Chronicles of Simon (eBook)

Raymond Bailey (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2025 | 1. Auflage
296 Seiten
Bookbaby (Verlag)
979-8-3509-8488-0 (ISBN)

Infos

Around the year 30 A.D., by consequence of fate and a miracle, a young Samarian healer traveling in pursuit of knowledge emerged through time without aging. In search of answers, the healer travels under various guises and encounters some of life's tumultuous struggles to survive.

Born, raised, and educated in London, England, Raymond Bailey is a history and literature major who has lived, been assigned, and traveled to all five continents until he finally decided to settle in the USA as a contracts engineer. Over a period of 40 years, he has served as a legal arbitrator, a staunch supporter, and an original charter member of the Offshore Energy Center in Houston and Galveston, Texas. Additionally, he is a former member and secretary of the Energy Institute and a participant in several mentor programs. Raymond is also a proud, loving father and grandfather.

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Around the year 30 A.D., by some miracle, Simon, a young Samarian healer who was traveling in pursuit of knowledge, emerged through time without aging. In search of answers, Simon set out on a journey that would have him facing continuous nightmares and adversity. His journey proved that his lack of aging proved to become more troublesome as time went on, as maintaining relationships often came with difficult conversations and conflicts. The challenge of travel, diverse cultures, language barriers, and dealing with constant death became tolling on Simon as he continued to seek the truth, and almost 2,000 years later, when Simon had become extremely wealthy, powerful, and secretly complex, he still found that answers eluded him.

Textauszug

Chapter 3

Road to Jerusalem

By the time I was twenty-two years of age, through word of mouth, I had patients of my own. I treated local villagers and travelers from far distances for all manner of ailments. It was in the summer of that same year that a severe disease ravaged our town and no matter what we tried, our healing powers had no effect. Jacob, our neighbor, lost his partner and two of his children. When my mother caught the sickness, she spent nights coughing, her face red and her skin, hot. It was not long before she died, even though I tried every potion—including some with which I was still experimenting. I was stricken with such sadness.

It was during this time that a traveler came by with an infection on his arm and I immediately recognized it as a minor wound that was inflamed due to being kept unclean. During my treatment, he told me stories of a magical healer going from town to town in and around Jerusalem. I knew there must be more knowledge and remedies beyond my own and the more I thought about it, the more sense it made. My mother had passed and nothing was holding me in Gitta, even though my leaving would disappoint many of the townspeople. I finally made a decision to seek out this healer and discussed this adventure with my neighbor Jacob. Although he had little coin, he offered what he had if he could expand his pottery production using my home. If he prospered, he would put aside some of the profit to be given to me upon my return. I agreed. However, I declined his little wealth as I still had the Roman coin. I don’t know if his business thrived—this remained unknown to me as I never returned.

I had made a mental note from the advice of the traveler that he had been walking for twenty-five risings of the sun. I chose set off on my journey at the beginning of the cooling season, and packed as much dried fish, bread, and raw vegetables that I could comfortably carry, along with a large water pouch and the five-silver coinage. I bid farewell to Jacob and his family and marched on my way with the sun to my left in the morning, expecting it on my right in the evening. I was surprised to see many travelers on the well-trodden carved out road, most of whom seemed to be going in the same direction as I.

The sun was setting on the 21st day when I came upon a small group of pilgrims quietly conversing amongst themselves and they looked at me with apprehension as I approached. Greetings were shared and although names were exchanged, it was a man named Peter who seemingly spoke on behalf of his companions. After some discussion and confessing my purpose for this pilgrimage Peter interrupted, grasping his staff firmly and with raised voice passionately stated his master would not entertain such vain notions. He moved quickly towards me, looked me sternly in the eyes whilst proclaiming he and those about him were his disciples, preaching the word of one God. I would do well, he continued, to be humble, listen to the teachings on the morrow, be a follower and discontinue this folly I was pursuing. They re-grouped and ignored me further as I discreetly walked away.

The next day from a distance I watched him on the hill, the man they called Jesus. Though I was too far to hear, word was passed from person to person of his preaching. I confess I did not understand much of what was related to me by various people but understood how change in the words occur from mouth to mouth. Suddenly it was all over and the crowd disbursed with bustling conversation.

It was fast becoming night on the twenty-second day. While I was sitting alone, I constructed a circle from loose stones, collected dry birchwood and some wild sage and started a small fire. As far as the eye could see there were many such fires that I assumed were fellow enquiring minds and travelers. Feeling discouraged, sorry for myself, and hungry, I stirred the wood twigs and sage, giving off a pleasant aroma. With silent movement a man had approached me and I was startled for a moment as he sat beside me.

