Terry Tarnoff
Terry Tarnoff began his career as a writer at the tender age of twelve, when he was paid a penny a word to write phony letters to the editor of a small Milwaukee newspaper (he claims to have never matched that amount since, but that may be apocryphal). He graduated from the University of Wisconsin with a degree in psychology, then embarked on an eight-year journey that took him from Europe to Africa to Asia. Those experiences became the raw material for his first novel, "The Bone Man of Benares," which has been published in six countries and four languages, was produced as a play in San Francisco, and was optioned for a film project in Hollywood. Tarnoff's adventures and misadventures as a screenwriter became the basis for his second novel, "The Thousand Year Journey of Tobias Parker." His third novel, "The Chronicle of Stolen Dreams," explores inner space, outer space, and several spaces in between. His latest book, "The Reflectionist," reflects on the second half of his eight-year journey abroad. He lives in San Francisco, where he is working on his next novel. For more information, visit www.terrytarnoff.com.
“It felt warm sitting around the dhuni. I felt connected to the sadhus, to the temple, and even to Shiva. Is this it? Am I on the precipice of something? Is this what I've been looking for? It feels so close, I can nearly reach out and grab it, the answer to all my questions could be right in this circle, I could follow this path, I could grow my hair six feet long, I could stand in one spot for six years with my arm in the air, I could cover myself in ash, I could smoke chillums all day and chant all night, yes, this is what it's all been leading to, already, I feel my mind emptying out, it's slowing down just like in Greece, but this time the filmstrip is coming into focus, this time I can almost make it out, this time things are making sense, yes, of course, Paul is right, I must act like a sadhu, I must do what's right, and now the film stops for one brief second and I take a look, and there it is, my journey, yes, it's anything but a straight line, it's more like a spiral that twists all over the place, just like the lines in my palm, it's a spiral that at any moment could point up or down, in or out, and now, sitting at the feet of the holy men, looking into the warm pools of the sadhu's eyes - I suddenly realize what this is all about. Each person's journey is different, and this spiral of mine isn't finished spinning. At least, not here - not now, not in this magical arcade. It's as I always suspected. I don't want a guru. I don't want an ashram. I need to find my own way.”
“Hare Rama... I felt a jolt of energy coursing up my spine. I'm in Kathmandu, I kept telling myself - as the sounds began to permeate every pore of my body. It's a full moon - I'm on a glorious valley at the top of the world, I'm actually here - surrounded by the most extraordinary group of people, yes, I'm actually here, and the chanting is building and building until it becomes one great shout of ecstasy, and suddenly I'm chanting too - I've moved into the circle, I'm pounding on a drum, and I'm looking into the eyes of people around me - and I'm feeling part of something big and glorious and magnificently insane”
“I thought back to Europe, where this journey began, then to Berkeley and even Madison, where the plans were first hatched. I thought about how the road led through Amsterdam, Paris and Greece, how for Guy and Sarah it continued through Central Asia, and how for me it detoured through East Africa. I thought about how many people had started off on this same journey, and how few had made it this far. I thought about how, of all the possible destinations this was the farthest outpost, the most remote spot of all - Kathmandu was the end of the road.”
“I thought about how I'd held her in my arms and run my hand through her hair, along her cheeks, and down her neck, how her lower lip opened just slightly when I brushed my fingers against her breast...”