Treasured

By JL Pretorius

Pilgrimage seems to be as old as the mountains and even from before ancient times people have been on journeys. Some journeys take one away from discomfort and others leads one towards a benefit, imagined or real. Some people journey for the sake of curiosity while others journey out

• Language: English
• Publisher: ShareOne® Publishings
• Release date: Jun 15, 2022
• ISBN: 9783907312056

JL Pretorius

J.L. Pretorius lives in the beautiful Boland region of the Western Cape of South Africa. He has made a home in the town of Worcester, in the fertile valley of the Breede River, where he lives with his wife and four children. Growing everyone's potential is very much at the core of the Pretorius house.His love for literature started at a young age and even in primary school, he was drawn to those classic tales that have mesmerised generations of readers through the ages. These included greats like Stevenson, Homer, Bunyan and Lewis, as well as Afrikaans giants like Langenhoven, Venter and Matthee. Later in his school career, he was enthusiastically supported by most of his language teachers and a seed was sown during this time to also, one day, publish a book that one can hold in one's hands, and in one's heart.After school, he chose a career in medicine and obtained a Bachelor's in Medicine and Surgery from Pretoria University in 1999. His studies and work taught him an analytical method that has greatly aided him in dissecting and organising complex problems so that others after him, might benefit from his discovery. In this scientific environment, he rediscovered his old love for storytelling as a vehicle to transmit knowledge to an audience that may not be in the mood for raw science. His little health narratives now roam the streets, lanes and back roads of the Boland where he still works as a primary healthcare physician.Being counted a child of God, J.L. Pretorius had to find a sturdy anchor for his faith in an environment that has elevated science to religion. He found this anchor in a very personal and honest relationship with the person of Jesus Christ, both the venerated one and the practical one. This paradox of the God-man offers the opportunity to have a view of the material world from both a natural and supernatural perspective, not having to favour one above the other. It is this mixture of nature and supernature that flavours his writing to keep one always engaged and surprised and, in the end, deeply satisfied.

Book preview

Copyright ©: Louis Pretorius

Publisher: ShareOne Publishings www.shareone.biz

(www.shareone.biz\publishings\treasured)

E-ISBN: 978-3-907312-05-6

First published: 2022

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

© The Bible –Scripture taken from New King James Version

Editing: Lauren Phillips

Typesetting: Ansie Liebenberg

Cover design: Mariaan Joubert

Dedication

To Henda – far more than rubies indeed.

To Mari, Handri, Christi and Heloise. What splendid gifts you are, and what an honor to journey alongside you.

Foreword by Bruno Loyiso

During the 2020 lockdown, which was quite a strict one here in South Africa, I embarked on several journeys, despite being housebound. One journey was that of writing my first own book. I had long planned for this book to be written, but never found the time for it. Now, lockdown afforded me a lot of time and I made use of it, successfully.

As I embarked on this journey of writing chapter after chapter, I invited along my good friend and neighbour, JL Pretorius. He became one of my key soundboards in the process of writing and the book was significantly shaped by our many fruitful discussions.

That’s when he invited me to join his story-writing journey. He was already a great deal further in the process of writing, and the nature of his book was substantially different from mine. I won’t lie, I was never much into reading novels and fantasy, but since I was invited on this journey by my good friend, I decided to set out with him. I am glad I did.

At first, I walked on clearly unfamiliar grounds. Since English is not my first language, I initially stumbled over some of the words and phrases. Reading through the first couple of chapters felt more like embarking on a rocky mountain hike than on a peaceful walk through the vineyards. But the further I got into that mountain, the more I got distracted by its beauty, instead of being bothered by the rocks. As a matter of fact, some of these rocks now even became steppingstones and before I knew it, I was becoming part of the story, or should I say the story became part of me?

