I met Paulo Nazareth in Zuccotti park – on October 28th – the Day of St. Jude – the Saint of the Impossible. That says it all. Here’s an excerpt from my diary: “I scanned the sterilized empty space of Liberty Square once known as Zuccotti Park. Disoriented by the brutal geographic shift of the landscape, I was trying to remember where everything had once been: the madness of the tobacco rolling factory, the perfectly American gothic knitting corner, the army of mops and brooms, the girl who brushed her teeth with coffee and most of all, the mysterious Paulo Nazareth whose spirit I will now try to conjure as if waking from a dream. The first thing I noticed, back then was the stillness of the moment. And then his green turban and the flowing robes, the gentle way he leaned against one of the poles of the makeshift kitchen at the center of the Square, sipping a cup of coffee and contemplating the swirling vortex of the Wall Street Occupiers around him. I was there filming a documentary on cultural resistance and I had just put down my camera to take a breath but I couldn’t resist. I walked over and asked him what he was doing here. Paulo, who from up close appeared to be in his early thirties, introduced himself as a Brazilian artist born and raised in the favellas of Santa Luzia in the region of Minas da Gerais, smack in the middle of the continent. He told me that had been walking up and down Latin America for the past nine months and had just arrived in Manhattan the night before.”