****

On these clear nights I look up and feel
I am in a globe 


A star globe, with some transparent force
In which it is all contained 


Not determining where each piece will fall
But holding sure it will all settle


And be shaken up once again 


****

Dogma

Turkey is a bridge. It is the land that keeps the Black Sea from weeping into the Agean and is the only country that claims to have a European side and an Asian side. Connecting the Western world to the Middle East and Asia, Turkey is a highway for spirits contained in bodies journeying outward and inward. The land that I reside in is a hub for the soul seeking traveler. 

As I play my hand in sustainable living on this Eco-Olive-Micro-Village, I am dealt volunteers from a well shuffled deck. Jacks from Spain, Queens from Australia, Kings from Palestine, pairs of Hearts from countless suites, and a few Aces in the hole from Turkey.  The shy traveler uses this place as an Eastern point after which they return back into Europe. The bold venture by land through Iran and Pakistan into India and beyond. So many faces and so many stories come through this junction that it is getting harder to find deep and meaningful connections with the temporary members of the community. Only those who share themselves fabulously find a place in my admiration, however everyone that contributes somehow sinks and settles into the bottom of my memory.

The diverse group of people arches together like a rainbow. Five, plus, languages brushing the air with cultural color. Kitchen clashing cuisines coming together like kin. No tradition compromised, the more exotic the more readily accepted.

The plethora of people makes this community more than unique in Turkey, a country made uniform by the steeples and domes of Mosques marking the cities like polka-dots on pajamas. It is curious to see that the multi-dimensional ethnicity of the volunteers are not match by affiliations with multiple religious groups. The majority of the individuals in Turkey are Muslim but it is rare to have a person joining the farm who identifies with any religion at all. It is safe to say that here a strong belief in nature, sustainability, and the environment unifies our thoughts, but no one is bowing their head in prayer for low carbon emissions. 

Our world has as many differences as the universe has moons and little can be seen as universal.  Some things like the sound of music and the logic of math can be understood across cultures. Other things, of course, can not be agreed upon from group to group. The truth that God has a different definition depending on who you are talking to has been curious to me. A force that is intended to be so unifying, in reality is creating so many divides. In some recent experiences with Islam and Christianity I realize that I can look at these two opposing belief systems as unified. In Islam a series of repeated body movements is incorporated in every prayer; to me this enhances a connection to the body an induces a meditative state. Further more, I realize when Christians pray they are most often focused on the inner working of their emotions and relationships; if nothing else this is enhancing self-awareness and creating an inlet for them to explore the cycle of their thoughts. For me,  practicing the body rhythms of Islam and the self-discovery of Christianity together can create a rich harmony of mind, body, and eventually soul. For the first time since I rejected the Catholic church almost five years ago, I can comfortably say that I believe in God and I do pray. My prayer is the constant effort to watch my throbbing thoughts, to balance my pulsing emotions, and to feel The spirit's tone reverberating under my skin. The God I speak of is quite likely no God at all. The formless energy undetectable by the mind and unreasonable to rationality is the connecting entity that is...

Turkçe

We all know when you reach a fork in the road it is wisest to travel down the road less taken. However, at times the road you trek down splits off into, not two, but bundles of possibilities. There are occasions that the path is frayed like the shoe-lase that lost its solid tip and has accumulated endless numbers of steps. In situations like theses Mr. Frost has no advise to give.  Now as I walk the long walk I have come to this junction. It is here at Dedetepe, the olive farm, that the whole Eastern world lays in front of me. At first I was undecided where to go so I took a seat to ponder. Then I started toying with fantastic ideas, so I squatted to fantasize about my next move. In this position I stayed resting and dreaming, until all around me the grasses and flowers grew lush. 

Sometimes no path should be taken because it is your resting place where you belong. I am nowhere that is not the perfect place for me to be. What a feeling it is to take my worn soles off and to let my feet breathe. Only in periods of true rest, deep to the soul, is where I find fruit blossoming all around. (It is not unheard of to experience this deep calm even in moments of chaos.)  The sweet juices of my place in the olives are not all I receive. It turns out the pit I have stopped in is furnished with Turkish language lessons too. 


