And one more...

Somehow, this excerpt found itself on the top of my list and wheedled its way into a post of its own. What was amazing about the book, I realized at this point of reading it, was that the plot - what was really 'happening' was sort-of just on the side and didn't really matter. What really mattered (to the author and thus to me) was the change in his spirit that he was so consciously living himself through.

I woke at dawn and walked rapidly along the beach towards the village; my heart was leaping in my breast. I had rarely felt so full of joy in my life. It was no ordinary joy, it was a sublime, absurd and unjustifiable gladness. Not only unjustifiable, contrary to all justification. This time I had lost everything – my money, my men, the line, the trucks; we had constructed a small port and now we had nothing to export. It was all lost.

Well, it was precisely at that moment that I felt an unexpected sense of deliverance. As if in the hard, somber labyrinth of necessity I had discovered liberty herself playing happily in a corner. And I played with her.

When everything goes wrong, what a joy to test your soul and see if it has endurance and courage! An invisible and all-powerful enemy – some call him God, others the Devil, seems to rush upon us to destroy us; but we are not destroyed.

Each time that within ourselves we are the conquerors, although externally utterly defeated, we human beings feel an indescribable pride and joy. Outward calamity is transformed into a supreme and unshakable felicity.

I remember something Zorba told me once: ‘One night on a snow-covered Macedonian mountain a terrible wind arose. It shook the little hut where I had sheltered and tried to tip it over. But I had shored it up and strengthened it. I was sitting alone by the fire, laughing at and taunting the wind. “You won’t get into my little hut, brother; I shan’t open the door to you. You won’t put my fire out; you won’t tip my hut over!”’

In these few words of Zorba’s I had understood how men should behave and what tone they should adopt when addressing powerful but blind necessity.

I walked rapidly along the beach, talking with the invisible enemy. I cried: “You won’t get into my little hut, brother; I shan’t open the door to you. You won’t put my fire out; you won’t tip me over!”’

And with this excerpt, Zorba, I bid thee farewell.

Zorba and Me

I finished reading the book a few days ago and dearly wished I could be a Zorba too... Here are some excerpts from my excerpts:

‘What happened to the crow, Zorba?’
‘Well, you see, he used to walk respectably, properly – well, like a crow. But one day he got it into his head to try and strut about like a pigeon. And from that time on the poor fellow couldn’t for the life of him recall his own way of walking. He was all mixed up, don’t you see? He just hobbled about.’

We stayed silent by the brazier until far into the night. I felt once more how simple and frugal a thing is happiness: a glass of wine, a roast chestnut, a wretched little brazier, the sound of the sea. Nothing else. And all that is required to feel that here and now is happiness is a simple, frugal heart.

Because, as my master, Buddha, says: “I have seen.” And as I have seen and, in the twinkling of an eye, have got on good terms with the jovial and whimsical, invisible producer, I can henceforward play my part on earth to the end, that is to say coherently and without discouragement. For, having seen, I have also collaborated in the work in which I am acting on God’s stage.

I walked along the water’s edge playing a game with the waves. They ran up to try and wet me and I ran away. I was happy and said to myself: ‘This is true happiness: to have no ambition and to work like a horse as if you had every ambition. To live far from men, not to need them and yet to love them. To take part in the Christmas festivities and, after eating and drinking well, to escape on your own far from all snares, to have the stars above, the land to your left and the sea to your right: and to realize of a sudden that, in your heart, life has accomplished its final miracle: it has become a fairy-tale.’

‘What is your favorite dish, granddad?’
‘All of them, my son. It’s great sin to say this is good and that is bad.’
‘Why? Can’t we make a choice?’
‘No, of course we can’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because there are people who are hungry.’
I was silent, ashamed. My heart had never been able to reach that height of nobility and compassion.

‘Once when I was a kid – this’ll show you – I was mad on cherries. I had no money, so I couldn’t buy many at a time, and when I’d eaten all I could buy I still wanted more. Day and night I thought of nothing but cherries. I foamed at the mouth; it was torture! But one day I got mad, or ashamed, I don’t know which. Anyway, I just felt cherries were doing what they liked with me and it was ludicrous. So what did I do? I got up one night, searched my father’s pockets and found a silver mejidie and pinched it. I was up early the next morning, went to a market-gardener and bought a basket o’ cherries. I settled down in a ditch and began eating. I stuffed and stuffed till I was all swollen out. My stomach began to ache and I was sick. Yes, boss, I was thoroughly sick, and from that day to this I’ve never wanted a cherry. I couldn’t bear the sight of them. I was saved. I could say to any cherry: I don’t need you any more.’

