Kin to the Wind - IntroductionBy Moro Buddy Bohn
Being kin to the wind, I’ve been driven to travel, discover and be discovered. And this tale is about my worldwide family of folks, both rich and poor throughout 50 nations, who’ve helped me as I came their way.
I’m very grateful. For without connections or referrals, I set out with a backpack and guitar to circle the world at 21 as a troubadour—to play in royal courts and get along without ever using money as a means of exchange.
Other than with the exuberance of my youth, enthusiasm, guitar music, and my desire to see and learn, I had nothing with which to pay anyone. But by trusting, and simply putting one foot in front of the other, I discovered my huge worldwide family. All, even the terrorists among them, saw that I be given food, lodging, transportation, love and encouragement, advice and education. They also taught me philosophy, took me sightseeing, and showed me the lay of the land.
I crossed the Arabian Desert with a camel caravan of champagne-smuggling Bedouins, played for Pablo Picasso in France, was a circus act in Italy—guitar-accompanying a dancing midget horse—and performed with gypsies in Spain. The Communists in Berlin offered me $100 a day to defect. I was attacked and nearly killed by Tunisian beggars, met a ghost in the Himalayas, and was court troubadour to the king of Siam.
If my narrative reads a bit like the tales of Sinbad, I believe it’s because there was a beautiful charm at work, born of my trust in love and my faith that love governs. This charm generated an invisible shield, protecting me when dangers became life threatening and creating what seemed a worldwide conspiracy that I get looked after.
For most of my life I’ve been known as Moro (Moorish root of Morrow) my legal middle name. It suits the Moorish flavor, probably stemming from blood ancestry, that seasons my guitar composing. But during my troubadour years they called me Buddy Bohn.
Kin To The Wind recalls the events of those years—the people, conversations, and facts just as they occurred—assisted by journals and a big scrapbook of media coverage, documents and photos. The media coverage, including a feature in TIME, became so intense in 1963 it was turning my travels into a publicity stunt though. So I had to stop.
But it’s a tale that cries out to be told. For my memory of the way I was treated—and what this tells me about the presence of love—has so warmed my heart over the years, I’ve come to realize it’s too precious not to be shared.
My story discloses that amid the world’s frailties, insanities and horrors, there’s a limitless treasure of deep love abiding in us—a treasure so bountiful as to make all else seem paltry. It further reveals that if any of us goes around reflecting love with a mirror even so crude as a guitar, we can find it everywhere in abundance. For our world is truly the Eldorado of legend. Though it’s not mere gold that paves the roads. It is love.
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