Perseverance

I have to find it. I have to find it. I have to find it.

The thoughts going through his head weren't anything of real, serious value. In fact, they were the opposite; hindering thoughts. Thoughts that took effort away from his survival instinct and thrusted them toward his already strained mind. It wasn't healthy, and he knew it. And so, with survival in mind, he repeated (with a little more desperation than the first 87 times):

I have to find it. I have to find it. I have to find it.

The sun blared. The red dust under his feet kicked up behind him. He wasn't moving at a breakneck speed; how could he? In truth, he believed he was running. Maybe it was his own mind forcing him to participate in something other than the constant, looming threat dangling above him. Maybe it was his own body, throwing all of its remaining energy into simple, methodic movement, making him believe he was going full-throttle, like an Olympic sprinter on the final fifty meters of the grueling gold medal race, sweat gleaming and muscles aching with the dull, but rewarding pain.

Maybe it was nothing at all. Maybe he just wanted to get there.

Exactly where was the ultimate question. But he knew he was traveling in the right direction. Like a sea captain rolling through the thunder and lightning, the dark storm clouds rolling over him as he peers through his rusty retractable telescope into a vast, dense pool of nothing, the crew awaiting further instruction to pull the ropes this way and that, to heave and to ho until finally the wet forest parts and they've reached their dry salvation. That man didn't need vision. He knew.

He begins to think of the sea captains of old. The vast expeditions with a band of brothers into the flat, empty, rocky expanse. Maybe they're not so different after all.

Quickly though, like the foams of the ocean experiencing the pull of the moon, those thoughts dissipate. He didn't want them to leave his side, after all his brain craved something, anything of substance other than his current situation. No, he forced himself to. The thought experiments his mind had been doing this entire endeavor had to end. Stay on course. Stop thinking about water. Stay alive. Stop thinking about water. Find it. Stop thinking about water.

And so he shuffled. Looking up to the giant fireball in the sky, he realized it didn't affect him as much as was previously thought. Not that he wasn't actively dehydrating. But only that the Sun's effects on him have seemed to lessen. Perhaps his body finally succumbed to mother nature, and the pain of assimilation to the environment subsided. If that was the case, he couldn't remember when that had happened. In fact, he couldn't remember much at all. Only the present, only what's ahead. And so he shuffled. And so he repeated:

I have to find it. I have to find it. I have to find it.

Beads of sweat, cold and condemning, ran down his cheeks, mixed with the remnants of tears from his moment of weakness about an hour ago, where a small sand cliff protruding from the dust, providing a much needed resting spot, seemed like the Divine Spirit of God himself sailing down and gracing him with sweet, eternal rest.

His mind clicked on. Maybe it was the Spirit, he thought. What if that was the sign? Perhaps he should retrace his steps. What's some more spent energy when what it offers could be so much more peaceful, so much more freeing? His mind began to harm him yet again. He could finally be with his father again. He could finally go home and be like everyone else in the history of this planet. He could leave. How amazing, he thought. It had to have been God, that ridge was the divine signal by which all people look to as evidence of a higher power. The sign written about for centuries and analyzed by believers and non-believers alike. It was his burning bush, his calling angel. It was his salvation. The gentle slope leading to the sharp descent. Only a few feet in height, but infinite in possibility; if he would just lay down, just close his eyes for a while on the perfectly naturally formed headrest, maybe he wouldn't feel the hunger. Maybe he'd be at peace. Maybe it would be quick.

Stop. His boots halted, making distinct marks in the rocky sand. For the first time in his entire life, his own thoughts scared him. He stood motionless, his eyes wide and his mind forcefully empty. He took another look around the barren landscape; his personal ocean. A panoramic intake of his situation that leads not to observation, but to dread. Sea Captains never said they weren't lonely. Again, he looked around, this time for others. He knew there would be no one. He knew he was ridiculous for searching for an outstretched hand, an offering of water, a safe place to rest. He knew there was no such thing to offer here. He knew all of this. But he looked. Unfortunately, no fairy tale ending was going to save him. He looked for nothing, and that's what he found.