I don’t know exactly when Treasured had become part of me, but I think I realized it when I found myself trying to keep in step with Uncle Josh at the colourful marketplace of the port village of Aniocc (Chapter Cloaked). However, it probably happened before that scene. Though I expected it to just be an entertaining story, letting myself be part of this pilgrimage, ultimately left a formative mark on me. The chiral, which I learned about in this book, is helping me to continuously examine myself, as to nurture ongoing growth in my life. This growth cannot be achieved by my own strengths, but by the Father [creating] in me a shining and glowing and blazing flake of His love. (Chapter Treasured).

You, dear pilgrim, are invited to join us on this journey. It is my hope that this pilgrimage will not just be an entertaining story for you but become part of your own journey and vice-versa. If not, may you at least enjoy it for what it is: A story which gives you a glimpse of a different realm. And, as the author shared this story with you, maybe you too want to share it with someone else?

Blessings to you,

Bruno Loyiso

Author of A More Desirable Way

Preface

Chirality

Chirality refers to the property of two three-dimensional forms or structures to exist as mirror images of each other, without being able to be superposed by any number of rotations in any plane. They are therefore similar but not identical. The word is derived from the Greek word cheir meaning hand, for the most common example of this phenomenon is the relation between one’s left and right hands.

It is an important property to consider in chemistry, biology and pharmacology for even though two molecules can have the same molecular configuration or form, their activity or functional properties may greatly vary between two different chiral forms. You have, after all, only one right hand.

The journey that you are about to embark on is an attempt to give a creative explanation for the different effects that are caused by thoughts, powers or entities that carries in me the name of ‘self’. It echoes the laments of Paul of Tarsus in his letter to the Romans:

‘For the good that I will to do, I do not do; but the evil I will not to do, that I practice. Now if I do what I will not to do, it is no longer I who do it, but sin that dwells in me.’ Rom 7:19-20

My prayer is that your journey will lead you to the same solution to this lament than Paul found.

Mirrored

I must start my story at the very edge of my memory. I have often found that the fog of time in that distant place seems to waft aside, even for a moment, as one’s words agitate the stillness there. A wise old man once told me that there is as much to learn in telling a story as in listening to one. I have taken that man on his word and found it true. Now, as an old man myself, I am still in search of every little gem of clarity in the story of my life. Clarity, I have experienced, is a peculiar gem that has a way of surprising you when you have abandoned your frantic quest for her.

You might wonder what my interest is in a stranger like you. It is quite simple: walking alongside a traveller on his journey is a noble gift. Thinking back on my life journey, I remember many noble travellers sharing a climb up a hill or a treacherous descent into a valley with me. Looking back now, I can only see how the seed that they imparted in my journey has grown to a harvest of abundance.

You might not be in the mood for a companion, nor advice; I respect that. I have had too many experiences of my own where I have declined the seeming burden of a compatriot on my pilgrimage. In truth, I have nearly as many regrets that, in my haste, I did not make use of those opportunities at treasure. With a little more patience, who knows how rich I might have been? I believe many precious jewels lay hidden and undiscovered under the stale smog of ignorance.

If you are in a hurry, I bid you farewell, my friend. May you have a blessed journey and may your destination satisfy you. But if you wish, you may journey with me for as long as you like. We will visit that distant place at my life’s dawn, and I invite you to listen to my story as we walk together. I ask for your grace in advance, as my travels are much slower these days. But I assure you that, because of your patience, many more treasures will be revealed. It is, after all, the promise of hidden and neglected pearls that begged me to come back here.

There is also the matter, dear pilgrim, that the mere collection of treasure is a tiresome chore if there is no way to authenticate what we have unearthed along the way. So be sure that I intend to have all our treasure validated inside the Great City; where the trumpets will command the gates to be opened at our arrival and the bells in the towers will toll in joyful celebration for all who persevered to reach it.

At the beginning of this story, you will see me as a boy. I am sure that you have had the same experience as me where some incidents and events are clearer in your memory than others. Today, I want to take you to the time that I will call my awareness. It is a time in the life of most people when you make many observations, and notice many things, but you seldom stop to ask why or how? You see and you remember; that is all. It is only after many winters and many summers that one gains the ability to recognise and polish these neglected gems to the sparkling treasure that they truly are.

