Once upon a time I was an indefatigable reader of books by spiritual masters and about spiritual masters.
From the austere wisdom of the Upanishads to the whispering clarity of Rumi; from the razor-sharp aphorisms of Zen monks to the ever-smiling Dalai Lama – I devoured them all. Tibetan lamas, Sufi mystics, Christian contemplatives, and, yes, even the occasional Hawaiian shaman or California – based crystal whisperer. If someone had even briefly glimpsed enlightenment, I wanted their reading list.
Like many ‘seekers’ (with mild existential anxiety) I was trying to decode the big questions:
What is the purpose of life?
Why are we here?
What happens after we die?
And also – should I eat carbs after 8 pm if I want to attain moksha?
I diligently underlined passages, lit incense, listened to chants and tried very hard not to judge people. I nodded gravely when someone used the word “non-dual.” I even attempted silence. (On day two, someone asked me what was wrong with my voice.). I also went through a ten days Vipssana course. It was uplifting and learnt to mediate.
But then… I met Zorba.
Or rather, I read Zorba the Greek. And something shifted.
Here was a man who didn’t quote scriptures, didn’t meditate at dawn, and certainly didn’t follow any “12 steps to transcendence.” Zorba danced. He loved. He failed. He laughed like the gods were listening – and couldn’t care less. He devoured life with both hands, spilt wine, and the occasional broken plate.
And suddenly, all those questions I had held so carefully began to wobble a little.
It wasn’t that Zorba answered the great spiritual questions. It’s that he made them seem slightly… beside the point.
Because what if the meaning of life is simply to live it? Fully. Messily. Gratefully. What if we’re not here to transcend the human experience, but to inhabit it?
Zorba didn’t seek detachment -he sought engagement. Not escape, but immersion. He was a walking contradiction: earthy and wise, wild and kind, reckless and clear-eyed.
After Zorba, I began reading the mystics a little differently. I still love their insights – but now I suspect many of them would’ve quite enjoyed a night out with Zorba too. Even the Buddha might’ve smiled at one of his jokes (before returning to his cushion, of course).
So here I am now – older, possibly wiser, and only occasionally smug about inner peace. I still listen to chants sometimes but soon shift to Jazz. I still flip through spiritual books out of habit. I meditate sometimes. But I also dance , badly, to Bollywood music. And when someone offers me a glass of wine, I don’t check if it’s organic or karma-free. I just raise a quiet toast to Zorba and then ask if there is any Mezcal in the house. If not Ouzo.
Because maybe the sacred isn’t always in silence.
Sometimes it’s in the laughter that bursts out when you stop trying so hard to be profound.
💬 “Life is trouble. Only death is not. To live… is to undo your belt and look for trouble.”
– Zorba the Greek
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An ordinary life 