I’ve heard India is the place to “find oneself.” I arrived in Goa a week ago to do exactly that. With Abigail’s Goan connections I was certain that this would be a week that would define all other weeks. Following a latest tradition, Abbi began by dressing herself appropriately, and then lit sparklers. And when she sat on my scooter she became very angry. This meant one of two things; either I was to find an outlet for my now exposed anger, or get rid of the scooter and consider the life of someone operates a different vehicle. So we started a fight club. Chloe was the manager, and Abigail and I were the fighters, Abbi taking on the women and myself the men. To get our team motivated, Chloe would put out her hands and say, “what is this?” Abbi and I would reply snaringly, “a gun rack.” Then we would mount our arms, ready for battle. But this did little to help me find myself, as I had a huge advantage in fighting because of my long arms. So we wallowed for a short time, and when we came to Abigail rushed to find a second opinion. And sure enough, under the direction of the colourful beach gypsys, I was to get rid of the scooter and rent a truck to begin a business of some sort. So I got myself an appropriate van and began selling cashew nuts at the local market. Unfortunately, this too failed. My sales hardly covered the cost of the fuel for the van. Perhaps I am to continue in the direction I am heading; remaining an Orthodox Christian, making films and photographs, telling stories, trying to help the poor, and doing this in India. That’s a novel idea. We’ll see in what happens in Hyderabad.
Stay tuned for a more serious report, depending on my mood.