“May I join you ?”the man asked.

I looked at his kind, gentle tanned face, well-kept facial hair, and large brown eyes.

“Yes, please do, I could use the company,” I said.

From under his head covered tunic he produced a half-moon shaped piece of bread, a fist size piece of goat cheese, and a pouch which I assumed was water, but soon learned it was red wine. The man broke both the bread and cheese and offered them to me with a smile. I accepted them with eagerness, offering my water in return when he spoke again. He smiled and said he could hear my stomach rumbling from far away and took pity on my situation.

“Truly?” I inquired, whilst eating the moist cheese.

He laughed softly and said in jest, “Something like that but what really drew him to me was the delightful scent of the burning sage. What is your name, where are you from, and why are you here?”

I gave what I believed to be a short version of my young life. I was aged twenty-three when my mother had passed and I continued her work as a healer. Shortly after, I heard stories from travelers of an academic appearing to the masses in and around Jerusalem so I ventured to this land to seek and learn more from a master in the art of healing.

I then realized how much I was talking, stopped immediately, and apologized. Again, he just smiled. “And what is your name,” I asked.

“I have had many names, in many lands but you can call me Yeshua,” he said.

From then on, and for much of the night, we spoke of many subjects—my healing experiences and research, my eagerness to travel, adventure, and desire to learn.

He spoke of people who influenced him, ancient places, history of wars, and pestilence. He also had command of many languages and although at a guess I would have said he was no older than forty, his tales and stories would have covered many lifetimes. Although I thought this, I did not question his honesty. In fact, I’m not sure why I believed every word he spoke.

After a while I put more wood and sage on the fire and we sat in silence taking in the pleasant fragrance and observing the stars in the heavens. Momentarily, he turned his head observing me, then moved closer to me. Frowning, he asked, “May I look at your hands?”

I offered them palms up and he spent the next moments caressing them, then moving closer them to the fire to study them further. I shuddered.

He came even closer and still speaking in a low tone, told me, “I do not have much time and I have been searching for a soul to bequeath my legacy. Who would have thought—you found me.”

“I do not understand. I know not of what you speak,” I said when I noticed he still had a firm grip of my hands.

It was then I heard distant voices calling out a name, but they were not loud enough to understand. I momentarily turned my head in the direction of the calls. I was quickly raised from the sitting position to standing whilst he continued to hold a firm grip on my hands. Our faces were barely a breath apart and he stared me in the eyes.

“Will you trust me, Simon of Gitta, will you trust me?”

I gazed at his full face absolutely motionless and murmured, “Yes.” He shook me and I shouted, “Yes, and yes,” even louder, though I knew not why.

Firmly interlocking his fingers with mine and telling me to do likewise, he pressed his brow to my brow.

“Remember this and my words.”

Then, speaking loudly and clearly, he chanted, “As I was touched, I touch thee” repeating this over and over again in what seemed an eternity.

“As I was touched, I touch thee”, repeating and screaming at the top of his voice.

I could feel the hair on my arms rise and a cold shudder down my spine when suddenly I felt a dizzy sensation. Gradually I started to release my grip, fell to the ground, when I heard him say

“I am saved, I am free”

Then I lost consciousness.

When I awoke, the sun was already high in the sky, the fire no longer aflame, and there were no signs of life. I slowly stood, moving my aching limbs whilst trying to gather my thoughts regarding the events of last evening. It made no sense and the more I thought, the more confused I became. I cleaned myself as best I could and decided to return to the village I had passed several days before.

After walking the rest of the day, taking a rest, and walking another day, it was just after dusk when I crossed a small bridge entering Capernaum and noticed an encampment of Roman soldiers that was not there when I passed several days before. Considerable activity was going on in the camp. As I continued walking, I came across a small male child who was bleeding from both knees. I approached him and asked how he came to hurt himself. He confessed he was climbing the adjacent tree when he fell to the ground. I looked around and saw a well and proceeded to draw water to moisten some dry linen produced from my satchel. Returning to the boy, I treated his grazed wounds by firstly removing the blood and then applying the aloe vera I carried.

Within moments, two soldiers appeared by my side and observed my activity with the boy. “Are you a healer?” one asked.

Annoyed when I did not immediately respond, the soldier lost patience and repeated the question in a louder, firmer tone....

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 15.1.2025
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Historische Romane
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Romane / Erzählungen
• ISBN-13: 979-8-3509-8488-0 / 9798350984880