In many ways, for me, these early years were good and the memories always seem to be preserved in a layer of love. It is love, after all, that is eternal and fear that expires. In this protected time in my life, there are one or two memories that stand out for their uncomfortable significance, though. I remember, for instance, the first day that I realised that the stranger in my view was, in fact, my own reflection.

***

I can remember the bright day when I saw the boy for the first time. That morning I left the safety of home behind but did not yet have the courage to stray too far. My attention was lured, first this way then that, so that I did not even notice how I slowly drifted to the very edge of my familiar world. It was only when my attention was drawn to the brightness of the meadow that I realised how far I have strayed. In front of me, there was a clearing in the trees of the forest, like a bald patch, where their tall dominance gave way to a smooth carpet of lush green grass. A butterfly flitted past, its white wings ignited with light as it left the shadows and danced into the brightness of noon; it invited me to come and play.

While I stood contemplating the tranquil scene, my attention was drawn to another movement I barely noticed at first. It was only but a gentle glide that I saw in the corner of my vision. I stood motionless for a moment, scanning the surroundings. Nothing but the brilliant butterfly moved. After a few seconds, I concluded the hidden thing must have moved on or it was never even real. I returned my attention to the openness of the meadow and, just before I decided to join the carefree butterfly, I saw it again. About thirty paces away, partially hidden between some smaller trees, I saw the figure of a small person bending down.

This happened so many years ago, but even now I can remember how my heart grew that day. My first thought was to sprint home and surround myself with the safety of the familiar. But what happened was quite different; I simply stood there with a pounding heart and watched.

For the first time that I can recall, I noticed another feeling in my heart that fought my tendency to run away. This other thought wanted to know what or who this strange figure was, and I could sense it growing stronger than my fear. As I was watching, the other figure also just stood there. It neither came closer, nor moved away, and so, we measured each other for a moment with the stillness ringing in my ears.

I did not really know what to do about this curiosity that was growing in my chest. With every ounce of courage in me, I willed myself to break the stalemate of my fear. The sun was close to its highest point in the sky, and I remember the brightness of that day. In this brightness, it seemed I could see everything around me. There were no shadows in the meadow and because of this, I had the courage to approach the strange new figure.

As I gave the first step toward this stranger, he also stepped out onto the edge of the meadow towards me. Even though the newness of the experience heightened my senses, I could not detect any danger in this strange figure’s behaviour. Now, in the open, on the very edge of the meadow, I had my first opportunity to take a long look at the strange figure. It was a small boy, unlike anyone else I knew.

I must interrupt my story to explain something: Until this time, I have mostly dealt with familiar grown-ups. For reasons still unbeknownst to me, I was an only child. My mother was a kind and gentle soul. She was like a fortress of safety. But there was something else about her that made me feel complete in her presence. Now, after growing up, I know that what I experienced was unconditional love, but then I only knew it as a sense of happy contentment. Mother had a way of putting her arms around me that made me feel as if one could spend eternity in such an embrace.

My father played a smaller role in my life at that stage. I remember the same feeling of belonging as with my mother, but to a lesser extent. With him, there was also something else, a second and more hidden feeling. To this day I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but I now think it had to do with why he loved me. With my mother, it never even crossed my mind that her affection toward me was a choice, or that it was possible for her not to love me. With my father, I was not so sure. It was only much later in my life, when I already had children of my own, that I gained some insight into those innocent observations towards my father. Now that I am old, I have, by bitter experience, learned the value of free choice in the act of love. But then I was just a boy, and I did not have any answers for the uncomfortable sense that my father’s love was deeply different from Mother’s.

