Judgement Fire

THE JUDGEMENT FIRE

A Short Story By Robert R Evans

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

FORWARD

 

   Judgement, awesome and terrible. All religions and cultures have some form of final judgement. Some religions maintain that there will be a great and terrible day when all humans will be judged. When all earthly transgressions will be broadcast in front of the world. Other religions dictate that Karma is your earthly judgement and that you pay as you go.

 

   The following story is a true experience. Common sense and the lack of belief in ghost spirits tell me that it was a fitful dream brought on by grief. A deep grief fueled by guilt, and loss. However, I have never had such a vivid, in full color dream before. I honestly feel as though I have had my judgement day. I have been weighed, measured, and found lacking.

 

                                        Robert R Evans

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 1

(CALL OF THE MOUNTAIN)

 

   Sitting on the deck facing the mountain to the west, I was mesmerized by the brilliance of the fall foliage. The afternoon was cool and the azure sky was so clear with the exception of one single cloud. As the sun began to set, the rays caught the cloud and turned it a fiery red.

 

   My mind and heart was heavy and soon I began to feel a certain spirituality. Many years ago I had made a friend of an old Native American in Arizona. He maintained his culture and seemed to enjoy talking about it with me. His people believed that the skies different colors were actually the work of a spirit called “Paint Boy”. I thought to myself that Paint Boy had done a beautiful job this day.

 

   Another belief of the old gentleman was that in time of sadness or confusion, a person should go to a place of quiet and build a small fire.   After reflecting on your particular situation, choosing your words carefully, speak into the fire. Focusing your words into the fire, watch them rise in the smoke. If your heart is true, your words will rise to “Man Above”. He will hear and soon give you direction.

 

   I do not share this belief, and view it as an ancient form of venting. Perhaps though there is some merit to as it may give you the opportunity of spilling out your troubles privately. Therefore, you do not burden your people and you also don’t have to expose your weakness.

 

   As these thoughts coursed through my mind, my gaze fell upon the largest of the visible mountains to my west. I have always loved the high country, and have sought it out on many continents. This afternoon I could almost hear her calling me. The feeling that I should be up on her peak soon became over-powering.

 

   The nights had become cooler and there was the threat of rain in the air. There was nothing that was going to help me feel better. I didn’t need to hike two miles in the fast approaching darkness, only to talk into a fire. Nothing would be gained except possibly catching a cold. I rose and went back in the house trying to ignore her call.

 

   Making a sandwich and tea, I sat in front of the television set. Mindlessly flipping through the channels, my aggravation grew. I could not get her call out of my heart. There was a longing and deep sadness in her voice only audible to the heart. Soon I gave up trying to ignore it and stepped back out on the deck. The sun had disappeared and she was shrouded in darkness.

 

   Gathering my back pack, rifle, matches and a pint bottle of Jim Beam, I set out to her. I would have thought that by answering her I would feel better. This was not the case. My heart became heavier, my feet felt like lead. Several times I tried to turn around and walk back, but it was too late. Her force was irresistible.

 

   Feeling a foreboding, almost an actual fear, I trudged upward into the dark. Maybe death awaited me here tonight. Maybe by the time Paint Boy went back to work, my body would be cold and all my troubles would be over. Maybe the mountain was calling me home for the last time. I asked myself “Is it a good day to die?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 2

(Speaking To The Fire)

 

   I followed a deer trail up to the peak, and was tired by the time I arrived. I chose a spot where I could lean my back against a stately old oak. The night was unusually quiet and the atmosphere heavy. While hiking I had become warm, but now the cold seemed to seep into my bones. Why had I not brought a blanket?

 

   I remembered I had brought the bottle of Jim Beam. That would warm me and perhaps cheer me up a little. Then it occurred to me that if was here to pray I should have a clear mind. Leaving the bottle alone, I began to build my fire. Soon I had what should have been a cheerful fire blazing. Why did it not warm me?

 

   The flames reminded me of brass. I have thought of this many times since and cannot explain it. I leaned against the magnificent old oak and had my only good thought of that terrible evening and night. The tree was beautiful. It had to be over 200 years old, and was knarled and even scarred by what I believe to be a lightning strike, yet absolutely beautiful.

 

   I felt the oaks strength against my back and had the unexplainable feeling that it was holding me. I thought I should get up and clear my mind, but could not find the will to stand. I sat and stared at the fire and tried to organize my thoughts. Though I didn’t really believe in this, I should do it right or not at all, if only to honor my old friend’s memory.

 

   The fire had settled down and the flame small but steady. The forest was so quite that the crackle sounded to me almost like explosions. Not even the coyote was singing tonight. Shivers crawled up and down my spine. I was quickly becoming depressed. My heart more and more heavy. I thought I had better get to this, and leave as soon as the practice was complete.

 

   I looked into the fire, saw the tendril of smoke rising to the ears of Man Above. The longer I meditated on this the more I began to feel a small tug of belief. Soon I began to form my prayer. At first I spoke the names of the people I loved. I ask for their happiness and safety. I spoke the name of a love in a foreign land many times. My eyes became wet.

 

   Soon my heart began to break and I spoke many heartaches, and lamented my situation. I didn’t realize at the time, but my prayer was full of self-pity. I rationalized my position by asking, “After all the good I have done, why me?”  I poured my whole desperate heart out. Being so focused I actually saw my words ride the smoke upward.

