Turkey Türkiye: epilogue
February 2024
Melbourne, Australia
Melbourne, Australia
It had been three months in Turkey; my visa was up and it was time to go. The last days in Antalya, suddenly on my own after my companion packed their bag and left in Kayseri, required a new fortitude, prayer and focus to overcome. There is a moment in the epic when the traveller reaches the threshold––it is called the Bardo in Tibet; it is the beginning of a transformation, the crucial moment, when the possibility of becoming has reached its zenith. Do not turn away from the Bardo; do not run away from pain; do not run back to false comfort. Destroy it. Set fire to who you were and watch it burn.
Looking back on my solitude now, I realise that in Turkey, I was never alone; whether the Syrian kids living in the park greeting me with their shining faces; the young teacher who guided me onto the right bus and sat behind me like a guardian offering me her bottle of water; the Russians in exile who took me in as a friend; the greengrocer who invited me to feast with his family who I now call ‘brother’––on the road in life, we are always aided by unexpected mentors, helpers, Saints. Without them, we are nothing. We cannot make the journey alone. It is impossible. So rid yourself of the notion that you can do everything yourself. You can’t. It’s okay.
I cannot tell you now what I felt then in the sweltering bazaars, or in the buses in the dead of night speeding across the rolling plains of Anatolia; how the lightening obliterates the darkness there! How the rain lashes the windows mercilessly. I cannot tell you how heavy my heart was to have lost my friend, how I ached every second with regret for what had happened. How I tried to justify the part I had played with hate, contempt––only to realise that we are all God, we all suffer the fate of death of the body, we are all the result of our karma and that of our ancestors, our country, our species...True love is to let someone go. Because that is their will. Not yours. If you love them––truly––what they want will overcome what you want. This is the greatest lesson I have learned yet. It was by far the most difficult.
I left Turkey in awe; despite a last-minute problem at the Turkish border crossing into Bulgaria at Kapitan Andreevo, where it turns out I had overstayed my visa for one hour, and was subsequently pulled down dark corridors without being told what was going on, and eventually fined and banned from the Republic for three months––I cannot fault the Turkish people, not even for a second.
What a kaleidoscope of human life you will find there! Salafist Muslims in full black niqab and gloves move down the boulevards behind their husbands, right next to young women straight outta’ Beverley Hills with their fake, hot pink nails, piercings and boobs out on parade, walking with boyfriends who wear just as much foundation, and little crucifixes dangling from their ears; well-to-do descendants of Ottoman nobility cruise in Mercedes alongside donkey-drawn carts on potholed roads; dainty blonde and blue-eyed, black-lashed and hair thick as canvas––you cannot hold them by their appearance; I have seen velvet ropes and forgotten slums, heard stories of Islamic glory, praise of Liberal secularism; the youth I spoke to across the country are trying to find a way out; whether by higher education abroad or a daring plot to sneak into the Union––none of them see a future in their home country, not since ‘the Sultan’ took the reins.
‘What is life like for a young person in Turkey?’, I asked a young merchant.
‘Zor’, he answered, ‘çok zor’
(hard, very hard)
Already the nostalgia pulls at my heart; already it aches; sometimes I feel I cannot breath. I remember what Saint Teresa of Avíla said:
‘The pain was so great, that it made me moan; and yet so surpassing was the sweetness of this excessive pain, that I could not wish to be rid of it…’
What my former companion and I did––setting off from the monotony and lonely capitalism of Amsterdam into the wild unknown––was revolutionary, bold, my boyhood dream, what life is about. We do not speak anymore; all I have are memories which rise up in me on stagnant Saturdays here in quiet Australia. One day soon, I will make for the road again. This time alone. That is perhaps how I like it best, anyway.
A word for the nomads of this world: There is nothing wrong with you for not being able to sit still too long; the whole human race was nomadic until the Agricultural Revolution circa 12,000 years ago.
Then we gave up our freedom and sense of adventure for the illusion of material security; we allowed pharaohs and emperors and corporate tyrants to control our lives.
To maintain focus in this nightmare we are diagnosed and medicated––if you struggle to keep up with the madness, the finger is pointed at you. You have ADHD or bi-polar or whatever else they can throw at you because you refuse to drink their Kool-Aid. But you are not stupid. You are not sick. You feel the deliberate suffocation, the slow strangulation of those who’ve hijacked the economic system and are constantly trying to keep us in our place, and themselves in their privilege. You reject illegitimate authority and you seek the Cosmic Road; the High-way. Do not be afraid out there, oh nomad. You are the calm in the eye of this storm and God is with you always. I love you. I hope you’ll find happiness.
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