INTRODUCTION

This memoir, written in 2010, recounts 1955, when I traveled from France to Tokyo and then to San Francisco, looking for something that was never very clear, even in my own mind.  I began writing this memoir as a record of what I did and where I went, but that was never the important part of what I was trying to do. The plain fact is that I wanted to relive the life I had lived when I was 20.  This is a record of how we mold ourselves through contact with extraordinary people who have qualities that most people lack.  There are individuals who sustain an aura, the mere contact with which can change us forever.  The men and women of ineffable spiritual force whom I encountered back in 1955 changed me forever.  While it is difficult for me, even now, to understand what happened when I was in my twenties, I know that I will never escape the impact those persons and events had on my life.

In this memoir, I offer places on a map and names of cities, some of which have changed over the years and others that I cannot recall.  They serve only as markers in a travel log, as a general guide, and as a reflection of the trip.  The names of people I met or towns I passed through are occasionally only approximates.  As I began writing I was impressed with how much I was enjoying the memories, which just seemed to flood back to me in rapid sequence as I typed.  I was reliving those days as fully as I did so long ago, but, this time, without the anxieties or concerns I

felt back then.        

Leaving New York City for Paris, 1953

As I wrote, I confided to a friend that at points I just could not remember what happened next.  She said, “Well, why don’t you look up your 1955 notes and read them.”  I had indeed at the time kept occasional notes of my travels, but they were fragmentary and I feared they might lead me away from the main ideas I wanted to bring out.  So I was reluctant to open the old, tattered journals that contained my original notes.  However, when I did begin to read them, I quickly found them useful.  They even recalled some things that I had completely forgotten.  One such example involved the Punjabi spinning songs, translated for me as we sat together with a group, spinning by candlelight, in Sevagram, India.  Each day some of the older women sang the songs they recalled of their childhood.  I had completely forgotten these happy moments of songs and tales, and I was happy to find the songs in my notes and include them in this book.

So, what came out and what you are now about to read is an amalgam of memory, notes, and a desire to find meaning in what happened so long ago.  What surprises me, even now, is how these strange travels came about in the first place.  Remember that before my journey I knew nothing about the places I was to visit.  Nor did I have any goal in mind.  Someone told me to go to India or to Japan, and that was all the encouragement I needed.  After all, I had worked for the Ford Motor Company for a couple of years after college, and, even though I was not unhappy, on my own I had decided I wanted to find my own life.  So with that rather unformed idea in mind, I was off to Paris to study Chinese and learn about whatever life offered.  Back then I was sure that when I was in my 80s I would not be able to do what I could do in my 20s, or so I thought.  But to tell you the truth, at 83 years of age, I am still looking for adventure, not exactly as I did at 23, but life is still as exhilarating as ever.  I only mention this to encourage others of any age to do what they wish, ignoring seeming social, physical, or financial blocks.  You will never regret breaking the bonds of convention and conformity, although doing so is not as easy today as it was then.  I have often encouraged my students at Duke University, who are dissatisfied with the academic routine or have a failed romance or suffer family pressures or fret over future career choices, to break away and seek their own lives, wherever those lives may be.  Invariably, they are fearful of consequences.

“But how will we live?” they ask.  And, alas, they are disappointed when I cannot tell them.  They want answers and I have none to give that they can understand.  Nevertheless, I am hopeful that this book will provide a few readers with the magic word that will wrest them from the world that is not theirs and show them the possibility of personal liberation.

As I wrote, I confided to a friend that at points I just could not remember what happened next.  She said, “Well, why don’t you look up your 1955 notes and read them.”  I had indeed at the time kept occasional notes of my travels, but they were fragmentary and I feared they might lead me away from the main ideas I wanted to bring out.  So I was reluctant to open the old, tattered journals that contained my original notes.  However, when I did begin to read them, I quickly found them useful.  They even recalled some things that I had completely forgotten.  One such example involved the Punjabi spinning songs, translated for me as we sat together with a group, spinning by candlelight, in Sevagram, India.  Each day some of the older women sang the songs they recalled of their childhood.  I had completely forgotten these happy moments of songs and tales, and I was happy to find the songs in my notes and include them in this book.

          So what came out and what you are now about to read is an amalgam of memory, notes, and a desire to find meaning in what happened so long ago.  What surprises me even now is how these strange travels came about in the first place.  Remember that before my journey I knew nothing about the places I was to visit.  Nor did I have any goal in mind.  Someone told me to go to India or to Japan, and that was all the encouragement I needed.  After all, I had worked for the Ford Motor Company for a couple of years after college, and, even though I was not unhappy, on my own I had decided I wanted to find my own life.  So with that rather unformed idea in mind, I was off to Paris to study Chinese and learn about whatever life offered.  Back then I was sure that when I was in my 80s I would not be able to do what I could do in my 20s, or so I thought.  But to tell you the truth, at 83 years of age, I am still looking for adventure, not exactly as I did at 23, but life is still as exhilarating as ever.  I only mention this to encourage others of any age to do what they wish, ignoring seeming social, physical, or financial blocks.  You will never regret breaking the bonds of convention and conformity, although doing so is not as easy today as it was then.  I have often encouraged my students at Duke University, who are dissatisfied with the academic routine or have a failed romance or suffer family pressures or fret over future career choices, to break away and seek their own lives, wherever those lives may be.  Invariably, they are fearful of consequences.

          “But how will we live?” they ask.  And, alas, they are disappointed when I cannot tell them.  They want answers and I have none to give that they can understand.  Nevertheless, I am hopeful that this book will provide a few readers with the magic word that will wrest them from the world that is not theirs and show them the possibility of personal liberation.

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