In My World

By Daniel Pietrzak

‘Growing up in a distressed family, having an unsettled schooling, Deon found himself not understood by the people around and often succumbed to his imaginary world of adventure. As a child Deon loved spending time in Nature and one day aspired to find a treasure, however he didn’t know what that treasure would be.

He finds a job at a departmental store and moves out of his troubled home but nothing much changes in his life. He feels drained and lost in the daily fight for survival in the everyday life of earning and spending.

One day being in his 20s his frustration leads him to make a life changing decision; to begin a quest for a deeper meaning of his life. Deon decides to take a trip to Glastonbury and his life is never going to be the same.

In his daring quest Deon accidentally enters a magical portal where he is faced with trials and spell binding encounters that leads him to find the treasure that he was always looking for.

‘In My World’ is a stirring fiction book that takes the readers on a breathtaking journey of discovering a secret world of infinite possibilities and the fascinating reality of life that is available to each one of them, despite the everyday challenges.

Travel with Deon as he uncovers the unbelievable secrets of our daily lives that we take for granted. Delve into these exciting pages and you will be charmed and swept away by the majesty of innocence, imagination, curiosity and possibilities.’

• Language: English
• Publisher: Daniel Pietrzak
• Release date: Nov 11, 2018
• ISBN: 9781789268201

Daniel Pietrzak

Daniel Pietrzak is a researcher, artist, writer, and author of the new novel “In my world” which is the first book of a series. With a decade of researching various metaphysical topics and writing articles for blogging websites, Daniel has developed a uniquely blended vision of the world as we know it with one that exists within imaginary realms. His latest work is a fiction book in which for the first time his voice shines through creating an emotional journey, filled with unpredictable and profound events. In the last three years, Daniel has attended multiple writers’ workshops from bestselling authors such as Neale Donald Walsch, William Whitecloud, and Mindy Gibbins. He is also a member of ALC Author Learning Center where he had taken writing classes from Hay House bestselling authors. To take Daniel’s writing abilities to another level he had finished twenty-three online courses on book writing to make sure that his debut book will be spot on.

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Daniel Pietrzak

In My World

A Daring Quest for a Life Changing Treasure

Copyright © Daniel Pietrzak, 2018

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

Daniel Pietrzak asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

Daniel Pietrzak has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party Internet Websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such Websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book and on its cover are trade names, service marks, trademarks and registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publishers and the book are not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book. None of the companies referenced within the book have endorsed the book.

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Contents

Acknowledgement

Talking to People Who Can’t Hear

The Reality Strikes

The Signs

The Trip

The Town of Darkness

The Portal

Her Name is Gaia

Fourth Dimension

The Human Being

The Alchemy of 'The Being'

About the Author

Acknowledgement

I really just want to thank my wife Jonita… she was the one who had to put up with me. Writing this book was a lonely, full of obstacles and a challenging process. She showed a lot of understanding and patience at times when the book was taking over my life. She had a very loving and encouraging approach to me during my moments of weakness. I love her dearly and I am genuinely amazed I get to spend my life with her. I also want to let everyone know that you can read this book because of her.

One

Talking to People Who Can’t Hear

Chapter Separator

When I was little, my mother asked me who I wanted to be in the future. Perhaps she was just curious to hear her child imagining himself as a superhero saving the world from dark forces, or becoming a brave fireman. I found it hard to answer her question. I didn’t really have any interest in the usual professions. One of my friends wanted to become a policeman, as he thought that chasing thieves or other bandits would bring him respect from society. Another friend of mine wanted to be a doctor and save people’s lives. She’d always been ready to help other children who scraped up their knees and elbows during outdoor play.

I didn’t fall into any of those categories. To my mother’s surprise, I didn’t want to be a superhero, a fireman, or a policeman. I even struggled to give her any hint relating to any profession of my interest. After she asked me the same question multiple times during that conversation, I finally responded. I will find a treasure.

A treasure? So you will be a treasure hunter! She thought my unusual choice over.

What does a treasure hunter do? I wanted to confirm whether treasure hunter was the right word for my vision.

Well, if there is a treasure, it is obviously hidden somewhere deep; it could be buried in the ground or it could be at the bottom of the ocean. Treasure hunters travel the world to find it, she explained briefly.

Erm, I think I want to find a different kind of treasure, I responded with confusion in my voice. At that time I was around five years old, so I’d found it challenging to be able to express the vision of my future. I’d come into this world with the word treasure deeply coded in me, but as a child I couldn’t have known its meaning.

Okay then, you’ll have plenty of time to figure that out. She knew the chances of me becoming one day a treasure hunter were minute. She’d pulled a photograph of mine out of a drawer, taken not long before this conversation, then walked towards her desk. She wrote something on the front of the picture.