He wasn't looking for anyone, not really anyway. His mind convinced him that's what he was searching for as he spun around in a small, static circle. But no. He wasn't really looking for people. He was looking to see something, anything that might explain to him why his mind was telling him to slowly succumb to the environment, to join the Holy Father by his side, to complete his mission by ending his mission. But again, nothing is what he found. The world around him, barren and whispering, offered up to him but one explanation: your mind has run out of options. But there's always one option left.

He had to reconcile with this. But only after getting there. Only after finding it. He knew that the only way to convince himself not to give up was to obsess. Obsess about finding it, obsess about every meticulous detail about it. Obsess about every step he takes, every grain of sand or fleck of dust. Obsess over anything, anything except the conclusion his mind led him to. That is not the human spirit. Obsession is. That's what he needed. He began to recite the all-encompassing phrase once more:

I have to find it. I have to find it. I have to-

He stopped. Not in his movement, he maintained the so-called blistering pace across the jagged landscape as previous. His mind had turned back on, just for a second. Just for a moment, his brain had to chime in with some of its own patented advice. He didn't so much think it, as much as his brain simply told him:

You already tried this technique 5 miles ago. Don't you remember?

Somehow, although he wasn't sure how, he didn't.

He shook this aside. No time for conscious discussions with your own self, you'll go insane. Back to obsession he went. And so on he shuffled. And so he repeated:

I have to find it. I have to find it. I have to find it.

Dead ahead, about half a mile, was a familiar sand dune. Not remotely familiar to him from anything previous. No, familiar in the sense that he had seen dozens like it since he began his disastrous trek. This one was not particular, or special. Unlike the small cliff jutting out of the ground, this dune offered no enlightening or spiritual guidance, no ultimate sacrifice to be taken, no burning bush equivalent. But, ironically, this sand dune happened to be the most important obstacle. Of course, he wasn't aware of this. And so on he started his way up.

As he slowly but steadily climbed his way up, his mind was blank. Fully blank. It wasn't fighting him or speaking to him with any scorn or pity, and it certainly wasn't beckoning him toward some endless sleep with promises of family and religious fulfillment. No, his mind, like that of any average person on a relaxing, stress-free day, was thoughtless. He noticed this, and despite the ridiculousness of it, he thanked his mind for finally shutting the hell up and letting him think.

He reached the top of the unassuming sand dune, and his heart, with the very little energy it had left, jumped, sending a fresh wave of blood through his weak and diminishing body. Unlike this entire journey, he became fully lucid. Fully aware of what he was looking at.

From atop the dune, he witnessed a beautiful mountainscape towering off in the distance, and directly before that, stretching from the bottom of the dune to the base of those imposing natural structures, was more of the same desert that he'd been traversing through.

The landscape was not the source of his sudden full consciousness, however. It was, in fact, the second and final thing he noticed. His eyes stayed fixated about two miles ahead. The gleam of the sun made it easy to spot, as the metal frame of the machine sent glaring light streaming through his eyes. Two miles away, he could barely make out its shape. But he knew what it was. It's what he needed. His sea captain instincts proved to be right. He did know where it was after all.

Usually, when some fantastically anticipated event occurs, the main character of a story will rush toward their goal, leaving all else behind, disregarding all of the pain they're experiencing in an effort to finally succeed, to finally win.

He didn't. A few tears welled up in his eyes. He let the force of gravity take them from his eyes down his face. He stared ahead at his goal, and began the slow descent down the sand dune.

The trip there wasn't eventful. In fact, he barely remembered it. At one moment he was on top of the small dune overlooking the massive landscape, the sun stretching its beams over the rocky, sandy desert. The next, he was within fifty feet of his goal. And then, there it was. I have to find it, for the first time, turned into I've found it.

He stepped closer and his mind clicked back on for the first time in what seemed like a long while. It seemed like an eternity ago he had just considered laying down beneath that sand cliff and slowly, deliberately letting God deliver his son home. If he was to be honest with himself, he wasn't sure if he regretted his choice of moving forward, of leaving those thoughts and that unrealized action behind. He didn't know. He didn't have to know.

He stepped toward the machine, covered in the same red, hazy dust he had become so used to. Reaching out a hand, he wiped away just enough to see the nameplate engraved onto the side of the contraption. This was his ticket. He was safe now, all he has to do is wait, pray, hope, and not think about anything. Don't let the mind in. Obsess over one thing and one thing only: he had found it.

Opportunity.