hailing from the east, my parents originally named me "onacoma," or white owl. intrinsically, i knew i had to fly. that's how i learned to pilot single-manned prop planes. flew them for a while as a bush-pilot out of kenai, alaska before attempting an around the world flight - the first to be done eating nothing but avocados. somewhere around the siberian "taiga," or boreal line, the controls went haywire. thinking quickly in the moment, i strapped my chute on and jumped. luckily, my plummet happened to be seasonly timed with the siberian spring. i followed the stars by foot, leading myself through the himalayas and into tibet. humbly, i was taken in at a buddhist temple, where, for many months, i sat in meditation. coming out with clearer eyes, i felt the urge of my white wings. i meditated one more month at a beyul outside of kathmandu. i knew my calling was elsewhere, hence, i began my wandering once more. following the once fabled tsangpo river, i crossed into india where i met a nice "chap" by the name of charles who relayed a raft for me. thanking him and his daughter, i set out from india back to north america. i cannot say, dear friends, how long i drifted, seemingly aimless, in the black ocean. i eventually caught hold of a current that took me up the chesapeke bay and into maryland, where a crabbing boat picked me up. dropped ashore, i saved enough money to buy a banjo and earn a bit as a street musician. word traveled, i enjoyed some mild success for redefining the banjo in the twenty-first century, and i eventually left derwood, maryland for cleveland, ohio to play bass in "to be a high powered executive...". but some nights, looking at the stars, i still think about my children, fatherless, back in tibet....
artwork: www.mikemarksart.blogspot.com
