What is the Meaning of Life?



Cepi found it in An Old Black Marble.
Read it and you will too.


(coming soon)

We have been asking this question for thousands of years, yet the answer is still elusive, or is it? The idea that we have NOT yet discovered the answer to this question is a myth. Over the last two thousand years philosophers, scientists, and religious leaders have attacked this issue from every angle imaginable, and each have added a piece to the puzzle. The answer exists. The only reason it still feels like a mystery is because it is broken in pieces and scattered amongst the different disciplines.

Human beings are wired to think in terms of stories. Maybe it began with the discovery of fire, and sitting around it in camps over a good barbeque, listening to the tale of how it was caught. Over time those tales became elaborate epics, and today that legacy is our thinking and laughing mind that still enjoys a great tale after a good meal. And this is what An Old Black Marble is; a tale of being Human, and our place in this world.

The two things that all of us encounter on our journey through life is pain and the uncertainty of what comes next. These two subjects are the meat and potatoes of all religions, all philosophies, and at the root of science. With An Old Black Marble I decided to tell a story, an epic tale, where by witnessing one man’s struggle in life we can see this process of fear, pain, confusion and the resulting strife and chaos, but also its resolution. Knowledge is key, but knowledge is the most time intensive and expensive commodity in this universe for any one individual to obtain. It took Ciprian Indre a lifetime to achieve it, but it will take you only the time to read his story to get it.

This is why An Old Black Marble is written like a fable. Like a campfire story about a man, his pain, his glory, because it is our story. A story made of the knowledge of all those that have come before us, and then expressed in a way we can all relate to, and in the end understand. So the first key to the meaning of life is understanding, and by reading An Old Black Marble… you will understand.

Read, enjoy, and email me your feedback whatever it may be.

Sincerely;

Florin Nicoara

anoldblackmarble@gmail.com




An Old Black Marble will be available in the near future... 
 ...but for now enjoy my latest book, The Biker! 


 Get your digital copy from:         Or get a Hardcopy at:
           Amazon                                  Createspace
           Smashwords

          Imagine The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, sprinkle in some Mad Max, and add a dash of The Terminator; so what’cha cooking?  THE BIKER!  Oh, and I almost forgot.  The garnish.  Yes.  The Biker is garnished.  Unlike the three a fore mentioned films the Biker delivers a little more, it has that extra touch that makes the difference between a good dish and a gourmet delight.  It is not only an exciting calorie filled action desert, but a well balanced feast, consisting of a hardy amount of dramatic nutrients capable of causing even the most hardened tough guy to shed, if not a full tear, at least a half.

          Are you hungry yet?  So what am I talking about here, food, film, or an engrossing novel?  It is neither food nor film, or film in food, nor food on film, but it is definitely food for thought.  The Biker is a fast paced action filled thriller that reads more like a movie in your mind than a book in your hands.

          The action in this tale is about a mysterious lone Biker, who seems to suddenly spring forth from the desert dust like a lost horseman from some other apocalyptic time, unleashing a murderous rampage on the outskirts of Las Vegas.   Bruce, a decorated detective, and his protégé, John, arrive on the scene and come face to face with the horrific devastation unleashed by this single man.  Both detectives make it their mission to take this mad man down, but instead, embark on a journey of personal devastation blurring the lines between good and evil, right and wrong, and beyond their most terrifying nightmares.  Who is this man that seems more powerful than anything Bruce and John have ever confronted before?

WARNING!  The Biker is a fun story to read, but it is ultra violent, cold, and will twist you mind.  Read at your own risk. 

...now back to An Old Black Marble (coming soon).
Inspirations for AnOBM;
Primarily Carlos Castaneda, Tolstoy, and Steinbeck along with the great philosophers all
wrapped up in the truths of science, myth, and Man's place in nature.

