It comes again, light as bright as lightning, as a desert sun at midday. And sharp pain, behind his eyes, his temples.
In absolute darkness and intolerable bright light he feels the awful meshing of contradictions. Nothing is sequential, there is only simultaneity. He expects a voice, and a voice comes, not heard, but felt in every part of his body. The voice consumes every bit of his awareness. He just has time to kneel on the rocky ground before he is overwhelmed. He is unaware of his body toppling forward.
“Abraham,” says the voice.
“I am here,” says Abraham silently, but he does not know where here is. There is a contraction and an expansion, at the same moment, an infinite moment which has no duration.
“Sacrifice Isaac to me,” says the voice. “On a mountain I will show you.”
Slowly, Abraham regains consciousness. Slowly, he becomes aware of himself, lying face-down on the ground. There is dirt in his mouth, in his eyes. His nose and forehead are bleeding. His teeth ache and his knee is twisted painfully. He sits up carefully, straightens his leg, spits out dirt, rubs his eyes clear, looks up.
A shape shadows the sun. He squints. It is Sarah, his wife. She takes his arm and helps him to his feet, hobbles with him into the shade of the terebinth and oak trees, to the tent, his tent. It is only a few yards, but the journey seems to take a long time. Sarah’s own tent is further, deeper...
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