The city of New Orleans' which sits in a gumbo-pot of swampy-mush- is one hurricane away from being part of the gulf. Any attempts to control or outsmart mother nature is a joke by organizers- a brief flicker of a candle flame. Life requires some risk-taking, planning every step before you take it--- is a recipe for disaster. The trappings of worldly events' misleads communities, creating this mistrust among neighbors- making things even more complex and dangerous.
Looking out his bedroom window, presently, Harry could see a fenced-out bouquet of massive palm-trees and some other shrubbery- which looked like an atomic mushroom cloud, out of focus. Harry was a loner in nature, had no need for family or friends- but very spiritual. Trying to live out a better life' than just school and service-work, he set out to explore southeast-Louisiana-- leaving all the worldly possessions and people behind.
That morning Harry traveled to the Northshore, and set up camp on a plot of land sprawling with pine-trees. The Ticfaw-river cut threw this area of dense foliage, and was nicknamed "Oh Shit", because that's what tubers yelled' when they were swept into the undertow of the bend.
It was paradise on earth, peaceful and relaxing- almost too good to be true; but Harry got tired of this comfort, there were no challenges out there, except for the occasional mosquito bite. Until one day the storm of century hit, her name was Katrina.
All you heard over the airwaves was "evacuate now", but in Harry's case there was no where to go. Harry felt confident that his humble encampment' would withstand anything the bitch threw at him...
The winds slowly started to pick up' mixed in with swirling rain- until all hell broke lose. The eye of the inner-funnel brought devastation all around him. The roar of the typhoon was earth-shattering, and for a brief moment it felt like Harry was in the midst of a wormhole- a rupture in the space-time continuum. The dome-shaped tent he was huddled in, began to shred from all the flying debris, and then water started pouring in' like a faucet. Harry cocooned himself inside a polyester sleeping-bag and began praying to the heavens, "have mercy on my soul". Almost like a switch, everything was quiet again, the outer-bands of the storm had passed. He came out to the aftermath of a war zone. Massive trees were uprooted, trailers were toppled, the only thing left standing- was his tent.
Once the flood waters had drained out of the city, Harry returned to his home in Lakeview. He discovered the first two stories of the structure in ruin, but the loft was untouched- just how he had left it a half a year ago, except no electricity. Harry decided to ditch his car, and set out on foot throughout the stricken neighborhoods. It was a virtual ghost-town... an eerie feeling came creeping up on him... but he kept moving, regardless. Moldy furniture and rusty appliances lined the streets, gutted-out homes stood on their shells, and the stench of rotten food filled the air. Each house had the markings of a 'X' on the front, below it was the number of bodies found inside. Harry tried tallying-up the dead in his head, as he roamed the streets, but lost count after a hundred. There was nothing open but red-cross relief centers, and the occasional gas station.
Communities once bustling with life and activity, were gone in a matter of a few hours. Harry had seen images of devastation in books and on television, but had never experience it first hand. He decided he wanted to stay in his homeland and help pick up the pieces, but soon realized that this storm may have ended- but there was another one brewing inside.
Harry grew angry at all of the families who had abandoned their posts' when things got rough, but decided to return' after the rebuilding efforts were underway; living off the labors and struggles of others- so they could have a good-time. He tried not to concern himself with other peoples affairs, but their barrage of insults' was eating away at him.
So harry decided to head to the shores of Lake Pontchartrain, and live like some mystical sea-creature. This body of water' was formed many centuries ago, from the spillage of the Gulf of Mexico. It looks calm and innocent from the surface, but underneath is a whole different playing field. The constant rip-currents would shuffle you around like a piece of drift-wood, creating disorientation and shortness of breath among divers.
Nevertheless, Harry kept trucking along- exploring every interconnecting waterway and canal the city had to offer. This outdoor living style was a never-ending thrill ride of excitement-- always pushing the limits of the human-body. But the temptations Harry would indulged in, were piling up--- and soon enough God struck him down.
Incarceration would be Harry's next obstacle, very hard for him to swallow at first; being thrown into a prison-cell with strangers he didn't want to be around. It was a humbling experience for him, a superhero locked-up in a cage- who would of thought. The rehabilitation process was just as hard' when he was released: attending therapy-groups, looking for a job, etc.
Until Jesus called him one glorious day. The savior told him, "What you are looking for is not on the outside but within." It was difficult for Harry to comprehend what the Lord meant by this, but overtime it made sense. Our daily lives are filled with clutter, tasks, and appointments. These useless activities are taking ourselves out of the moment^ where God is trying to relay his eternal plan for us. Not the superficial ones society imposes on us, but the everlasting ones that prepare you for the afterlife.
Harry is at peace with himself now < and doing just fine. +