Love, sex, and the search for meaning fuel this riveting novel about a group of young men as they attempt to navigate their way through life and relationships.
The series is a fictional portrait of the spiritual journey. Note: Due to mature subjects, the series is intended for readers 18 and over. Please respect that this material is copyrighted and may not be reproduced in any format for any reason without the publisher's permission.
The book is available in paperback online and electronically for Kindle (internationally on Amazon sites, as well). The complete first chapter is usually available to read on the Amazon link: click here
Chapter One introduces the Buddhist concept of impermanence as we meet 19 y/o Mark, the main protagonist of this 100,000+ word novel. It is 1982, and Mark resides with his mother and stepfather in Kenya. He is about to lose his boyfriend in a country where homosexuality is taboo and assumes he will be saddled with isolation the rest of his life. As you read the excerpt and first chapter, consider the following:
1) How do you deal with imminent loss?
2) How is Mark handling it? Is distraction a coping skill?
3) Do you think Mark handles loss and helplessness maturely for a young man? How might it be different if he were older or lived somewhere else?
4) Do you ever contemplate the concept of impermanence (the idea that "all things must come to pass") in life? Which feelings arise when you realize that the only guarantee in life is that it will change?
5) How do you manage a strong difference of opinion with someone you love?
Here is the beginning of the story:
Mark
forged ahead, wiping dirt-laden sweat from his brow with his soiled hand. He focused
on the remaining coffee shrubs, saw them at once brown and dry, and became
conscious of the fallacy inherent in the name “evergreen.” Mark liked to think he embraced the Buddhist concept
of impermanence, but he wished it would leave his actual life well enough alone.
Instead, everything was about to change. He took a deep breath and imagined the
tangible sensation of moisture where there was only arid air.
Annoyed by the constant strands of his jet-black
hair, he stopped to tighten the small rubber band that held them at the back of
his head. It was to honor Sioux tradition that he tried to grow his
hair long. Mark knew little about his mother’s people. He wouldn’t bother about
it now except for his African stepfather impressing upon him the weight of
tribe as he spoke of his own.
About to move along, he saw a small beetle
turned upside down trying to right itself. It was just an insect, but Mark couldn’t
help but take a moment to flip it over. As he did so, he remembered boys in grade
school who tore the wings off of insects for amusement. He felt revolted, assuming
any act of brutality toward life would naturally translate into bigger and more
malicious acts, as if the condoning of cruelty even toward the smallest of things
would somehow, insidiously, seep its way into the very essence of one’s self. He was glad
to have finished high school, to be rid of these same classmates. But, when his
mind drifted in that direction, a chill electrified his spine as the realization
hit anew that Kyle was leaving.
“Mark!”
his stepfather called out from the house just beyond the field. The Kikuyu man was
as great as a tree, but he no longer towered over Mark like he once did.
“Take
a break,” Papap said. He didn’t seem as worried about the crop as Mark felt. In
a sense, Papap never seemed as disturbed about anything–as if he had struck a
deal with the universe and trusted in its reliability.
His
stepfather came closer now and assessed him. “You never know when to quit. Even
as a child, you were stubborn and had to do everything in your own way. See, in
this manner, you remind me of your mother. Look at you. You’re a mess.” Papap shook
his head and clucked his tongue. “Go rest now.”
Mark’s
hand slipped to his bare chest, made darker by the equatorial sun. In his twelve
years in Kenya, he had never felt Africa so parched. It left him feeling thirsty
and overexposed. Still, he wasn’t ready to face the evening. “No, thanks,” he
said.
“I
wasn’t aware that I was asking a question,” Papap said, already heading back to
the house. The absolute tone of the directive was clear, and Mark wouldn’t have
argued. He had too much respect for Papap to challenge him, but it didn’t
matter now because Kyle was pulling up in his jalopy.
The
car made choking noises as it maneuvered its way to the house. When Kyle stepped
out, Mark’s stomach churned, taken by the slender build, the bronzed skin, and the
revelation of the other’s neck under his short locks. His arousal was
heightened today by a resonant sadness.
“Can
you stay the whole night?” Mark asked when they caught up. The sun had started to
descend and allowed for an array of spectacular color on the horizon. The silhouette
of Mount Suswa presented a foreboding darkness in the otherwise perfect blend of
crimson and violet. Mark again felt for moisture in the air but found only the buzzing
of gnats. The dry earth met him hard against his tired feet.
