A shiver skittered down my spine as I stood at the threshold. The heavy oak door felt cool beneath my trembling fingertips. Suddenly he loomed before me, a giant of a man, his presence warm, yet strangely familiar. His hand, thick as a leather-bound book, gestured me inside. Hesitantly, I crossed the threshold. The air shifted, thick with the scent of honey and sun-warmed wood. My eyes widened in awe. Crystal chandeliers, like frozen starlight, hung in the vast hall, casting a soft glow on polished surfaces.
  “You seem troubled, Marcus,” his voice rumbled, a low, comforting vibration. “Is anything amiss?” My tongue felt thick. “Who are you? How did I get here?”
  “I am the Purposer,” he said, the word resonating with an odd familiarity. “And this is Michael, my chief of staff, who escorted you.” A figure detached itself from the shadows. Michael. He stood tall and still, an aura of quiet strength radiating from him. The crisp white of his tuxedo contrasted sharply with the deep black of his bow tie. My gaze snagged on the gleam of metal at his waist – a magnificent two-edged sword, its hilt intricately carved.
  “Hello, Marcus,” Michael greeted, his voice smooth and reassuring, a small smile playing on his lips. He offered a brief, almost military salute. My mind reeled. Where am I? How does this ‘Purposer’ know my name? What is the meaning of all this?
The Purposer’s gaze held mine, a steady, knowing look. He gestured towards a doorway. “Come, Marcus. Let us talk in my study.” I glanced at Michael. He nodded, his expression encouraging. “Go on,” he said softly. “There is nothing to fear. The Purposer will explain everything.”
  Sunlight, thick and golden, poured through the tall windows of the study, warming the rich, dark wood of the bookcases that lined the walls. The air here felt different, charged with a quiet intensity. The scent of old paper and leather filled my nostrils. Never had I seen so many books. It was a breathtaking, dizzying sight.
  “Do you like my collection?” the Purposer chuckled, the sound deep and resonant.
  “Yes,” I breathed. “It must have taken… a lifetime to gather.”
  “Indeed,” he agreed, a twinkle in his eye. “About fourteen billion years, give or take a few.” His words hung in the air, a surreal counterpoint to the warmth of the sun on my skin. Fourteen billion years? I thought. He was watching me, his gaze penetrating. A flicker of unease, not quite fear, stirred within me. He seemed to sense it. His lips curved into a gentle smile. “Relax, Marcus. Make yourself comfortable.”
  I sank into the plush embrace of a leather armchair. Before me, a coffee table crafted from what looked like pure crystal shimmered in the light. The Purposer settled into the chair opposite, his presence filling the room.
  “Do you recall demanding this meeting?” he asked, his voice low and steady.
  “A meeting?” I echoed, confused.
  “Yes. You demanded to see me about your purpose in life.”
  “I… demanded?”
  He leaned forward, picked up a notebook from the crystal table, and flipped it open. His finger traced a line of text. “Let’s see… Ah, here it is. August 14th, 2019, at one PM. Your message to me was, and I quote, in your own inimitable tone: ‘WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, YOU BETTER SHOW YOURSELF AND WHILE YOU ARE AT IT EXPLAIN MY PURPOSE ON EARTH?’ A little drastic, I’ll admit, but it certainly got my attention. So, here I AM.”
  I stared at him, my mind a whirlwind. I remember that day… but this… this dream feels too real. “Hang on,” I stammered. “Am I… dead?”
  “No.”
  “Then… what is happening?”
  “Marcus, you wanted a meeting. Now you have one. Let me explain purpose, shall I?”    His tone brooked no argument. He leaned forward, his eyes locking with mine. He reached out and gently touched my chest, just over my heart. “You were born with three essential things,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “Your specific strengths, gifts, and interests. These are your most valuable possessions. They are your inner resources, your talents, your potential — the things that make you, you, a purposeful Homo Sapien, Savvy?”
  “Sure,” I replied, “but what do they have to do with purpose?”
  “Recognising your strengths, gifts, and interests leads to purpose. Your purpose is born from these three things. Without recognising them, you will try to be someone you’re not, walk a path not worth walking, have things not worth having, and do things not worth doing. Recognising them is the starting point, the building blocks of purpose.”
  “Does everyone have these three things?” I asked.
  “Yes. It’s not some mystical something reserved for a privileged few.”
  “Can I know my purpose without recognising them?”
  “No, Marcus. Then you’d be like a lion trying to be a giraffe. Impossible.”
  “Why do you call them my most valuable possessions?”
  “Because they are exclusively yours. These three most valuable possessions are those which can be shared without lessening; those which, when shared, multiply. Your least valuable possessions are those which, when divided, are diminished.”
  Multiply? I thought. My most valuable possessions multiply?
  “Yes,” he confirmed, as if he’d heard my thought. “That’s the design.”
  My breath hitched. He could read my mind.
  “They are your living tools,” he continued. “The more you grow them, use them, and share them with the world, the more they multiply and grow. The stronger they become, the stronger you become. You will continually have a deep sense of purpose.”
  His words resonated within me. I had never heard purpose explained this way. It made sense, a deep, intuitive sense.
  “Questions?” he asked.
  “Yes,” I said. “How do I recognise them?”
  “They are the things you’ve always loved doing. The things for which you have a passion, the things you’d sacrifice for. Get rid of the weeds that are strangling them, and let them grow.”
  “Am I too old to discover them?”
  “No, Marcus. The only thing that will keep you from recognising them is a stagnant mind. A stagnant mind is the greatest obstacle to progress.” I sat in silence for a moment, absorbing his words.
  “Would you like some tea and fresh manna before Michael takes you home?” he asked.
  “Umm, yes, that would be wonderful. Thank you. Actually…” I hesitated. “Do you have anything… stronger?” He smiled, a knowing glint in his eyes. “No. But would you like some honey with your tea?”
  I woke feeling… good. A sense of clarity, like the sun breaking through a fog, filled me.

The Purposeful Homo © 2025 Marcus van Wyk

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