On an early spring afternoon in 2004, Vincent Chough has a life altering spiritual encounter. Opening with a story about doing anything for acceptance, including starving himself down to 105 pounds, this bold autobiographical account follows hisMoreOn an early spring afternoon in 2004, Vincent Chough has a life altering spiritual encounter.
Opening with a story about doing anything for acceptance, including starving himself down to 105 pounds, this bold autobiographical account follows his experience which leads to a lucrative career as a physician that he later abandons.Brave Fish is an unrestricted exploration of betrayal, hypocrisy, addiction and coming of age in the 80s in America. Eventually Chough leaves everything behind and moves to Argentina to find his mission in life. In the end healing, truth and love triumph.Here are a few excerpts:It would be easy for me to dismiss the indulgences of my youth. I only sowed my wild oats as so many young people do.
But I did not stop there. I then reaped the oat harvest, mashed it into mush and brewed the mush into thick beer full of sediment. Drunk and fat on what I had sowed, I pickled myself thoroughly completely drying out any last juices of the excuse of youth. My fangs sank deep into the smooth, translucent ivory neck of innocence, and I sucked deeply.ON crisp autumn days Simon and I would plunge down on our bicycles into the valley behind his home.
Our thick knobbed tires rolled and bounced us along into a wooded paradise. Joyfully his dog would surf the descent along side us leaping over trenches in the dirt path with her tongue flapping from between her teeth. Leaves carpeted the valley and reflected the sunlight breaking through a canopy of red, yellow, rust and lime, and the floor shined like liquid gold illuminating upward our cathedral of brotherhood.
I never wanted those days to end.Is not joy, expressed at its most profound level, nearly indistinguishable from sorrow? We shed tears of pain and joy as our biology employs the same conduits for this expression.The Man upon the cross. Exquisite joy, triumphant sorrow.At this moment I do not waver, and I exercise tremendous courage, not from myself but from a higher source within me.
If I were to execute this explanation on my own terms, a beautiful soliloquy of betrayal would have been woven into a tapestry already thick with lies. This night, however, I claim victory over my pettiness, over my need to save face, and over the fear of exposing my true self. I finally begin to walk in the sweet pastures of truth and light.