I
was on an extended business trip in an area I did not know. Never mind what the
business was- I myself didn’t know, yet.
One
evening I decided to go for a walk in the scrubby woods behind my hotel. The
buildings quickly faded away behind me and soon I was in thin woods
criss-crossed by jeep trails.
After
awhile I came upon the rusting remains of a chain-link fence. There were signs
on it, or lying on the ground near it, bearing faded messages about danger and
quicksand, and staying out.
I
reasoned to myself that these signs were just the lingering vestiges of a
controlling patriarchal hierarchy, so I stepped through a rusted, gaping hole
and continued on my way.
But
after a bit I noticed that I was up to my knees in some kind of gunk, and
couldn’t walk anymore. I struggled for awhile but I’m not in the shape I used
to be, and I wasn’t getting anywhere, so I soon stopped to rest and reflect. I
noticed a small cabin or shed of some kind on solid ground nearby, and a guy in
the doorway. He saw me, pulled out a cell phone, dialed, spoke, and disappeared
back into the structure. Maybe he was posted there as a watchman or something.
I never saw him again.
At
any rate, I guess he had called 911, because in a few minutes a fire truck
drove up and stopped near me at the edge of the solid ground. A husky fireman
jumped out, produced a rope from somewhere in his truck, and came to the edge.
I was somewhere between mid-thigh and waist by now, but I was getting
accustomed to it and it seemed to be the human condition.
The
fireman started uncoiling his rope. I looked at it closely, then called out.
“Is
that rope made of Sisal?”
“Huh?”
The fireman blinked. He looked at a section of the rope. “I guess so.”
“Well,
is it fair trade?”
“Huh?”,
repeated the fireman.
“Look,”
I patiently explained. “Sisal is the main export of
The
fireman blinked again. “I really don’t know, buddy. Maybe this rope was good
for them, and maybe it was bad for them. But I have it now, and I can save you
with it.”
“Save,
you say?” I replied. “That’s a pretty ambiguous term loaded with dubious
moralistic assumptions, if you ask me. Besides, didn’t that guy call you with a
cell phone?”
“I
dunno,” rejoined the fireman. “I just got the relay from 911. Suppose he did?”
“Well,
I have a problem with cell phones. I think they cause brain cancer. Those
towers clog up the countryside, and I really think they are a sign of privilege
that separates the elites from the masses.”
“Well,
I couldn’t say,” replied the fireman. “But if that guy hadn’t called 911, I
wouldn’t be here, and I couldn’t save you. That stuff is up to your waist. What
say we fish you out of there?”
“There
you go with that ‘save’ business again,” I objected. “I think you should stop
being so alarmist and pushy. Take a look at the big picture. For instance,
consider how much tax money is extracted from people against their will to fund
all this 911 stuff and the fire departments. Think of all the real estate and
gasoline wasted, just so you can “rescue” people, whatever that’s supposed to
mean. I think we’d all be better off without you and your rather narrow-minded
infrastructure.”
“Well,
that’s a new perspective, I must say,” replied the man on shore. I guess he
wasn’t too sharp, but he was willing to think outside the box, and I thought he
probably had some potential. “Nonetheless,” he continued, “if it wasn’t for all
that infrastructure, I wouldn’t be here, and I couldn’t save you. We might all
be better off without it, but you wouldn’t be.”
I
had just about had it with this “save” business. “Look,” I objected, “most
Rescue Traditions teach that we can extract ourselves from quicksand by living
right and doing what we should. Why do you have to be so fixated on saving
people?”
The
fireman eyed me closely. “Maybe some people can extract themselves. But you
can’t, and that seems to be what’s important now. Go ahead and try it. I can
wait. I have more time than you, and I have this rope...”
I
decided it was a good time to change the subject. It didn’t look like he was
going to improve his thinking anytime soon. Besides, the stuff was up to my
chest and it was becoming tiring to talk. But I wasn’t that upset. You have to
be philosophical. And I was pretty sure all this was someone else’s fault
anyway. Maybe my mother, or the school system.
I
decided to move on to a core topic. “How about you, fireboy? You’re a pretty
sizeable guy. It must have taken a lot of cheeseburgers and corndogs to get
that size. When you look back over your life, and the mountains of slaughtered
animals and noxious pesticides sprayed on fields to ensure your food supply, do
you really think you can justify all that by running around ‘saving’ people?”
“Well,
maybe I can and maybe I can’t,” he responded after a moment’s thought. “But
because all those critturs died, and all those chemicals got sprayed, here I
am! And I have this rope, and I can get you out of there.”
He
was becoming dogmatic. Although only my head and one arm were still free, I
resolved to continue coaxing him along the cognitive path. I was just taking up
my discourse when I sank a bit more. As I opened my mouth to speak, a slurry of
sand and stagnant water poured in, and I choked. I coughed, spat, waved my arm,
and yelled “ROPE!”
Fireboy
was all over that one. He uncoiled the rope and deftly threw the leading length
past my head. I grabbed it with my free arm, twisted my wrist until it was
wrapped around my arm two or three times, hollered “HURRY!”, and gulped one
last gasp of air before sliding under.
Evidently
the fireman connected his rope to the winch on the firetruck. The next think I
knew, I was being sucked toward the solid ground as his engine spewed clouds of
greenhouse gases into the air.
In
a minute or so I was crawling onto solid ground at his feet. Fireboy uncoiled a
garden hose from his truck and sprayed me down. He dried me off and produced
dry clothing from somewhere. Pretty soon we were standing facing each other on
solid ground.
I
looked at Fireboy.
He
looked at me.
I
looked at him.
His
eyes were twinkling and something was playing around the edges of his mouth.
Finally he couldn’t hold it in, and a snort of laughter exploded out of him.
I
grinned sheepishly and felt my face turning red and my ears burning. It finally
overcame me, and I burst out laughing.
We
laughed. We howled. We clutched our sides. We pounded each other on the back.
We laughed until we cried. We rolled on the ground. We thought we were going to
puke. We crawled around gasping for air, then collapsed into new gales of
hilarity. Every time one of us came up for air, we’d splutter “free trade!” or
“corn-dogs!”, and start over.
I
finally regained a measure of self control. “I. Am. Such. An. ASS!”, I chortled
from my fetal position near the firetruck.
“Yep,”
agreed my new friend, staggering to his feet and grinning at me. “You know,
cell phones may be of the devil, and firehouses may be an instrument of control
of the masses. Sisal might be the death of all
“Don’t
pig-pile on me!” I objected. “Didn’t you ever think some silly things?”
“Most
everything you thought,” he confessed. “I experienced a sudden change of
perspective not 10 feet from where you did. I think the rope I finally grabbed
was polypropylene, though.”
“Rope
is rope,” I replied, eyeing Fireboy with new respect. “Hey- you wanna go get a
burger?”
“Sure!
I know a place with a great bacon-double cheeseburger and curly fries….”
Return to
your rest, O my soul, for the Lord has dealt bountifully with YOU- Ps 116:7