 

   I spoke this way for at least half an hour. I was so cold, yet sweat was rolling down my face and back. I considered myself noble, I had asked for others consideration first. I was not selfish. So why do I feel so bad still? My old friend had given me nothing of value. It simply did not work.

 

   Exhausted I ceased speaking. My skin was clammy and my mood even darker than before. Several times I started to stand and leave this miserable place. I could not seem to break the hold of the old oak tree. I felt I was a prisoner. Something like panic, maybe a feeling of claustrophobia creeped its way into me.

 

   I learned many years ago how dangerous it is to give into feelings like this, so I calmed myself. Still cold and deeply hurting I gazed into the fire watching it burn down to embers. My mind was spinning with thoughts of lost love, failures and loosing. I began to feel sick on my stomach. I continued to just sit and stare into the fire. I closed my eyes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 3

(The Judgement)

 

   Feeling as though I had merely blinked my eyes, I opened them to find I was not alone. Seated across from me was seven men. I tried to jump up to get my rifle, but was frozen in place. The men were dressed in historical clothing. Everything from skins to kilts, and somehow I realized these were my ancestors.

 

   I tried to speak, but my mouth became incredibly dry and my jaw froze in place. I looked into their eyes and saw no affection. I saw only accusation. The elder of the group was dressed in a kilt. On his side he wore a broad sword. His hands were scarred as well as his arms and face.

 

   The elder glared at me with intense disdain. I fairly shrunk under this gaze and averted my eyes from it. I looked at the others and the also glared at me with no less intensity. No one spoke but my heart heard their feelings. They all were attacking me, my life. The elder pierced me with such an intense gaze that I almost fainted. He wanted me to speak.

 

   I did not hear but felt him shout the question “What are you?” Who are you?” “Stand and give account for yourself!” The others murmured assent and I was thrown on my feet by an invisible force. I stood trembling in front of this terrible tribunal. Why had they come to attack me? Why, if they could just help me?

 

   I tried to regain my courage. I could not show these men weakness. So I shouted, ”I am Robert Evans!” Then I felt the need to defend myself from their scrutiny. I felt indignant at this treatment and obvious questioning of my manhood. I spilled out all my self-proclaimed attributes in a self-righteous explosion.

 

   “I have done my duty!” “I have given to the poor.” “ I raised my brothers and children who have become successful people.” “ I have fought two wars honorably.” I was spouting all of this out when I looked into the elders eyes. They were gray and had ice in them. I got lost in them and soon saw his life played like a movie.

 

   The horrors he had experienced were unimaginable. Yet I saw his tenderness toward his family. I saw how he had maintained his dignity throughout his lifetime. How he had worked so hard to improve the lives of his children and grandchildren.

 

   I looked then from one man’s eyes to the other and the similarities of their life were amazing. Then the awful truth came into my heart. I felt ashamed. My stomach became sick and I retched. I looked back at them and saw no sympathy, only disdain. I had failed my lineage. An honorable linage full of sacrifice and dignity. I hung my head in shame.

 

   Another man, dressed in buckskin and carrying a flintlock rifle, looked intensely at me and I felt his question. “Why do you desecrate your name?” I had no answer. I simply stood defeated and alone. At this time, I shook all over. Sweating profusely yet freezing, I thought then that I would die.

 

   That’s it! That’s why they are here. To judge me and then to take my spirit away. For a split second I felt better due to this explanation. Very quickly I found I was wrong. I felt something behind me and spinning around, there by the outer edge of the fire stood my father.

 

   My father’s eyes burned with the same accusations as the others. I wanted desperately to run to him, shake his hand, maybe even hug him. He had died over 30 years ago and I still missed him every day. His stance and look in his eyes told me to stay away. This broke my heart, but I could not show it.

 

   “You do not deserve death at this time.” My father’s eyes told me.  “ I ask you, who are you?” Again this question. I could not answer with any kind of dignity. I could only say “I don’t know.” His response shook me to my core. “ You have no place with us, until you can answer that question with pride.” “ You are alone till then.”

 

   At that I found myself sitting against the old tree and the men vanished. I was very sick and wanted to just sleep, but even the mountain seemed to want me away from her.  I picked up my bottle of Jim Beam and turned it over in my cold hands. I simply did not want it. I carefully put out my fire and gathered my rifle and pack. I started down the mountain as daylight began to come.

 

   Looking east I saw the brilliance of Paint Boy, but it gave no pleasure. I heard the various animals going about their forest business, yet still no pleasure. I had been feeling low before I went to the mountain, but now I felt old, deflated and void of any pride or self-respect. I am truly alone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

EPILOGUE

 

   This story is true in its entirety. I realize it was a very vivid dream due to the fact that I got up top of the mountain early night and the sun was coming up as I left. I cannot however argue with the men in the dream. Everything was truth in its most awesome form.

 

   What can be done to repair a life of waste and selfishness? Is it too late for me to earn the right to join my dignified ancestors? How can I regain what I have lost?

 

   I did not receive answers from Man Above. I received more questions and even a deeper sadness from my fire. I will continue to live, but happiness will continue to elude me until I can become the man I was designed to be.