From the Collection "Love in the Time of Corona": The Start Point of Healing (into Turkey)

To the memory of Allan Ginsberg whose voice perpetually reverberates in my ears; and the serenity with which it embraces my body and mind is the same as Hindu Gods, the teachings of Buddha and all the monks the story of whom I read in the books and on the net, and the nice down to earth monks I met in the East.

Feeling still engrossed by all the beauties of these gods and goddesses, I started the process of healing myself and others.

This worldwide lockdown is giving me the time to focus on my travel diaries. There are still people in our midst that find the old style of writing charming. My style is, perhaps, excessively affected by the old travelers, the bums and seekers; those so messed up kinda pals (sounding to the outside world). I'm in love with the Beat writers, the seekers and travelers. What can you expect?

Observing life and the practice of what Chinese called "do-nothing"ness seems to do me good.

I can try to see the travels more vividly and see how I fit into that life and the one I'm leading now.

When it comes to my recounting, there is gonna be a gap between the time I spent in the Rainbow and the time I got into Turkey. I will get back to this gap and explain how those events lead to me finding myself in Turkey. Arriving in Istanbul, I was supposed to meet an old friend. During my transformation from what I was prior to starting my travels to what I am presently, Aziz played the role Philip Whalen and Gary Snyder played for Kerouac; the spiritual who guided me by simply being next to me.

We met in Istanbul. At the time, I was staying with few lovely souls, some university students who took a great care of me. They made a comfortable bed for me and one of them put a glass of water on my bedside every night after he had just said good night to me.

These kids were few years younger than me and I could not understand why they should leave the house just few minutes before me saying farewell to them and come back from the supermarket with a bag full of foods so that me and Aziz will have some snacks for our road. When I saw the guy coming back from the supermarket I was so much flummoxed that I counteracted and said I cannot accept these food, because they have already given me free shelter and also amazing food. Why should they spend their pocket money buying me food for the road?

To my Astonishment, Mustafa (one of the lovely souls) stopped me there saying:

"I feel good doing this brother."

Which was enough for me to keep my mouth shut and respectfully accept the offer and bow. I left and met Aziz. The next day we arrived to the Aegean coastline in south of Turkey and started my hitchhike with the ever floating soul, the one who had formerly introduced the concept of Rainbow Gathering, the one person who somehow changed the direction of this life since a couple of years back, albeit I had demonstrated the tendency since God knows when.

I keep reminding myself: "Effortless. Do it in the most effortless way possible."

We were supposed to do this volunteer job. When we entered the office, the manager took a copy of our passport saying that the police would like to know the whereabouts of the tourists. I didn’t mind. After a short chat, we took our backpack and the manager, Ilker asked a girl to take us to our lodging, which was more than comfortable accommodation with everything one would need. We put the backpacks inside the house, while Aziz just sat down doing nothing. He was checking his shoes without any emotion in his face. Watching life as it is. How beautiful.

We would work 4 hours 5 days a week. We would normally do basic gardening. In return, we would get decent food and shelter with an amazing view of Aegean. This whole process of working with flowers and plants would offer me serenity. On the other hand, we would take our time having conversations, some intellectuals some related to how we live.

Later on, he stated to me that he would clearly see the signs of interest in the topic in me; otherwise, back then he wouldn't push it too much. During the days he took his times being silent and observing life. Watching and observing life, from just staring at the holes in his shoes to merely sitting still gazing at the mindblowing view of the sea. I, on the other hand, would dedicate most of my time to the material world.

After a while I got sick. I had infection in my throat. I knew right after the infection, the allergy, my usual allergy will visit. Ergo, I took Some antibiotics and waited for the allergy to come. And there it was, strong, hideouts and devastating. I couldn't even stand it for a day. I was already checking the remaining money I had and announced to my travel buddy that I cannot stand it and I should go to a doctor. He said he will accompany me. However, in between the time span to go to the doctor, he went out as usual and Buddha-like gazed at the amazing view. Afterward, he came back inside and made tea, the idea of which I liked, as it would alleviate the ache in my throat.

While having the tea he mentioned to me:

-”You see, look at it on a symbolic level. You don't know Turkish and you cannot communicate with the people around here. You might feel detached and you cannot express yourself. And all of a sudden your allergy is back? Give me a break.'

-”It’s like hell for me.”

