An early morning swim is part of a self care routine that I try religiously to adhere to. Feeling rather accomplished after the swim, I decided to head for the sauna which was usually vacant at that time of the day. Imagine my surprise when I saw not one, but two burly Irishmen sweltering in the heat of the little room. With one quick glance, I noticed that the one sitting on the left bench had a very hairy chest and the other on the right bench was heavily tattooed .
That was an awkward moment as I debated whether to enter bravely or to retreat.
I opted for the former and found a corner to perch comfortably. I decided to do the sane thing at that time - to close my eyes and meditate. I had turned the sand dial timer for a good ten minutes so to think about sand was as good as any focal point in meditation.
My mind drifted to sand bags used to stop flood waters from entering the house to the fine sand that my chinchilla showers herself with. Then I had visions of sand dunes and sand castles and Petra. Yes, that lost city visited by Indiana Jones (as portrayed by Harrison Ford) during his hunt for the holy grail.
It was about two months ago that I went to Petra in southern Jordan. Although it was my second trip there, the archaeological discovery remained as magnificent as ever. The first time I went there in 2016, I had sprained my ankle prior to the trip so I didn’t manage to go far. This time round I went to the Al-Khazney (The Treasury) and to the Roman-like amphitheatre and beyond.
The city of Petra was carved directly into the red, pink and white sandstone cliff faces by a civilisation called the Nabataeans. It was built in the 1st century BCE and was inhabited by about 20000 people at its peak.
Like most tourists, I was overwhelmed by the magnitude and intricate carving of the Al-Khazneh. A giant urn carved above the entrance to the Treasury bears the marks of hundreds of gunshots. Bedouin tribesmen living in and among the ancient ruins say the damage was caused when local men would open fire at the urn with rifles, seeking the loot thought to be inside it. Another legend is that it functioned as a treasury of the Egyptian Pharaoh at the time of Moses.
We all have our own Al-Khazneh where we keep our prized material stash. For some this stash increases over time, for others it decreases. It all depends very much on what we deem important or unimportant over time.
The greatest treasure is what a person loves most. It restructures one’s values and priorities.
To the Nenets of the Yamal peninsula in northern Siberia, the reindeer is their prized possession.. 65 year old reindeer herder Medko Serotetto says it is their food, their transport, their soul. But should he choose to forsake this harsh lifestyle, then his herd of 5000 reindeer will no longer be his treasure.
I have been to homes where every corner is decorated with priceless artifacts. I have also been to very spartan homes owned by the rich. Deep in the recesses of our hearts we want to acquire. We want to have that which appeals to our eyes. We even equate possessions with power. Advertisers for luxurious objects milk this delusion. It is the hunt after things that drives the adrenalin and once we have secured the hunted, we are on another hunting game.
I overheard a teenage boy boasting to his friends that he receive the latest I-phone as a Christmas gift. I also knew that one grandmother painstakingly knit a pair of socks for her teenage grandson. It does not need a genius to figure out which present would be more treasured by the teenage boy.
The allure of hoarding materialistic possessions is indeed great. For where your treasure is, there will be your heart as well. If we but pause for a moment, we will realise that we will need to leave them all behind at one point in time.
I love diamonds, precious stones, gold and wads of cash. Who wouldn’t? But I remind myself constantly that genuine treasures are not so much in material things but more in intangible things. Our hearts need to treasure these above all else.
Good health, a loving family and loyal friends are usually what we sometimes take for granted until something untoward happens. It is only when I accidentally cut my little finger while preparing dinner that I realise how important the little finger is.
The sand in the upper half of the sand dial timer had almost completely trickled into the lower half. When I opened my eyes, I realised that the hairy man and the tattooed man had left the room so quietly I didn’t even notice in my intense meditation on sand.
THIS ARTICLE WAS ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED IN THE NEW STRAITS TIMES MALAYSIA ON 22 APRIL 2018 www.nst.com.my/opinion/columnists/2018/04/360136/treasures-earth
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