For some time the inspiration to write has overlooked me, but now I am feeling a Turkish creativity. Can you discover the meaning of my poem; how many ways can you understand my Turkish pros?

Nehir kenarinda olturuyorum

Guzel suyu goruyorum

Kucuk balik oluyorum

Kucuk balik oluyorum

Gunes te isinuyorum

Winter Wind

The name of the game is Eco-Living; the obstacle, Winter. She is harsh, but I do not blame her. This season never sees fresh green meadows polka-doted with flowers. Nor does she admire young life wobbling through an awakening forest. All it knows of these joys are from the falling whispers of Autumn who only hears the story of a first flight from the fading heat of summer. The challenges that this quarter carries do not need to be mentioned, but it is not surprising that her symptoms are called fridgied. However those who resist her don't feel her, they just judge her as cold. Through her and truly, winter brings a simplicity that gives an opportunity for the imagination to be the hero that slays the beast 'till spring. 


...this night I spoke out-loud a stream of improvised pros...

The flickering light lets the wood crawl free over the walls. The air so cold even the candle glows blue. Relaxation courageously comes and the calm breath begins to synchronize with the slow bounce of illumination. And when smoke rises from the wick my eyes bat closed. Finally I see the lantern that will reveal our ways.  

Compliments to the frost bitten vision of Ash

Reborn Greek

The rolling curls of the Aegean Sea rocked Jebadiah out of an unrestfull sleep. He opened his eyes to the harsh florescent lights of the ferryboat’s lounge to find an ache crawling within his stomach. He stared out the window searching for some distraction from the discomfort, but the horizon swaying up and down through the narrow portal made vomiting sound appealing. It was cold and windy out on the deck of the vessel but Jebadiah knew a good upward release over the rail into the sea was the best thing for his bowels.  From stern to the bow, port to starboard, and head to crow's nest he passed waiting for the perfect moment to heave off the side. The moment never came. He thought back to childhood summers pleasantly riding the rough seas, just to find the ache bringing him out of his memory. He looked off the back of the boat to Turkey with the comforting idea of the cozy wood cabin that had cuddled him the night before. Then he gazed forward to the coastline ahead with hopes that the Greek island Lesvos would provide some relief to his squall. 


The boat reached port and as Jeb's feet hit land his stomach was soothed. In customs he handed over his, United States of America, navy blue passport. A moment later the boarder control fired a question at Jeb, "Where are you from?" (They were holding the document which proved his identity.) A bit caught off guard Jebadiah answered, "The United States." They followed this up by asking him if he was living in Turkey, he told them he was not. “ I’m a traveler,” he said with confidence, for his identity as a nomad is at times the only thing Jeb is sure of on his journey.  He met Ashlei where a man in street clothes was searching bags and told her about the funny question at passport control.  She knew he was pleased by their confusion, because Jeb likes to think that his dark features allow him to pass as a local where ever he goes. Together they walked out of the port customs building into the streets of Greece and the pain crept back into Jebadiah’s belly. It was clear that land’s sturdy plain only tricked his mind into temporarily relieving the problem. 


The travel duo now moved along the seafront passing the luxurious sea hotels to meet a student of the city Mytilini who would provide them a couch to rest on. Jeb looked longingly at the hotels with the thought of an elegant room to help curve his pain, but a bug is not enough to cramp his travel style. He would stick with the free-of-charge accommodation.  They found the cafe where they would meet their host. Jeb had previously agreed to share a conversation and a beer upon meeting, Lisa, the generous student, but he could barely put down a club soda. When Lisa arrived she brought along a posse, all beaming with smiles and warmth. Jeb was desperate to let their friendly vibes reach his gut so he could return the high spirits. He decided that if he went about as if he was feeling healthy his mind might again be fooled into making the body feel good. He ordered a beer. He took a few unwelcomed gulps and passed it along to Ash. It was clear at this point that he was not suffering from the rough seas and that he was going to be ill. He regretfully told Lisa that he could not be strong and they returned to her hillside home. 


