says a woman in her twenties with brown curly hair and full red lips. I’m stunned by how attractive and stylish she is, right here among the suspended breath of the land.
‘There will be no choosing. The army will flatten everything into rubble, then rebuild it in our image. We want our houses, not their apartments.’ Replies her male companion.
‘It’s better this way.’ Adds another woman, this one is older, just as refined.
I look up to the sky to see jets fly over in a controlled formation. They bring with them an ear-piercing thunderclap and I realise that this close to the border we can be bombed at any moment.
I look around to find a safe space. There is none. There is only the orange sun that seems to be holding its breath. I wonder if it’s doing that as not to breathe in the blood.
And I wonder how long this land can keep holding its breath.