We are little grubs, Zorba, minute grubs on the small leaf of a tremendous tree. This small leaf is the earth. The other leaves are the stars that you see moving at night. We make our way on this little leaf examining it anxiously and carefully. We smell it; it smells good or bad to us. We taste it and find it eatable. We beat on it and it cries out like a living thing.
‘Some men – the more intrepid ones – reach the edge of the leaf. From there we stretch out, gazing into chaos. We tremble. We guess what a frightening abyss lies beneath us. In the distance we can hear the noise of the other leaves of the tremendous tree, we feel the sap rising from the roots to our leaf and our hearts swell. Bent thus over the awe-inspiring abyss, with all our bodies and all our souls, we tremble with terror. From that moment begins …’
I stopped. I wanted to say ‘from that moment begins poetry’, but Zorba would not have understood. I stopped.

I could not and would not sleep. I thought of nothing. I just felt something, someone growing to maturity inside me in the warm night. I lived lucidly through a most surprising experience: I saw myself change. A thing that usually happens only in the most obscure depths of our bowels was the time occurring in the open, before my eyes. Crouched by the sea, I watched this miracle take place.

‘Well, as I was saying, this Hussein Aga was a saintly man. One day he took me on his knee and placed his hand on my head as though he was giving me his blessing. “Alexis,” he said, “I’m going to tell you a secret. You’re too small to understand now, but you’ll understand when you are bigger. Listen, little one: neither the seven storeys of heaven nor the seven storeys of the earth are enough to contain God; but a man’s heart can contain him. So be very careful, Alexis – and may my blessing go with you – never to wound a man’s heart!”’

Food for Thought

Below is the part that first endeared Zorba to me as I read the book.

'Look, one day I had gone to a little village. An old grandfather of ninety was busy planting an almond tree. “What, granddad!” I exclaimed. “Planting an almond tree?” And he, bent as he was, turned round and said: “My son, I carry on as if I should never die.” I replied: “And I carry on as if I was going to die any minute.” Which of us was right, boss?’ […]

I kept silent. Two equally steep and bold paths may lead to the same peak. To act as if death did not exist, or to act thinking every minute of death, is perhaps the same thing. But when Zorba asked me the question, I did not know.

‘Well?’ Zorba said mockingly. ‘Don’t worry, boss, you can’t argue that out. Let’s talk of something else. Just now I’m thinking of the chicken and the pilaf sprinkled with cinnamon. My brain’s steaming like the pilaf. Let’s eat first, ballast up first, then we’ll see. Everything in good time. In front of us now is the pilaf; let our minds become pilaf. Tomorrow the lignite will be in front of us; our minds must become lignite! No half-measures, you know.’

The Butterfly

My reading of Zorba... continues to be slow and easy. I read and re-read paragraphs often, just to drink in the beauty of the writing, the formulation of thought. I hope I always remember the lesson the following passage serves to instill:

I remembered one morning when I discovered a cocoon in the bark of a tree, just as the butterfly was making a hole in its case and preparing to come out. I waited a while, but it was too long appearing and I was impatient. I bent over it and breathed on it to warm it. I warmed it as quickly as I could and the miracle began to happen before my eyes, faster than life. The case opened, the butterfly started slowly crawling out and I shall never forget my horror when I saw how its wings were folded back and crumpled; the wretched butterfly tried with its whole trembling body to unfold them. Bending over it, I tried to help it with my breath. In vain. It needed to be hatched out patiently and the unfolding of the wings should be a gradual process in the sun. Now it was too late. My breath had forced the butterfly to appear, all crumpled, before its time. It struggled desperately and, a few seconds later, died in the palm of my hand.

That little body is, I do believe, the greatest weight I have on my conscience. For I realize today that it is a mortal sin to violate the great laws of nature. We should not hurry, we should not be impatient, but we should confidently obey the eternal rhythm.

I sat on a rock to absorb this New Year's thought. Ah, if only that little butterfly could always flutter before me to show me the way.

Zorba the Greek

Am reading Zorba the Greek now, and since I'm still reading it, this won't be a listing of all the quotes I liked in the book. Today, just one will do.

'Confucius says: "Many seek happiness higher than man; others beneath him. But happiness is the same height as man." This is true. So there must be a happiness to suit every man's stature. Such is, my dear pupil and master, my happiness of the day. I anxiously measure it and measure it again, to see what my stature of the moment is. For, you know this very well, man's stature is not always the same.

'How the soul of man is transformed according to the climate, the silence, the solitude, or the company in which it lives!

As I draw parallels between this book and Narcissus..., I realize that the beauty of both, as I see them, is that they bring out the dualities of life so wonderfully well. And truly, without any one of these aspects unrepresented, neither book would be worth a read.

This excerpt, in particular, made my mind rush to thoughts of acceptance; of truly living in the present with what we have. It also made me think of the fluidity of life, how it constantly transforms itself, when we feed it right.

I love this book.