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Adventures
On The Other Side Of Knowledge by Ken
Shiovitz The line, drawn in the sand by no burly man, fascinated me. Through telescope, I could barely read the sign suspended
above. It said, “Nothing Beyond This Line,” and indeed, I could
see nothing. But was that nothing just a something begging discovery? With child-like imagination, I envisaged the distant
unknown. Every daydream, a variation of the familiar, encompassed
me. Jolting reality said, I could only know what lay beyond, by
crossing that line. Some disagreed: “God lives beyond the line,”
asserted one who never even ventured nearby. “That line is uncrossable,”
swore another who had almost reached it. With small canteen of water and sunscreen, I set out over
the dunes. The journey was long and hot. Daydreams gradually became delirium from too much sun, too
little water. Throat dry, head abuzz, weaving, I fell across. Darkness bathed the Other Side, but gradually my eyes
adjusted. Mixed with imagination and flashing after-effects of the
sun, true images began to appear. The land upon which I stood was hard, a crusty off-green,
like the oxide on copper. I memorized every aspect I could absorb, until painful reality broke
through the amazement: Return now, or die of
desiccation. Today I peer through my
telescope at the new line. It is just past the crusty
greenish oxide, although some flashing colors
are missing. The maps show it clearly
marked, and the guidebooks say, “Take plenty of sunscreen and
water.” |
