This story begins as these stories often do, from the middle. I am twenty-three years old and on the wrong end of an M-16 rifle. It’s March and the year is 1988.
And BAM! We begin the journey of a twenty-three year old, American born L.A. musician who finds himself in the West Bank of Israel. He’s bringing a dead cousin back for burial at the request of his father who cannot make the trip. What he finds is the age old battle of perception and reality, of heritage and rebirth. A battle for truth and re-invention. This and everyone elses. It’s a story that is at once surreal and all too real.
While he entertains the flights of a young man’s fancy, violence and treachery are always nearby. It’s a story that is at once an exhilarating journey, and also a sobering call to humanity. He discovers what it is to be finite and infinite at the same time. In Jerusalem, the intersection of the Big Three Religions, he finds that the best solution may be a little humility. That to stand in one spot and look up may find man’s truest answer and that answer may be no one else’s business. Will he survive to enjoy these truths, if they are indeed real? We shall see!
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