Once she’d finished, she handed it to me, smiling, and said Here, keep it. This will remind you of your childhood fantasy when you’re a grownup.

She stroked my black hair gently with the tips of her fingers as if she wanted to tickle me. We both had thick black hair, but hers was much longer and curlier; mine was straight and styled similarly to the famous British band The Beatles. She was a big fan of theirs. I grabbed the picture from her hand with curiosity. It said: "One day, I will find a treasure." I liked her approach to my idea; her gesture had made me believe that the day would certainly come, like a gigantic surprise. I slid the photograph joyously among my drawings, which were kept in a brown plastic folder in a toy box, and hugged her.

Years later, at the age of twelve, I was an inquisitive boy who would rather explore the streets of my city than go to school and be like other healthy kids. I grew up to be a bit rebellious within the educational system, and I had always considered the amount of time I was forced to spend in the school excessive. Perhaps that’s why teachers thought I was out of the ordinary.

I often felt like I needed much more time to play and explore my local neighbourhood than I actually had. When my rich uncle gifted me a new bicycle, it felt like the world had opened up. It was like massive iron gates that had kept my curious soul within boundaries of my local streets suddenly fell and crashed into pieces.

Countless mazes of roads in my city emerged on the horizon. I felt as if I had just hit the jackpot. That turquoise bike literally altered my perspective of the city once I thought I knew. All of a sudden I could explore more of it, and in a much shorter period of time. I don’t remember my thoughts as a baby, but as far as I’m concerned I have always had this eagerness to explore the unknown.

I loved to ride my new two-wheeled friend as far as I could without thinking about anything. I took joy in observing the surroundings and gulping the wind in my face. Every day I would discover something new. I would gaze around at hundreds of old brick tenements and verdant parks.

I came across all sorts of different shops, which sold everything from sweets to cool looking shoes and even colourful umbrellas. The experience of seeing the breadth of the world for the first time used to give me chills all over my body.

At that time, I didn’t know the city very well. Often, when I wanted to take a longer ride, I would merely cycle along the river, which ran across the entire town and divided it in half. This way, I felt safe enough to go quite far, but could still find my way back home by following the same route. Those moments taught me some common sense and logical thinking, which I’d use during my future trips.

At that time I had a friend called Lucas, who also had a bicycle. We would both take trips across London and keep company with each other. He was a jolly ginger boy who had a similar passion for exploring the unknown, and that’s what made us a great duo.

There were also times when I was banned from cycling due to my low attendance at school. This was the form of punishment my parents chose. They knew exactly what I loved the most; therefore, they’d take my bicycle away and hide it in the basement so I could learn about the consequences of disobeying the top down rules.

During those days, Lucas and I would just go for a long stroll and enjoy the town by foot. We’d spend hours wandering around the streets to explore museums, office buildings made of steel and glass or even luxurious hotels. We would enter some of them just to see what hidden treasures were inside, waiting to be discovered. Of course, there were no treasures, but for me, everything that I hadn’t seen before was quite intriguing and worthwhile. My sense of curiosity had led me everywhere, allowing me to explore things before other kids of my age could even imagine their existence.

Lucas couldn’t join me on many occasions as he would often be spending time with his parents; they enjoyed socializing with their further family and friends. They didn’t want him to stay home alone, and therefore he’d sometimes be forcefully dragged along with them.

Once, I’d walked into a museum of natural history without spending a dime, and luckily enough I went unnoticed during the entirety of my visit. Inside, I saw a life-size skeleton of a dinosaur that lived 65 million years ago. I spent time staring at all sorts of strange looking minerals, rocks, and crystals. It was a mind-blowing experience, so to speak. I remember something very unusual happened to me when I held a crystal, shiny on one side and rocky on the other, in my palm. As soon as I touched it, I heard an unusual, sweet-sounding melody emanating from the rock. It was similar to a humming choir coming from the air and bouncing off the violet crystal sitting on my palm. I felt intrigued, but I didn’t give the whole thing much thought, as I figured it was just a coincidence, and that the melody, of course, must have come from somewhere else.

Another time, I found myself in a war museum where I enjoyed wandering around some old World War II-era aeroplanes and tanks. Of course, I would sneak into some of the massive machines just to see what they looked like from inside. I have to admit that I was a perky boy and it felt like nothing could hold me back and stop me from following my curiosity.