AnOBM is most similar to;
"The Pillars of the Earth" by Ken Follett
and "Les Miserables" by Victor Hugo
Quotes from An Old Black Marble
 
“I had never seen a man look so sad in my life.  I looked in his eyes and that glint of fun that had always been there was gone.  All I could see was a maddening melancholy.  It was written on his face.  He gave up.  For all his existence he fought against the river of life but in that moment, in that prison, he had finally given up.  His life was out of his hands and he was willing to let go and drown.”  pg. 401


"In life there are intersections, confluences, synchronicites, points in space and time that are everything or nothing.  That moment could have been nothing.  Nico could have run past with ice cream dripping off his chin.  I could have yelled and kept yelling.  I could have stopped and gave it no other thought.  It would have been nothing, but instead I caught myself, and it became everything.  I yelled, and that yell unleashed... that yell ripped through the fabric of my life and I came upon an intersection, and in that moment my path changed in a new direction... past my nexus, and into eternity." pg. 636


“There were four people under the roofed enclosure, two women, and two men.  The first person that caught my eye was an old peasant lady.  She was dressed in all black the way widows around here do.  My eyes read every inch of her being, and I could clearly see her entire life painted on her face.  Her life was hard.  She was battered and bruised yet there was a spirit in her that seemed unbreakable.  I felt that most people would have long ago died had they lived her life, but she still stood defiant.  I liked her.
My eyes were then drawn to a young man in his early twenties.  He looked ready to take on life, yet he seemed ill prepared for what was to follow.  I could see fear and confusion in him.  His clothes and demeanor inspired confidence, but under his costume I could see a man being corroded away by the dread of the world.  I felt pity for him.
Next to him there was another man.  He looked to be in his forties.  He was gaunt, dirty, and worn out.  He looked defeated like he had long ago given up on his life and was now focused only on escaping death.  His eyes were hazy and emotionless, and he puffed on his cigarette with tense jitters.  He exuded disdain and seemed in search of an unattainable rage he seemed to want to release, but could not find the strength within to do so.  Death was at his door and he knew it, but could not bear it.  He nervously puffed on his cigarette, defiant but weak, and I could see how in trying to run away from his death he was instead running head-long into it.  I felt agitated by him. 
 Next to him there was another woman.  She looked to be in her forties.  I knew she was in her forties yet she looked older than the peasant lady who was likely in her seventies.  I looked at the lady’s face, and it was the saddest I had ever seen.  Unlike the man next to her it was obvious she was not even trying.  She had completely given up and was simply waiting for death to take her at its convenience.  The woman nauseated me.”  pg. 522


  “I looked at the back of the white haired old man walking away and for the first time I felt a knot in my chest growing from deep sadness for my Father.  I wanted to chase after and hug him but he disappeared around the barn.  It was better that way.  It was his way.  I took a deep breath and threw my bag over my shoulder.  I looked at the barn and intended to keep my promise; never to sleep in another hayloft again.  I looked at our little vegetable garden, and the well, and thanked them both for feeding me so well.  I looked at the little wretched house knowing that I might never see it again.   
   Dumitru stepped out interrupting my nostalgia.  He walked up and shook my hand.  With restrained tears in both of our eyes we embraced for the last time.  Then with a slap on his shoulder I walked away without looking back.  I walked past the house, climbed the little fence ladder, and then stepped over to the other side into the infinite distance.”  Pg. 366


“In those first couple of months, for the first time in my life I realized that I was different, and that my Father was right.  In the world there were men, but I was something else, something less than human.  My Father had always said that he was just a draft animal existing only to labor so that others can reap the benefits of his work.  I never understood him before, but now it made sense.  If my Father was a draft animal, so was I.  I was his son, thus I could be nothing more then my father’s son.  I finally understood that we were not like others; that we were destined to work the land, and die in it.”  Pg.76


  "On our way to the train station Magdalena casually asked what happened.  I heard her question but I had no energy to answer.  Once again I could no longer tell what I was feeling.  I could no longer tell what was going on inside of me and I could no longer tell if the dream was lost forever, or if I was forever lost in a dream." pg. 385


  “Many times in my past I dreamed that maybe one day I would get a chance to sit with God, in his white living room, on his white couch, among the white pillows, in front of the flowing white drapes, and reminisce, have a good laugh while sipping some heavenly red wine.  In my day dreams we discussed the good old times, back then, down there, on that little blue marble called Earth, and I would say to God…  “Why am I so cursed… and this whole world it seems?  So much misery.  So much evil.  So much wrong.  Is this our lesson, but… isn’t there another way?”  That was what I had always wanted to ask God in his living room, but now I no longer think that way because now I understand he has already answered me; in my living room." pg. 645
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