Jebadiah could do nothing more than get into bed. Shivering, he could not even take off his clothes. Moments later his stomach began to rumble and he cautiously got up and went to the bathroom. He stuck his face in the toilet waiting, then nothing. He got up and sat on the toilet waiting, again nothing. He waddled back to the bed and decided to make a cocoon of his sleeping-bag and blankets and hibernate until he felt well. He was thoroughly enclosed and warm and sleep took over, but not for long.

Jeb woke up feeling as if he was again on the stormy water, but this time there were no waves rocking him. He was spinning and a familiar liquid taste began to fill his mouth. He had little time, however he was locked into his sleeping spot trapped by his covering. Struggling, he peeled himself free and ran towards the bathroom. Unfortunately the contents of his stomach were not considerate and they erupted towards his mouth in the middle of the living-room. Desperately Jeb threw his hands over his chops and contained the vomit. Seconds later another explosion rocketed from his pit just as he crossed the threshold of the bathroom. Like popping open a champagne bottle Jebadiah released the cork and the bile spewed into the bowl. After four of fiver powerful surges it was over. He turned around to find himself looking into his own eyes in the mirror. Orange foam coated his beard and mustache. He looked miserable, but felt a peace he hadn't felt since before getting on the boat. He slept soundly the rest of the night.  


The next day was full of Greek opportunities: a tour around the island, hot baths, feta cheese, wine, and a party of young people exchanging ideas. Jeb did none of it. He knew it was best to stay horizontal and regain health. He wanted to be alone. While he lay doing nothing he realized that his isolation was not only for rejuvenation after his stomach’s storm. He was resisting being social and blocking himself off from having experiences with new interesting people. He saw himself having critical views and felt some negativity that was out of character for him.  Jeb took the time to do some introspection, some internal searching. He found some taxing moments of his travels that he had not yet released. It was clear he needed a fresh start.

When he felt well he started to explore the city and port. An almost familiar college town holding cafes with dim light, playing chilled-out music. What was dissimilar to other tranquil cafes he had been to was that a short distance away was another cafe filled with weathered Greek men hollering to each other and ordering the waitress to go out to buy them cigarettes. The duality of this place gave Jeb the joyful feeling that he was in a foreign land. It was the bipolar characteristics of the city that made it like no other place Jeb had been. 


Jeb stayed aware of the realization he had while ill. He walked about focused on a positive energy. He stalked his thoughts and feelings when a negative vibration stirred or a critical thought shook he disrupted it with a breath of life. 


In this style Jebadiah walked again the traveler's path. He met a group of guys who were going for a mid-Januray swim. With the wind at his back Jeb joined them down towards the sea, seeking a cleansing bath. Although he had second, third and fourth thoughts the water was pulling him towards it. The clear teal Aegean Sea was appealing even on a day with snow flurries. To hesitate would have been the end of this spontaneous swim, so Jeb did not. Clothes off, courage on he stepped into the icy water. With each moment the water reached higher on his legs. The slow crawl was discouraging, he needed to be fully submerged or not at all. In the shallow water he sprawled his body forward torpedoing under the sea. After a smooth glide back to the surface Jeb instinctively let out a yelp, but no noise followed. The cold water stole his breath and voice. He gasped for air but nothing but the cold was entering his body. A moment of suffocation gave way to a full-hearted swim. Stroking strongly, the cold water seemed to turn into insulation for the bodies heat. He was not warm but there was a clear difference between the temperature of the water and his body. He was filled with vigor and dove down five meters to the rocky sea floor. Jebadiah pushed himself to a limit underwater where he no longer needed a breath of air. The joy of being one with the sea relaxed his desperate lungs and he soared back to the shore as would a sea turtle. He left in the water some pieces of darkness that had been lingering in his baggage.  Now shivering out in the open air a  breeze filled his open pours replenishing his spirit and re-birthing his adventure. 

The Camel Man

When I was a child I would day-dream about being an astronaut, climbing trees with monkeys, and finding a princess on a cloud. As these dreams fade and my waking life starts to seem like a fantasy, I see that our juvenile wishes are not the only things that can bring us joy in adult life.  Being an easily distracted youth my restless thoughts were constantly wondering. Now as a young man my restless travels take me wondering into experiences that even the creative mind of a child would not draw up. I never will walk on the moon, but I did spend a hand-full of days living the gypsy life.

