Tag Archives: storyteller

Narrator – my origin


Unimaginably long ago I arose from the sound of falling rain in the blowing wind and the clattering of tumbling pebbles. With the rain the rhythm was created, by the wind my voice arose and with the tumbling pebbles the applause started. Stories emerged from the rhythm and the wind. Esteem started by the applause with the urge to seek the attention again and again.

My entire life I tell stories about life and death, about wars, greed, courage and loyalty, about love, revenge, honour, glory and wrath, icy wrath that brought countless horrors.

Since I was saved by Carla Drift from a dream in which I almost slipped to another world, I tell stories for improving discussions and insights on the interfaces between philosophy, literature and religion. Thus, I hope to contribute to a better world, peace and happiness for everyone and everything. This is the summary of the biography of my life.

In this summary my first remembrance is missing in which I heard my father singing in a language from the country from where he had left to Africa. This song sounds so familiar as if I already knew it  from the beginning of time. My father has told me that this chant is called the īśāvāsya [1] upaniṣad or the Isha Upanishad [2] in his country of origin. When I was four years old, my father taught me the text while I sat beside him [3].

ॐ पूर्णमदः पूर्णमिदं पूर्णात् पूर्णमुदच्यते।
पूर्णस्य पूर्णमादाय पूर्णमेवावशिष्यते॥
ॐ शांतिः शांतिः शांतिः॥

Ôm, Purnamadah Purnamidam Purnat Purnamudachyate;
Purnasya Purnamadaya Purnameva Vashishyate.
Ôm shanti, shanti, shanti

Ôm, that is overall. This is overall. Overall comes from overall.

Take overall from overall and thus remains overall.

Ôm peace, peace, peace.

The chant of the  īśāvāsya upaniṣad can be listened via an annex to this post on the website of the publisher: http://www.omnia-amsterdam.com [4].

My father is dark as the night. He was born and raised in a poor southern part of India. At school he fluently learned Sanskrit: the language of the Gods in the world of women/men. All my grandparents and grand-grandparents spoke this language. As a young adult man my father travelled to Kenya in Africa to wander as storyteller and to have a better life. In this country he met my mother.

My mother is a proud woman from the Maasai nomads tribe. She does not know any borders; all the land is for everyone and the cattle needs food and care. She met my father as a young woman. He was starving and she took pity on him. Between them a love arose that transcends our existence. They go together through life; my father remains wandering as storyteller and my mother gives care and shelter when he is passing by. Here-from I came on Earth.

My first name is Kṛṣṇa [5] because I am dark as the night like my father with my black blue skin and because I was born during the dark period of the moon. My parents expressed the hope that I may awake every night again like the Moon and may not die like all other people [6]. Later in my life I changed my first name in Narrator, because I wish to belong to the mortals. My family name from my father’s side is Nārāyana. This means in the language of my ancestors: “Son of the original man”. [7]

[8]

Around my sixth year, my father brought me to school. There I learned to read and write. I never ceased reading. I read Gilgamesh, Iliad, Odyssey, Mahābhārata, Shakespeare in the last classes of school while the other students played warrior. Many of my stories stem from this time.

[9]

Until my 16th birth day I stayed at school. Then stark dark pages came into my life.


[1] Īśa means among others in Sanskrit “God in the heaven of the Gods”, “one with almightiness”. “Avāsya” means “putting down”. Hereby īśāvāsya can be understood as a description of God in the heaven of Gods. Source: electronic version of the dictionary Monier-Williams – MWDDS V1.5 Beta

[2] A literal translation of the Isha Upanishad in Dutch can be obtained via the following hyperlink: http://www.arsfloreat.nl/documents/Isa.pdf

[3] Upanishad literally means: “Sitting down near”. See also: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Upanishads

[4] The author doesn’t know the origin of this mp3 file. When the owner makes her-/himself known to the author, the post will be amended to the wishes of the right holders in this question.

[5] Kṛṣṇa means amongst others “black”, “black blue”, “the dark period of the moon cycle”. Source electronic version of the dictionary Monier-Williams – MWDDS V1.5 Beta

[6] According to a Maasai myth the God Engaï gives cattle to the people and he brings people to life after their death and each day he lets the Moon die. After a sin wherein an opponent was desired death, Engaï lets people die and each night he brought the Moon to life. Source:  http://nl.wikipedia.org/wiki/Masa%C3%AF_(volk)

[7] Source electronic version of the dictionary Monier-Williams – MWDDS V1.5 Beta

[8] A Maasai woman. Source image: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maasai_people

[9] Source image: http://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maasa%C3%AF

Carla Drift – Nomadic existence 3


At the end of the summer holidays, the school board did not need a teacher for math and science. I decided to move on. After the black page in my history, I was not interested in trekking. Life was dull and weary, like a meal that tasted like putty. But I had to move on. There was no other choice: I did not belong at the place where I was. The days were stringing together. Autumn started and it was soon dark before the evening meal. The hills showed themselves in a dark red glow like clotted blood.

[1]

That year the winter started early. In end of November it froze solid and snow was falling. In early December I found a man lying in sleeping bag far too thin for that time of the year. The man had a dark blue colour, but now he was pale. By the hypothermia he was not approachable. With difficulty I moved him into my caravan. I put the heating on, put him in my bed and laid down beside him. For first time, I was pleased with a hot flash by the transition. After a few hours the man was still nauseated and shaky. I made something to eat and to drink. With great reluctance he eat and drank. Every a few hours I have repeated this action. The next day we moved to a winter camping. The owner looked suspiciously at the man with the appearance of a wanderer. On this camp-ground we washed his clothes. He showered  and I cut his hair and trimmed his beard. Now he looked presentable again. Now I had a goal in my life again, although temporally.

In my youth I cared for my sisters without success and for my dolls with success, but that did not count. Later I had nobody to care for. I only had to look after myself – a lonely bird did not know otherwise. During my research others sometimes took care of my safety. But now I had someone to care for – a proud man.

He was born in Africa around 1960. His mother cared for him, for his brothers and sisters and for his father. His father was an wandering storyteller who received care and shelter when he visited his mother. Then he told his adventures and everyone was happy.

At school he learned reading and writing from the nuns. The rest of his life, he visited every library for food for thought. From his father he learned storytelling.

With the change from boy to young man, he noticed that he fell in love with other young men. His mother sent him away to a country where men may love other men. After a long trip he arrived in Amsterdam. His life was a feast. His exotic fragrance wafted through the city: he met the best and most beautiful lovers. But also in this city he slept in the open air – on a balcony or with all windows open if he was with someone. From an exotic young man, he became an older man with greying hair and a flax beard. The love floated as fast as the years. This spring he started to drift; his wanderer’s existence began. In his biography more about his life.

[2]

Still he could not and he did not want to sleep under a roof; the first nights after our meeting he was far too weak for objections – I left a small light on. For the next cold nights we painted the starry sky in luminous paint on the inside of the roof of the caravan: in the dark it seemed as if we were under the starry sky. When the weather was good, we slept outside.

Together we moved on that winter. We told each other of our adventures. I also told in vague wordings about the black page in my history. He told his dark pages. We did not have a relationship: he loved men and I was closed in this area.

The following post is about the start of our Odyssey.


[1] Source image: http://nl.wikipedia.org/wiki/Herfst

[2] Source image: processing in several ways of a photo.