It would be easy-peasy again for him. The man was mortal, but operated like an immortal by default. He was a human wrecking ball, a destroyer……
…..From the genesis, theirs was a forbidden love story that went awry.
He loved her madly! First time he met her, he believed without her his life would be a wasteland devoid of affection. He revelled in her, swam in the pool of her essence and drowned in the oceanic exoticness of her beauty. She had an olive skin tan from working the vineyards of Sorek and her kiss was sweeter than fresh grapes. Hair was a wave of shiny lustrous tendrils growing down to her waist, a halo of red that made her the goddess of his heart. Enshrined in his soul like no other, her dimples were goblets from which he drank the mead of her merriment. Drinking endlessly from those fleshly pools made him live in a perpetual state of intoxication. Her lips flashed ruby at all times and her usual scarlet gowns hung on her naturally like red petals on a rose. She glowed eternally bright, a flame in the forest of his heart. From day one, every glimpse of her warmed his insides with the soothing effect of a sparkling inebriant. With her peculiar love for all things crimson, she filled the caverns of his heart with the fumes of wine. Thing was, wine was something he was not supposed to touch….
…the voice called his name from a distance. It echoed and roared in his hazy consciousness and took him back to Timnath. The lion came at him with leonine fury, all claws aimed at his neck. He ran towards it but within the foggy terrains of his mind, something was not right. As he took a stance, he felt weakness engulf and apprehension overwhelm him. Wondering what was going on, he searched through the mists of his drowsiness for answers. Then awareness rushed at him through the thickets of his perception and wrestled him to the ground of wakefulness. The claws of harsh reality slashed at him viciously, forcefully. He remembered…..
…the meal had been heavy. Roasted lamb soaked in honey with herbs, fresh bread and cheese. Drinks flowed like the oasis of Engedi and he compromised by quaffing as much as possible this one time. Aside from being the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, the damsel could cook up a storm. He felt manna must have tasted like the freshly baked bread he wolfed down. Afterwards, he was replete, weighed down in the belly and light hearted in the brain. That was when she started stroking his head and massaging his shoulders until he almost purred cat like. She cradled his head on her knees, her bosom forming overhead pillows that smothered him in pleasure. If such torrential affection was going to come after her incessant nagging, then he would not mind the prolonged periods of fussing. For someone whose love language was touch, she took him to heaven and not the one where the Hebrew God resides. He was transported to a paradise of pleasure maps were not adequate enough to locate….
“Samson, the Philistines are upon you,” Delilah shouted!
He rose, expecting to disperse them naturally, turn them into chaff before the winds of his strength. However, something was not as it should be, he ran his hand over his head and discovered a smooth skull. His braids were gone. As the braids were shorn off, The Lord had left him. He could not react as before. His mouth opened and closed in surprise, his eyes searched out the hardness of betrayal in her aquamarine eyes. He felt the cold breath of death on the nape of his neck and for the first time in his life, he knew the rancid taste of fear. With the 20/20 vision of hindsight, he came to the conclusion that he had slept with the enemy and gotten burnt. When you fraternize with that which you were not supposed to touch, you will finally indulge of the poison thereof.
As hot branding iron rods sizzled their way through his sockets, he realized that irrespective of how powerful or skilled a man might be, it is the presence of God that makes all the difference. He had slain thousands with the skull of an ass, carried city gates on his shoulders, ripped up a lion like it were freshly baked bread but all was through a power that was beyond him. Alas, he had taken the supernatural hand that rested on him for granted. Without the presence of God, a man becomes easy prey to the elements of life. Bereft of the presence, no covenant child stands a chance. It is the presence that confers the supernatural. It is what makes champions of ordinary men. The presence of God is what transforms mere men into heroes. Outside the ring of the presence, the enemy blinds, afflicts and binds. Without that enabling, grace inundated circle, a victor becomes a victim, a predator becomes a prey, and the strong become weak. When the presence lifts, dawn becomes dusk, the beginning becomes the end. Tears in exuberant commiseration ran down the empty sockets of his eyes….
…TAKE NOT YOUR HOLY SPIRIT FROM ME….
Images from Google
©2015 Ekpo Ezechinyere