Marsea at Sea

The class that is challenging me the most on this voyage is Nomadology, a course in multi-writing, war and peace, multiple multiples, either/and, my-story/stery and so much more. It is rattling all my cages - and that's a good thing. An assignment for the class asked us to respond to a very simple question: Why do I travel? The piece below is my current answer. I welcome your comments.

EITHER HOME AND QUOZ

Varanasi is either home and Quoz, either myself and The Other. During one spectacular sunrise in 2002, that ancient Indian city on the Ganges revealed to me its everyday life, brimful of mystery and contradiction: cleansing in filthy water; life-affirming rituals performed with bloated corpses floating by; dawn and darkness; bells and Sanskrit chanting; water and fire; saffron marigolds and tattered grey shrouds; magnetism and revulsion.

Varanasi is why I travel – to come face to face with quoz, The Other. In Road to Quoz: An American Mosey, his greatest work since Blue Highways, William Least Heat Moon resuscitates this moribund word as he explores the universally recognized phenomenon of encountering that which is completely foreign, exotic, unknown. Beginning from his home in Missouri, he goes in search of what is totally outside his familiar and quickly finds it, often quite nearby.

My own travels have been guided by a similar search, by my hunger for the not-me. My Life List of Destinations was once headed by Tibet and then it became Morocco, which a fortuitous itinerary change for this voyage has delivered to me. Now the tiny South Pacific island of Yap is number one. Having lived these encounters with exotic places in faraway lands a number of times, I’m beginning to look more closely at how I react, what happens in the intersection.

My habitual response when I come face-to-face with quoz has been to observe only. I make mental and digital notes then later wrap the experience in spoken and written words. I want to change that, to discover ways to respond differently, perhaps to interact. I want to acknowledge the questions I have, the gaps in my understanding. If I act on the very human urge to seek out common ground, what does that do to the otherness? What does it feel like to inhabit that question, that tension? What propels me toward quoz, what am I really seeking? Can I embrace the challenging concept of either/and?

I know there will be many more questions. I confess I’ve lived a life too often characterized by hubris, by thinking I know many answers. Beginning on this voyage, I want to learn to celebrate the questions.