Now and then some other strangers, always grown-ups, would enter my world. They would stay for a while and then leave again. Some of them noticed me and some didn’t. A few were like my mother and others like my father. Then there were some that were not like my parents at all. When I visit that time of my life - you must understand that these memories are at the very edge of my mind - I now remember that this incident was the first time, to my recollection, that I had ever been in the company of a stranger without either my mother or father present. As I was standing on the edge of the meadow, I was completely alone.

The stranger was different from anyone that I have met before. For a start, he was small. Until then, I have never met anyone that I didn’t have to look up to. With this person, it was different. Standing at my tallest, I was certain that I could look him straight in the eyes. I also noticed that this stranger did not approach me nor run away. He was as focused on me as I was on him. I had the sense that he was hesitant, but also curious. Most other people I knew seemed to know me already, but not this stranger. When I now think back to that time, I remember that this fact mesmerised me. I just couldn’t ignore this strange, small person; I had to examine him more.

The sun was bright, and the clearing in the woods seemed to beckon me to come and play. I remember the sharp green colours of the little meadow and the darker, more shadowy green of the trees around. White clouds drifted unconsciously in the noonday sky. There were all the familiar sounds that one finds in the woods that tell you that everything was at peace and that there was no danger around. I glanced over my shoulder towards home, but this time not to turn and run, just to know where it was. I turned back, faced the stranger and stepped out into the sun and onto the meadow.

At that same instant, the stranger took a step in my direction. I stopped for a moment, but I found that my mind was made up, and I pushed on again, ever closer to the stranger. My steps were careful but purposeful. Around me, nothing moved. I fixed my senses only on the approaching figure. About three paces away from him, I stopped again. We were so close to each other that I could see every detail of him.

I suppose I could try to describe him to you, but what good would that do? He doesn’t look like that anymore. What I must tell you, however, was the look in those bright eyes. Maybe it was just the light playing off the greens and blues, but those eyes felt as though they looked right into my soul. They not only looked at me, but they also searched me.

When thinking back to that first awareness, I can recall the curiosity that overcame my fear that day. What I also remember, as I am sharing this with you, is another feeling that took me by surprise. The fact that I wanted to know and experience new things has uncovered me to be searched by those same new and unfamiliar things. Knowledge can be like a handsome but honest guest.

So, in the open meadow we stood, face to face, the stranger and I, not saying a word. My eyes were taking in everything they could about this boy, but they were always being drawn back to his eyes. Those eyes kept on asking questions about me, examining me, knowing me. The more I saw of him, the more he saw of me. I can remember how I wanted to know everything about him, but I was suddenly unsure of what I would have to reveal to get this new knowledge and whether it was worth it.

At this stage, I should have found it odd that the movements of this strange boy were so similar to my own, but my sense of reasoning was only that of a boy. I was also, it seemed, under the spell of those eyes that kept searching me. Whenever I gained any detail of this boy, it seemed I had to give something of myself away. I remember feeling very excited about everything I discovered about him, but simultaneously, I felt a little uneasy about what I was giving away. I could see so clearly in the bright light, but it was as if the sun above was lighting up every detail of my life to this stranger too. Eventually, the tension within me became too uncomfortable, and I took a quick glance down at my legs and feet just to be certain of what I was giving away to those searching eyes.

At first, I was a little puzzled as I looked down. The legs and feet I were looking at were so similar to those of the strange boy’s that I was unsure whether I was looking at my own or his. I lifted my gaze to his legs, only to look at the same knobby knees and dirty feet that I just saw on my body. I took a step back in surprise. You might have guessed that the stranger would step back too, and he did. I lifted my right hand to rub the hair above my right ear. The stranger lifted his left hand to his left ear. Then I stuck my finger in my ear and to my amusement, the boy did the same. This made me smile; I was greeted with a smile. All the while, those bright blue eyes searched my every move for the boy in the meadow to copy.