Right. I don't wanna say that back then I immediately accepted his innuendo, but it was the starting point for me to step into this path, going deeper and deeper into myself; the unquenchable thirst to get to know myself. This addictive path.

We paid a visit to the doctor the next day, and in my amazement, the hospital didn’t ask for any payment. The practice of gardening side by side with watching the locals talk to each other and solely observing them was indirectly pushing to this all-time observing guy, the one who would step back asking:

-”wait a minute! What is this space, the sensation one gets from only observing? Why so different, that one cannot label it easily?”

I was starting to ask questions. The process of interest in this was stemming both from my propensity towards digging into the unknown, less trended and favored concepts, somewhat leftist matters, and the bizarre feeling that would arise from delving deeper and deeper into this path. The more I dug and sat still, practiced what the Chinese called do-nothingness and observed, the more the jaw-dropping sensation of one cold pleasure, intertwined with the sordidness of undiscovered and not so commonly stepped into space I was getting. Later on, this practice led to so many uncanny encounters and circumstances. On the material level, I started to raise questions on the true nature of my reality, its quality and potentials. Who are we?

Back then I didn’t know shit. After a while, Ginsberg came to my meditations (not the formal ones, in which you sit straight in lotus flower style, but those of Buddha himself lying in the amazing natures of Ho Chin Minh or Thailand, the ones lying down in the sacred caves of Sri Lanka) and in some ways guided me on the material world.

And then there were visits, not from Ginsberg but the poems. Like in those tenants in which every object has a spirit kinda beliefs, wherein I felt an affinity with the settings and way of seeing and expressing. These visitations under the influence of no drugs and no trance-like meditations happened only organically through time.

I went opened my laptop and sent an e-mail to my brother Misha.

“How is everything brother? Brother, I’m finding and feeling it, the light. How is the lovely home?”

The home has healed me and many many more.

He got back to me after a couple of days.

“Everione is fin. Ho ar you brother? When coming? Ve ar waiting.”

Then I remembered the night I was on the brink of a fight with few drunkards for messing with us every night and tearing down the tents and teepees tents. After he asked me to step back and he went forward, I was overwhelmed with rage, fraught with hatred and destruction. I saw smashing those men as the one and only resolution. He went to them and talked. I couldn’t read him and it was at midnight and the shadows and lights of the huge fire that remained there from the night was making his face deformed. Then I saw one of those men bowing to him while bringing his both hands as respect to him. Then he came back with his ragged clothes and the iron very old plate.

“What happened?”

“It is don brother. I told dem ve ar in peece here. They said ‘shante shante’. Com to my tent. Ve hav tea and coffi. Hav coffi. It’s about to becom morning.”

When walking back, I said it. I told him with hopelessness.

“I guess I can never be like you.”

“No brother. You vil be beter.”

You gotta believe that these events leads you to any documents that would help you salve the thrist to know who you are to this world. Thus, I also embraced any idea that would help me see I am nothing and this nothingness comes from us being everything. After a while I came across a poem:

and I am the King of May, naturally, for I am of Slavic parentage and a
Buddhist Jew
who whorships the Sacred Heart of Christ the blue body of Krishna the
straight back of Ram
the beads of Chango the Nigerian singing Shiva Shiva in a manner which
I have invented,
and the King of May is a middleeuropean honor, mine in the XX century
despite space ships and the Time Machine, because I have heard the voice of Blake
in a vision

The sour throat was still there. Ergo, I listened to him. I looked at it on a symbolic level. I was not cornered on some petite island far away. I started to contact some people on the widely known App, CS. I tried to be forthright. Some got back to me inviting me to a chat. The most interesting one was a lady in the mountains of Datca, in a small village called Karakoy, saying that her husband is feeling the same and they would like to invite me to a coffee or dinner; something I wholeheartedly embraced.

The next day, I took my small rucksack, bid my guy farewell and started to walk and hitchhike to this nearby village. A dog followed me.

I saw a bum with dreadlocks who was carrying those shopping carriers, walking bare feet in the streets, so thin and humble. I was only starting to feel the inner voice. Latter when I visited that town, I saw the same guy, exactly as I had seen them the first time; carrying his bag, the same shape and style.

My thumb was floating on the roadside again and the vibrations of energies extremely high that I could feel them in every cell.