You need two things to be a proper gypsy, one is a head wrap and the other is animal companions. During my time learning this life-style I put much effort into befriending a camel. Over five days I grasped tightly to the opportunity to help my gypsy friend take care of his animals and learn his way of life. The whole experience is an outstanding chapter in my book, but with the camel especially I have developed a story. Here is the flip-book version...

She is not so willing to let a new guy get too close 

You will learn to keep your distance; her size is quite intimidating

With time she will let you share an intimate moment with her 

Although this does not mean she won't quickly change her mind and try to take a bit

If you are lucky her Dad will let you ride her

But there is still a risk she will try to throw you

After a few dangerous conflicts with the camel I grew to fear her, so when she invited herself into the human living space I could do nothing but offer her some bread

The only one she will be obedient for is, Gorhan. Gorhan, The Camel Man has been traveling his life along The Silk Road, the gypsy way. He goes about in a fashion that some can not imagine. He travels with a donkey, a cat, a hawk, goats, dogs, chickens, and a quail. Of course the camel too, who pulls his "camel-car" in which he sleeps and carries all of his possesions. He lives off the resources of the land as much as he can, all organically. He is a living inspiration for anyone interested in traveling or living with sustainability.  
Fresh goat's milk and honey soak his mouth each morning, but even out-side of society a man does not find complete bliss. I spent many hours listening to parts of his tale and I see that as he becomes more of an aged man the struggles of his life on the road come out through his physical health and attitude. Although he has faced many difficulties and finds his situation less hopful it is clear that his journey has lead him to be more spirit than man. 

"to live is to travel, to travel is to dream, to dream is to live"

No Meat-Meet

After a super-naturalist stay, living in caves, Jebadiah had a few ideas swelling like a tide through his head. "Slow-travel" was one train of thought that moved him to make a change in the way that he journeyed. Starting now, he proceeded with his transit without a rail, bus or plane ticket; he proceeded with his transit by means of auto-stop. With his feet on the road, he shinned like the glorious day that it was. He made one stop and then another. In his third success, an eighteen wheeler, he found himself laying horizontal in the cabin's sleeping accommodation, while his current and temporary companion sat upright in the passenger seat of this gas -guzzling-transport-machine. In this surprisingly restful hitch,  Jebadiah and Ash rolled through any doubts of  a failed hitchhiking experience. With this ride they avoided hours of thumb-aching on the side of the road and completed 320 kilometers into their desired destination- Ankara, the capital city. 


As Jebadiah was assuming the position of laziest, kicked-back, trucking through the heart of Turkey he contemplated another thought that he had while roasting a fresh pepper over an open fire outside his former cave abode. A meatless life? Although he had a few qualms surrounding the issue, in his mind he had made the decision of trying the style of vegetarian. 


In Ankara, Jebadiah and Ashlei were greeted by a one-two punch of a hospitality. The combination was a mother-daughter duet. The expectation of warmth from Alya and Ayse was fulfilled physically, emotionally and in Jebadiah and Ash's stomachs. 
Jebadiah's interest in both eating and preparing food drew him to watch Alya, the mother, work her way around the Turkish kitchen. Through a secret recipe for orange cake and a well known one for a savory pastry, Jebadiah wondered when his newly decided consumption habit would be put on trial. He had a full day without a meat dilemma until a bed of rice supporting an arrangement of fish in a flower pattern came out of the oven, smelling delicious for dinner. At this moment Jebadiah instantly replayed all the events leading up to his denial of eating animals. 
-
While having a late morning walk through a valley of cave art and artifacts just a week before, another companion who abstained from all animal products ironically said, "Oh, if only I ate meat," as a wild goose walked by. "Shoot, I couldn't kill that bird and I love eating carcass!"  Jebadiah said as he relived a scene from his past when he had participated in the killing of a chicken. Jebadiah's mind replayed a highlight reel of this memory.  Images of one piece of poultry hanging upside-down by bound feet, a dangling-broken neck, flapping wings, desperate squawks, and a slow stream of blood pumping the last bit of life from its veins flooded his conscious. A mental light paused him from continuing his walk.  Out-loud Jebadiah proclaimed, "If I am disturbed by the killing of a chicken, I definitely can't fulfill the task of slaughtering anything breathing for food."  
-
Now with Jebadiah's attention back on the fish at hand, he scanned his memory for any traumatic first hand fish murders. Coming up empty, he soothed his doubts and enjoyed the perfectly seasoned and spiced fish right down to the last tail-fin. "Maybe just a pescatarian,"  Jebadiah said to Ash as she gave a smirk towards his weakness.  