If you have ever watched a child being amused by his own reflection in the mirror, you would have had a clear picture of what that strange boy and I looked like under the white and blue sky. I tried to outdo him in ridiculous postures but the boy was up to everyone, I could not beat him. After some time, I got tired of being funny and sat down on the grass; the boy also sat down in front of me. I wanted to know everything about this boy, but the moment I looked up at his eyes, I was met with that piercing gaze again.

Under the brilliance of the summer sun, it slowly dawned on me that the only way for me to know this stranger completely was to give everything of myself. I had to think about this but felt a little uncomfortable facing him as I was busy with my thoughts, so I turned my back to him. Again, the boy followed my action, but as he turned away, I suddenly felt an emotion that I did not expect at all.

You might recall how I sometimes feared that my father might not choose to love me one day. As I turned away, I had a similar discomfort. What if the strange boy had the same question I had? What if he was turning away from me to decide if I was worth giving everything he has? I slowly turned my head back, to peek at him and see what he was doing. Not much to my surprise, I caught him peeking at me too. I was so frustrated.

I found myself agitated by a feeling that I did not know how to deal with. Suddenly my thoughts turned to the safety of home and the wisdom of my parents. The desire to know more about this boy grew stronger, but then I was at a loss at how to carry on. I stood up and took one last glance at the strange boy. I saw his back as he was leaving the way he had come. As he glanced over his shoulder, I caught one last glimpse of those curious blue eyes searching me.

My mother had an amazing way of gauging my mood. She immediately put her sewing down as I entered home through the backdoor.

What happened to you, boy? she enquired.

I’m not sure, Mother. I saw something, or someone in the meadow today.

That far? I knew she was usually very concerned for my safety, but this time there was also a hint of pride in her question.

It was a strange boy, Mother; I have never seen him before. I have never seen anyone with such eyes before. He was looking at me, Mother, as if he could draw my thoughts out with his look. Do you know this boy, Mother? I didn’t stop to let her answer but carried on opening my mind to her.

I wanted to know everything about him, but his eyes were so strong that it made me scared and curious at the same time. I couldn’t look at him for too long, Mother, it was his eyes… I could feel my heartbeat in my neck as I recalled the strange boy to my mother. When I eventually took a breath, I noticed my mother’s smile for the first time.

A strange boy in the meadow? What did he look like? She had a look on her sweet face that you sometimes see on the face of people that already know the answer to their own question.

When I saw her expression, I knew the situation had just changed from an interrogation to a moment of teaching. My mother knew something I had yet to learn and with her gentle demeanour she was about to stretch my young mind. It made me quite excited; for as long as I can remember, I enjoyed these moments of enlightening.

Why, he looked just like me, Mother! He moved the way I moved and did the things I did. There was nothing I did, that he didn’t copy. It was very funny and at the same time very irritating, I answered.

And did this strange boy say anything? It was clearly meaningful to my mother that the boy did not speak a single word. It was only then, for the first time, that the silence of the stranger entered my reason.

Why did he not speak, Mother? Do you know this boy? At this stage of my life my trust in my mother’s words was still complete and I expected to be answered in truth. As a seasoned traveller now, I am thankful for these memories. There was a time in my life that the same trust in the advice of my parents was worn out by something I can only describe as the abrasiveness of pride. But right then I was as attentive to her words as ever.

Oh, I know him very well, my boy, she said as she was looking out the window and lowering her voice as if her explanation was a secret. I was a bit surprised when you talked about a strange boy in the meadow, but when you spoke about his eyes, I knew exactly who he was. He is, in fact, not as strange as you might think; he is just a regular boy. The boy that you saw in the meadow today was actually your very own reflection in the chiral… Her keen eyes stayed on me as she explained.

What is the chiral, Mother, and what is a reflection? Being but a boy, I was often confronted with unfamiliar words. I enjoyed learning new words and even to this day, I get excited by new meanings.

The chiral, my child, is not so much a thing as it is an ability. It is something that all people in the world can do, but it is not really something you can touch. The chiral gives you the ability to look at yourself from outside of yourself. Maybe how other people would see you when they look at you. She paused for a moment to allow my reason to absorb her teaching.

