Originally shared by Hank Johnson
I won’t bore you any more with the challenges to making these posts. Suffice to say, there are some technical limitations in place. It’s not my intention to leave you hanging like an act break in Nomad, but it is what it is.
Instinctively, I knew that the message, in my own handwriting, was a clue to myself. It's something I’ve done all my life. Scrawled odd phrases on paper scraps, napkins, 3x5 cards, anything available. Sometimes two words can trigger more memories than a treatise.
Of course, I had no idea what the words meant. Maybe they were the name of this place. Maybe they were some scientific theory I’d forgotten that somehow enabled me to leave a note to myself in this bizarre situation.
I ruled out the former. I was in the middle of the Afghan mountains, as far as I could tell. A point is a peninsula leading to the ocean. I couldn’t be further from an ocean.
It occurred to me that maybe this referred to a time when these mountains were sea floor, I thought. I had a sudden image of myself on a small island surrounded by a primordial ocean teaming with horrific sea monsters. It passed. As I said, for just a moment, I felt like I was at the center of creation.
The sharp crack of gunshots brought me back to reality. No more reverie, it was time to move.