Rhahim

So I'm out here in the middle of the desert. At this point, I can't even remember which one. It's not an American desert though. You know, a resort kind of desert, where there's a pool, an oasis, every couple a yards. That's how commercial and lazy America has become. You don't even get actual deserts. There are La-Z-Boy Recliners all over the place. A Starbucks at the bottom of every dune. If you got stranded in one of these deserts, it'd be more like a vacation than anything.

Not here though. I mean, this is some high quality desert. You really get your money's worth.

I should back up though.

This all started after my sophomore year of college. I was doing fairly well as far as that goes, but that isn't the point. First, my dog dies. That dog had been around since 4th grade. Then he just up and quits.

It gets worse.

My car was completely obliterated in a car-bombing in which a terrorist confused my car with that of a senators.

It gets worse.

One of my best friends manages to contract Smallpox and spread that around for a good bit, wiping out a town in the process. These were all people I knew.

The proverbial straw then being, my dad decides to leave my mother.

I decide to clear my head, in a different country. Trans-continental.

So off I venture. Flying over all these oceans and continents till I get here. I wish I could remember where here was.

Anyway.

I wander around for a couple of weeks, talking to natives, trying new food, typical tourist activities. None of this is really helping me much. When I was a kid, I was very spiritual. That stuff comes back to you when your entire life begins spiraling completely downhill into vast nothingness.

I mean, my dog died.

So I start looking around for some sort of spiritual confirmation. Guidance. What I find, is Rhahim. Rhahim is a spiritual guide. He tells me for fifty American dollars he will take me on a journey through the desert that will revitalize and rejuvenate me.

That sounds like exactly what I'm looking for.

I tell Rhahim, yes, I would love to go on a desert journey. I would love to open up my chakras and be born again.

Well, Rhahim died.

I should back up.

Things go well for the first 2 or so days. We're on camel back and have plenty of provisions. Rhahim is telling me to bask in the glow of the sun and to embrace the mother earth. Those kinds of things. It was really helping too. Until, one night at dinner Rhahim starts choking. I am not CPR certified and know absolutely nothing about the heimlich. His face starts turning purple and I'm in shock. Before I can fully comprehend what is happening, he's on the ground and cold as an ince cream cone. My first thought is, of course. Of course the one person who I'm dependent on out here in the desert would keel over dead in the middle of supper.

This is my life.

It's been a week since Rhahim kicked the bucket. I'm out of food and running low on water. Both of the camels have left me. No surprise there.

So I'm alone. In the desert. And I'm starting to see things. And not normal desert hallucinations, mirages, what have you. I mean, weird stuff. People. I had a conversation with Levi Strauss, about jeans. That was the most bland mirage. Others included the sand dunes moving and then dancing, a Model-T being constructed, and my dead dog.

This is not the spiritual journey I signed up for. I am not rejuvenated or revitalized. I played scrabble with St. Francis of Assisi. I am not OK. I'm hoping to God that someone finds me soon because this is my last bottle of water.