Day 197: The rock

Perhaps the oddest item I returned with was a rock. It was certainly the heaviest. As far as value goes, the most valuable lesson of all lay in this gift. This was no ordinary rock. I found it while I was walking next to the Marico River at River Still, a sacred site where the water speaks of times gone by, of secrets that come from a place we’ve forgotten to call home.

I am in Groot Marico. So far I have stayed with families in town and in the township. Now I’m off to stay on the farm River Still. Jacques du Plessis invited me after meeting me in town earlier.

When I get there, Jacques is doing yoga so I join in. Then he shows me to a cottage next to the river and invites me to make myself at home. Later, when he takes the dogs for a walk, I tag along. The path takes us past an orchard and through a maze, before we reach the river again.

Lao Tzu writes that although water is fluid, soft, and yielding, it will wear away the rock that is rigid and cannot yield. On the walking trail next to the river, in the vicinity of the Kaditshwene Ruins, I feel that my spirit has spent time here before. I am transported to a parallel universe, where there are only birds. So lost in thought am I that I do not immediately notice Jacques stooping to pick something up. I look at the rock he holds out to me, but its significance eludes me. It is brown and of medium size.

Jacques is not exasperated by my lack of interest; he has enough for us both. ‘Look closely,’ he insists. ‘What do you see?’

And he shows me the cuts and marks made by a human hand. It is a stone tool. A prehistoric artifact. With great patience Jacques explains it to me. This particular rock comes to us after nature and man have shaped it. His passion for this part of the world and its history shines in his eyes. I ask him whether he has found many artifacts over the years. A few, I learn . . . here and there.

He holds the rock in his hands reverently. Then he suggests that I should hold it and I receive it with equal respect. ‘Take it with you,’ he says.

‘You can’t give this to me,’ I protest.

His amused wise eyes mock me, ‘I’m not. It’s not mine to give.’

His words resonate deep in me. There, where only the truth resides. The moment is frozen forever.

Thank you, Jacques, for not giving me this rock.

From then on the rock went wherever I went. And when I wanted to claim ownership of anything, my bag seemed to weigh more as the rock protested, ‘Have you forgotten that nothing belongs to us? We are simply vessels to and from which things flow. Everything is on loan to us.’