In Nikos Kazantzakis book "Zorba the Greek", the main protagonist Zorba is on one of his endless journeys to nowhere in particular. Zorba is a Nietzchean character who lives in the present. He is free from the tyrannies of histories, languages, cultures, nations, gods...but he believes. He believes passionately and he lives passionately. In life. He is a mercenary soldier by profession. He is an eternal vagabond.
During one of his endless journeys, he stops for rest one night in a desolate village. There's another fellow traveler with him who has gotten separated from the convoy like Zorba. They share their smoke and sit down under the tree. They are happy and nostalgic. For everything. As the night proceeds they are filled with an overwhelming, almost overpoweringly insane urge to share their stories. But they don't know each other's language. They are absolute foreigners.
So, they spend the entire night telling their stories to each other. How? They "dance" away their stories, their lives throughout the night. And they understand each other perfectly.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
So who am I and what do I seek? What am I driven by?
Unfortunately, the answers to these questions are as open-ended and as cryptic as these questions. I am perhaps a "being" in the process of "becoming". That surely sounds impressive and intellectual ! But does it say anything about me? Perhaps not. The truth is that for men of "consciousness" who feel, see, hear, smell, love, live and die deeply, every attempt to define themselves is essentially an over-simplification at best and an incomplete and unsatisfying betrayal at worst. But still we need to betray ourselves. We need to tell our stories. Civilizations perish, nations are made and unmade, libraries are burnt, dreams dissolve, species are persecuted to extinction...everything turns to dust and we become food for the worms. But the stories remain. And we live in our stories. Sometimes stories are all we've got. They are our only connection with the "Other" who remains not so "other" once they hear the stories. Stories are only hope against the infinite loneliness of death,(and life). And all real stories are about love. So, shall be begin the "dance"?
So, let us begin this journey by sharing stories pictures, poetry, paintings, prose and reflections I have accumulated during 25 years of my life...
Some Arbitrary But Nevertheless Important Things About My Life
Summer of 98 (In Pics)
Ah, Those College Days: Funky Picture Series
Poem, Pictures, Paintings and Prose
The Divinely Sensuous Love Sonnets of Nobel Laureate Pablo Neruda
With Malice, To All: My claim to fame and notoriety in college.
