The one called for, part 1

Door San Daniel gepubliceerd in Verhalen en Poëzie

It was morning, early in the morning and San thought of his fields, his beautiful vineyards, full of promise. The fledgling green dewy miniature bunches of grapes that were forming and he smiled to himself. This was the day he had postponed and over which he had thought a lot and deliberated. He decided to settle the matter and to entrust what he had been pondering about to paper. He had tried to refrain himself, because he knew better than anyone else, that once you started  there was no going back, there was no stopping. He slipped quietly out of bed and walked to the kitchen where he sought the chai tea and boiled some water. He took a tomato and some dates and with a mug of tea in his hand, he walked into his office. It was time, sometimes a secret is so big that you have to share it, and you have to write about it and re-read and ruminate, until you agree with what it says.The  PC tower popped on and San took a swig from the steaming mug. He looked briefly at fbook for possible messages and then braced himself,' it is all procrastination', he thought punitively and began to write. It was morning, early in the morning...


On the fields

And so walked a lonely vintner over his fields, he saw the acres that stretched up to the mountains and his heart sang with joy. How wonderful was the green landscape stretching out before him. He spread his arms and said, Lord, let everything that's good, come into me. That in itself was an eulogy. The early hour carried already the promise of dawn in it, which gave him a feeling of great satisfaction .. the tranquility to see his creator reflected in the mountains, or in the glistening dewdrops covering the leaves. he felt at peace with his surroundings.

 He saw the greatness of the Creator, and he felt the presence of the almighty beside him on the fields, around him and resounding in the cry of the owl in his last hunter's plunge to earth. His soul flew over the fields and reached the peaks of ecstatic love for life and his Lord. And he was grateful that he was allowed to be part of that splendor. He thought of his children and asked God for his support to guide them, as he always did on this lonely early hour.

 It was almost seven o'clock and it was time to bless a friend who was struggling with problems from his heavenly fields. And he mumbled under his breath and he asked, 'Lord, for what it's worth, if I ask you this, and it pleases you, do you  want to take care of that young woman, will you give her strength to find herself. Support my daily blessing to her and let that blessing and a prayer as soon as medidation reach and strengthen her. "

And he turned to the north, and raised his arms he sent with all the love he felt in himself, his blessing. 'Get well,' he thought, . He filled his being with "the Lord is my shepherd ..." and walked with his dog who was no longer surprised about his master and his mumbling, slowly toward the barrels bodega where he would start cleaning the barrels for the coming harvest.

That man, that simple farmer who for so many years, had sought enlightenment, had found himself again, on a  pelgrim's path, he had met his loving creator. He loved creation, and he loved God above all.


He had banned all hypocrisy from the previous life. He had gone to live in a village that was simplicity itself and he saw the love of God in the people. And he lived to the laws of his creator, sometimes he made mistakes but sincerely repented of those. And God lived in his heart and was expressed through his actions. He gave and gave and gave himself so much that he sometimes was empty and had to take step in place before helping others again. He had been confronted by many forms of worship of the Supreme Being. For years he had been on an article 31, Reformed school, but he had also seen the truth in Islam and Hinduism and where ever he sought, always the voice of the creator spoke out to meet him.

The bodega was a room with double walls, with a roof that was isolated. The barrels were queued up and the shelves were filled with bottles, listed per section, with the year of harvest. There was always the hint, the smell of fruit. You smelled it always the first few minutes and then your brain would adjust itself and would not record it anymore, you had become one with the bodega.

Slowly, cautiously, San began to disinfect the first vessel and his mind wandered to the cave on his land. If this was not so high up in the mountains and could only be reached on foot that would make a great bodega. Automatically this brought his thoughts to another piece of land, closer to the Cortijo and he was thought of when he had gone down the descending stairway, which he had encountered a number of years earlier, overgrown with bushes. A handmade descending staircase of stone. The steps uneven and some of them sagging with age. Carved into the ground. A day later, he had returned with a lantern and with an Indiana Jones feeling, he had begun the descent.


 He had no idea why somebody or why perhaps a group of people would have made a tunnel disappearing into the ground. To his surprise there seemed to come no end to it. The air he breathed was earthy and he estimated that very soon he was about a meter or twelve underground and still the steps descended. He rejected the first idea that had come to him, about it being a mine entrance, although on the other side of his land, bounded by mountains, there were quite old iron mines, which had been closed just a few years ago. He got an uneasy feeling, a chill buried his soul and he really wanted to go back up, but then he'd have to turn his back to the dark.' Let's first see where the stairs lead to' he thought. However, when San turned around he saw that it was dark above him as well, the opening was gone, he realized that the descent had gone with a faint barely noticeable bend. Walking between departure and arrival point, he would be in the dark. 'Don't think about that,' he thought, 'or about the lantern going out, It might just do so and then what might follow next?'


All of the suddenly he had reached the last step and found himself standing on a platform. He stopped abruptly and shone the lantern around. It was a big space, and at the end of the platform a gaping hole. It was chilly and cold, so deep underground. Carefully he walked to the edge of the platform and he wondered if his cellphone would have range so deep underground. The gaping hole was exactly that. San picked up a pebble and dropped it over the edge, he knew from the distant past in an English classroom that a body in free fall is attracted to the earth at a rate of 8.9 meters per second squared. Funny that after so many years such things were still stored in the head. V = ½ gxt². It took a while before he heard the thud felt on a distant bottem and to San it had been a few seconds. That would have been a fall of 20 to 30 meters, he realized if someone had just walked on.

A few lines of a poem he had written years ago forced themselves on him:

Shadow shooting in the dark

blocked eyes and mind at zero

the senses on sharp

the fear drips of

the walls

and beads on brows

a movement, disrupts the

magic of sweet anguish

imploring, calling

again and again

breathing stops and fists

in rites  are pinched with

weight to neck and chest

'Stop it,' he thought, 'you are calling forth misfortune. " However, the anxiety grew and took disproportionate dimensions. There was something evil that cried out to him, shouted at  him and lured him and he knew that he had experienced this before, maybe not right here. Cold sweat broke out and he saw himself, with many huddled together, waiting anxiously, like rats in a trap, while the thumping steps came down. He shook himself free of the vision and with stiff steps, he walked back up, with the idea that piercing eyes were observing him. After many slow steps with leaden shoes and something inexplicably dark, slowing every step, behind him, San reached the slight bend and saw above him the spot of light that betrayed the entrance. He quickened his pace and felt that he had left what was bad behind him.

San Daniel 2016


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read part two

25/01/2016 19:15

Reacties (2) 

25/01/2016 21:54
Oh wow, niet te stoppen ben je. Fijn dat ze jou tenminste in het Engels uitgeven. Op naar de volgende bestseller!
25/01/2016 21:59
ha... dank je wel ..we zien wel hoe de hazen lopen.
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