Jebadiah has a habit of meeting people on the road and using their references as momentum towards finding intriguing opportunities that need seizing. It is through this channel of receiving knowledge that he had directions to a small hillside village that was  "worth-visiting." This tip came from a pair of French nomads who lived out of a tractor-trailer. Their mobile-home was fueled by recycled cooking-oil, was well-furnished and burned wood for warmth inside. The couple gained experience by personally exporting vehicles into Africa; therefore, their recommendation was coming along with a feeling of well traveled knowledge. 


After one last homely breakfast with Alya and Ayse, Jebadiah and Ashlei kissed the pseudo-relatives good-bye and were on the road again. On route to the village, Seyhamami, Ash and  Jebadiah found humor in a taxi drivers discouraging remarks towards their refusal to pay for his service. "You are heading towards a cold remote place and you will be in danger of execution if you walk there," they guessed as the meaning of his Turkish warning.  


Safely and easily the pair of comrades caught a ride to their destination.  The village was three buildings, six homes, and nine times the amount of live-stock compared to humans. This pin-point sized town was deeply submerged in a valley sorrounded by three-hundred and sixty degrees of emerald mountains sparkling with winter's frost. Just as directed to expect, Jebadiah and Ash found Durson Dundar at the center of it all. This grey man seemed to be colored-in when he saw the faces of the travelers. Jebadiah understood Durson's enthusiasm better when Ash introduced herself. Ash, Jebadiah had learned, was similar to the Turkish word ashk, meaning romantic love. Upon mistakingly hearing the young angelic woman call herself "romantic love," Durson formed a cheeky expression and his face reached a bright shade of rose. It was clear that Durson was a lonely man and just the presents of Jebadiah , and mostly Ashlei, was bringing him pleasure.

Durson is the owner of the only business around- the hamam, the Turkish style bath. He was proud of this establishment and took Jebadiah and Ash to enjoy a gender divded bath. In the hamam a low framed wooden door opened to reveal a dark passageway streaming with a flow of fog.  Jebadiah stripped from his cocoon of dirty clothes on his way down the corridor and unfolded himself into a soothing, hot, browned-water pool. He glided through the liquid that was visibly lifting directly from the earth, up between the stony floor, to fill the container. The mountainous area's thermal springs created a most authentic humidity and sustainable heat for this natural sauna. Jebadiah viewed the scene from the back corner of the bath and gave his attention to it as the pulse of the traditional Turkish Bath thumped its beat.  


The water rippled to it's limits finding form in the Islamic architecture. The steam reluctantly became independent as it lifted in a cloud from the water. The domed ceiling's windowed center let the past noon's light weave through the vapor; the floating moisture expanded its molecules and played with the reflection on the bath's surface. The quartet of water, walls, air and light mingled together, slightly swaying.  Jebadiah gracefully hummed a gospel song to test the acoustics before a voice joined the performance singing a different tune.  Jebadiah yielded to the Turkish lyrics of his host, Durson, who sung a wooing melody.  The song echoed into Jebadiah's perception and his creative intention began to tingle.  Jebadiah withheld from developing the tickle of inspiration to let the poetic moment sink deeply into his excited senses. Now, like the steam, he felt his own molecules separating; his body was loosening beyond its solid state. 


Like waking up from a dream, Jebadiah suddenly found himself out of the bath, dried, clothed and sitting with Durson and Ashlie in the living space of Durson. The high from the bath must have let him suppress the torment of leaving the soak. In a haze from the transition Jebadiah passively watch Durson roll, light, and pass a large cigarette. With this, Jebadiah subtly melted into his seat and Durson began to fill the table with food. None of the fruit, cheese, bread, nuts, or chocolate really caught Jebadiah's eye. However when one platter was uncovered his attention was held. It was smoked, spiced, savory-red-meat.