A reflection, she then continued, is the picture that you see in something shiny or smooth, like the surface of the water in the pond on a windless day. The chiral is like the surface of the pond. In this smooth reflection, you can only see yourself, but you can never hear yourself. It also allows you to see the reflection of other people differently than you would by merely looking at them.

But you always look the same to me, Mother, I protested.

Yes, that is true, but if I am looking at you, I can see only a part of who you really are. There is more to who you are than just your charming good looks, you know. You’ve got an amazing mind and a smile that can open heaven too. Sometimes the chiral can reflect those deeper qualities of people. I would then see more of you than by just looking at you directly. Again, she paused for me to catch up.

You can also think of the chiral like a shadow, she continued her lesson. If I can only see your shadow, I see something that might resemble your shape, but your shadow only gives me clues. Looking at you gives me a better picture. By just looking at your shadow, I might think that you are much taller, or much shorter than you really are. I will only know your height once I get to see you. She waited patiently, once more, as I tried to take all this newness in.

So, this chiral can make you see more of yourself or less of yourself than what is really there? I don’t understand, Mother. My voice reached out to her, as I truly wanted to understand.

I know it is strange to someone as young as you; whatever I tell you today will never be the last thing that you will learn about the chiral, my son, she encouraged me. You have grown so much, but you must still grow so much more. I must admit that I am quite surprised that you even recognised your chiral in the meadow today. Most people only become aware of their own chiral at a much later age, here Mother paused once more as her gaze moved out the window and into the forest. There are even some people that never reach a proper awareness of themselves, she concluded.

My mother’s attempt at explaining the complexities of the chiral did little to aid my understanding, but I accepted that I would understand better later, and I was satisfied with that.

Why did the boy never speak to me, Mother? I asked.

He didn’t speak to you because you didn’t speak to him, but even if you did, he would only mouth your own words. You would hear nothing. Have you ever heard a shadow speak? The chiral is only for seeing yourself. You cannot have a conversation with your chiral image, or with anyone else’s chiral. You have to remember this, my child. No matter what others may say, your chiral can not answer your questions. Again, she paused patiently.

Why did I only see it for the first time today, Mother? Was it there before? Does it mean that the boy is not real? He felt so real to me. Is he always there, or only when I see him, Mother? Does that boy in the meadow follow me, or do I follow him? What about you, Mother, do you have a chiral-mother? I have never seen anyone else but you… The questions just poured uncontrollably from a restless place deep inside my mind. Eventually, my mother put her soft hand on my mouth and smiled.

So many questions for such a young boy! Mother exclaimed. I’ll try to answer a few of them without causing too many new ones. Last question first: Yes, I also have a chiral image. As you learn about the chiral, your ability to see it will grow sharper. Eventually, you will even be able to see my chiral image the way I see her.

Your chiral is a part of you, as much as my chiral is part of me, she continued. The chiral merely shows what your choices do to you, or even to others. The chiral does not decide for you. My child, pay attention: your choices are as free as always. Your image in the chiral is always available, but you are not always looking for it. It will be there when you want it, but sometimes it will find you even if you are not looking for it. When that happens, it is usually a good idea to pay attention, because, as I said, it shows you what you look like from the outside. Her voice was kind but firm as she taught me.

Your chiral started the day you started - it is part of what makes us human, she addressed another of my questions, but at first you don’t see it. You have to grow enough to see it. As you continue to grow your chiral will be easier to find, it will be a little clearer too. Your chiral is as real as you are, my son, but you cannot touch it like you can touch me or I can touch you. I know it sounds a bit confusing, but I have great trust that with time and a bit of experience, you will figure it out. I drank in those words of her instruction, and even to this day, I often hear them somewhere in my head when the occasion calls for that wisdom.

But why did he look at me with those strong eyes, that boy in the meadow? At this question, my mother’s face lit up with a warm smile. "It seems, my dear one,