Believe it or not, the little boy I used to be had not only lots of fun but also felt that he was gaining some valuable education. I needed to visualise or touch an object to analyse it rather than just hearing a story about it. I used to have this somewhat unique point of observation appear in my mind through sensing objects as if they had a silent memory wanting to reveal their life’s story. Once touched they would share a fantastic version of what they had ‘seen’ during their lifetime. The same thing happened with monuments of people or even the paintings I saw in various galleries. The phenomenon of sensing those objects would appear in my mind’s eye as a blended mixture of visions, showing glimpses of places or occurrences. I often felt, in my stomach or solar plexus, whether the object had a fascinating story to share or a dark and painful one.

Once, during a visit to one of London’s most famous art galleries, I noticed a large picture depicting a whirl of colourful strokes spiralling inwards. It was an abstract piece painted by a famous artist who lived in the nineteenth century. It was titled ‘Wheel of Joy", but I couldn’t feel any joy in that artwork. To me, it felt like a chaotic, negative source of energy pulling all beauty of the universe into its cold abyss. Perhaps these were some of the first confusions I had encountered in this world. A lot of things were named as good, but they didn’t feel good to me at all.

At school, I learned about specific topics related to the exhibitions I had seen at museums, but for me, reading about or looking at pictures in the books provided came nowhere near to climbing on or touching the real thing.

Unfortunately, this type of knowledge I craved was not the one required in my school, so nobody was interested in listening to my stories. I wanted to talk about how I felt while being inside an old aeroplane at the museum, how I could sense that the plane had seen many different European countries from the sky. I wanted to share with my classmates how much one can find out from an aged machine just by being inside it and listening to the story the device had to say, but my every attempt fueled to my classmates’ laughter and mockery. They wanted to talk about beating records in online games they’d played instead. Many of my classmates couldn’t see life without their mobile phone tightly gripped in their hands. Hearing from me about a historic machine that had changed the history of nations was boring.

I felt misunderstood by everyone. I struggled to believe that nobody was as fascinated by the things that surrounded them as I was. Not only were they uninspired, but they also gave me a bit of a hard time.

Since I had become a rare guest in my own classrooms, I began to struggle to cope with the subjects. I started to feel more and more like an outsider and began to avoid not only my classmates but also my parents. It was tough to answer my mother’s questions related to school with lies day after day, month after month.

How did it go today at school? she’d ask, after she’d returned home from work.

Erm…it was fine. I cut my answer short, feeling my cheeks blazing.

So did you learn anything useful today?

Erm… we were just repeating some of the material from previous days. I would do my best to respond to those questions in a way that would leave little room for her to ask more. The painful heat pressing on my chest, steaming through my throat making it dry and itchy, always overtook me when I lied. I couldn’t risk telling my parents the truth.

I was trapped entirely in my own dreamlike identity, filled with mysterious occurrences such as having transmitted, somehow, visions from objects I touched and the sense of being surrounded by friendly entities. My lies were a result of me trying to protect my innocent world from the world of adults, who seemed to me at that time to lack imagination.

I stubbornly fought with all of them the only way I knew that time. Just by doing what I felt was right and trying to avoid the consequences of my actions. This kind of attitude got me in all sorts of trouble and unpleasantness multiple times. At some point, the teachers grew tired of calling my parents to the school to update them on my recent absences, and my parents were tired of listening to all the disappointing complaints. The situation seemed to be hopeless.

Of course, they were all worried about my future if I continued flying high in the clouds, as they used to say to me, rather than acting like other children of my age. Finish the school, get a job, earn money and live a normal life! I would hear this every day from my father. Stop embarrassing me in front of all the teachers! Mother used to groan at me.

My relationship with my father was much worse. He didn’t like to talk much. Instead, he’d get a stick that he kept high up on a wardrobe and beat me up without even looking at what he was doing. Those moments were among the most frightening in my life, not only because of the pain from the freshly made wounds but also because of the pain I felt knowing that the person who had brought me into this world was abusing me.

Why are you treating me like this? I once screamed out of frustration and anger.

Now, you’re asking why? What have you been told? Father roared back.

I’d kept quiet because I knew exactly that I was told a million times to attend all my classes and bring home good marks.

How many times do I have to repeat the same thing over and over again? Are you stupid or something? He screamed louder and louder at me. We’ve got enough of problems on our own here; you don’t have to bring us more of them just because you’re lazy!

My father was right, but at that time I didn’t understand their problems. I could only notice my own struggle with disliking school.

Every day at school there was a specific time during which I struggled the most. This was the lunch break precisely at midday when most of the kids would run laughing and screaming downstairs to the canteen where the food was served. Everyone had to show a receipt that the meal had been paid for the month before entering the canteen. I didn’t have that receipt.

My parents had explained to me then that their financial situation wasn’t good enough. My father had lost his job couple of years earlier and put a lot of his savings into alcohol, hoping that it would