The Study of Wild Foods

Seeking the Path of Practical Ecology 

During nearly every weekend for the past 30+ years, I have been out on the trail, teaching students of all ages how to identity edible wild plants and how to use them for food.  On a recent Saturday, we were exploring a section of Pasadena’s Arroyo Seco.  Our class carefully collected bits of lamb’s quarter, wild radish, chickweed, and hedge mustard which we turned into a salad.  We also mixed the flower heads of wild buckwheat with wheat flour and made biscuits. From the oak trees, we collected and processed the acorns, and eventually made acorn pancakes.

I was only a teenager when  I was wondering what I should be doing with my life, and wondering how local indigenous cultures lived.  So I studied botany in high school and college, and understudied with Dr. Leonid Enari at the L.A. County Arboretum. I actively studied mycology with the Los Angeles Mycological Association for years.

I always felt that the knowledge of ethnobotany was a major key to understanding how native cultures survived, and it’s also a key to understanding what we should all be doing today.  This is why I am not a proponent of front lawns.  I prefer to grow fruit trees, vegetables, and wild plants in the front lawn area, so that little patch of green is productive and healthful.  I share the details of what we did with our front lawn (and other ways of “living lightly in the city”)  in the book that Dolores and I  authored, “Extreme Simplicity: Homesteading in the City.”  [You can get it on Amazon]

LEARNING ABOUT WILD FOODS

The best way to learn about wild plants is to see them first-hand, in the field, with an expert. Never eat a wild plant that you haven’t positively identified, and remember that there are no shortcuts.  

So what wild foods are available in our yards and fields? 

Recently, during our Wild Food walks, we have been collecting the following for their salads and cooked dishes:  Curly dock, watercress, lamb’s quarter, mustard, wild radish, nettle, nasturtium, and mallow.  Soon we’ll be collecting purslane. Most of these can be prepared raw or cooked, and many are now finding their way into local farmers markets. 

One of  my favorite wild foods is the fruit of the carob tree. There are tens of thousands of carob trees in the Southland, and the ripe brown fruits can be simply wiped clean and eaten. This is the perfect survival food.  It is rich in calcium and B vitamins, it tastes good, you don’t have to cook it, and it lasts for years. 

The Department of Agriculture tells us that some of the most nutritious plants are wild ones.  Dandelion is richer in beta-carotene than carrots.  Purslane is the richest plant source of Omega-3 fatty acids.  Curly dock is one of the richest sources of vitamin A.  Lambs quarter, so common in the urban areas, is a spinach relative that is arguably nature’s best mineral tablet.  Using wild food is not only a way to prepare for the emergencies, but it’s also a way to create free and nutritious meals.

          

Recent WILD FOOD COOKING WORKSHOP Menu

SALAD “Wood Stump Salad”
Salad consisted of equal parts chickweed, wild radish, hedge mustard, and one tomato.  Trader Joe’s Italian dressing

SOUP “Screaming at the Dawn”

Finely chopped greens of wild radish, hedge mustard, mallow, with quinoa seed, were cooked in miso broth.

GREENS “Viking Wake-Me-Up”

Only tender tops of nettles were collected, and they were boiled with no seasoning. They were delicious, like buttered greens. 

  

EGG DISH “Return to Childhood”

In a cast iron skillet, we cooked wild radish and lambs quarter greens until they were nearly done. Then we added eggs, and cooked like an omelette.

ACORN:   “Tongva Memories”

Processed acorn flour (with tannic acid removed), mixed half and half with wheat flour.  The flour was then formed into small loaves and cooked on soapstone slab.

  

On Survival Skills

I’ve had several conversations recently with friends and associates about the current thinking on “survival” and self-reliance issues.  Some folks are interested in surviving in the woods with next to nothing.  Some are just interested in taking care of themselves in an emergency.

I had to think back to my earliest interests, where I wanted to go backpacking and carry as little weight as possible. I found an answer by studying the ethnobotany of the local indigenous people, and have studied this fascinating field ever since. I was also studying the methods of modern agriculture, post-green revolution, and its effects on the soil and nutrition.  I also studied how food is stored, processed, and transported in our economic system.  The complexity was somewhat alarming to my teenage mind, and I oft wondered how food ever gets to anyone’s table.  I could see many scenarios where our accepted normal way of life could be easily disrupted.

In a nutshell, that is what put me on the path I’m on today.

I recently had a short meeting with the founder of an organization devoted exclusively to the study and education of survival in all aspect.  Richard White, with his military background, was so intent on this focus that he began regular study groups in the 1960s called the Noah Seminars, where the intent was to share the facts of our world situation and to work to find solutions that could actually be put into practice. 

When reading some of the minutes of those early meetings, they concerned themselves with wilderness survival and physical survival, but their concern was much broader than that. They focused on verifying the geologic and ecological changes in the world, both those man-made and natural. They looked at the economic issue that were even then threatening to undermine our security in the U.S. They examined the health of the individual, the cities, and our poor methods of communication. And perhaps most importantly, they examined how our moral, ethical, and spiritual weaknesses were threats to our survival.

Each of these areas has since been the subject of many books – perhaps hundreds in some cases. 

My meetings with members of the Noah Seminars, and the non-profit that grew out of it [WTI, go to www.wtinc.info], had an increasingly greater influence on the way that I perceived the world, and the solutions that were both practical and right to pursue.

In fact, to this day, I feel that many of the so-called “survival schools” and survival ideologies are sorely lacking because they focus very narrowly on one very limited aspect of that vast spectrum of what is meant by “survival.”

During my recent brief meeting with founder White, he shared that part of his original stimulus was the fact that the U.S.S.R. had plans to bomb those parts of Los Angeles County where we lived.  Local targets included the nearby aerospace facilities, the communication towers on Mount Wilson, and other strategic targets.  Since he felt then that there was a significant possibility of such a bombing actually occurring, he explained to his students that such an event would mean that you simply couldn’t go to the local store or fast food place for lunch.  The study of wild foods became mandatory, as well as some of the skills of hunting and food procurement.  Today, it has become somewhat “hip and cool” to grow only foods in one’s yard, rather than lawns and ornamentals.  This is a good sign.

Physical fitness was also stressed, since in the event of a bombing scenario, one might have no choice but to evacuate.  That would mean a few days, or longer, of evacuating on foot, carrying all of your needed gear, and folks who were excessively overwe ight or out of shape simply wouldn’t be able to do this.

Another part of the thinking was that, assuming such a scenario actually happened, “law and order” would be non-existent, and various gangs would exert control and authority.  It would be essential to be able to defend oneself and one’s family.  Firearms and martial arts were essential.

These are just a few of the many ways in which we approached survival-thinking and preparedness.  Through non-sectarian spiritual studies, we also explored how our honesty and dishonesty can affect the situation we find ourselves in.  In fact, we studied many of the precepts of all major religions as a way to find those higher “survival tools” of right living that could only serve us well.  These continue to be included in many of the classes and writing that I conduct, as well as in all the classes that WTI  conducts.

Of course, we are not living in the same world situation as we were in the 1960s.  Some things are better, some are worse.  Things always change, and part of a good survival-strategy is to stay abreast of the news, understanding how the political situation can affect us locally and personally.

It is still my belief that the Golden Rule is the best policy, and that the world would be transformed if we all practiced that. Unfortunately, we must recognize that most folks do NOT practice that simple precept, which is why the world is the way it is.  Still, by awareness of the full scope of survival, and by attempting to develop in all these areas, we become fuller human beings.  We become part of the solution.  Our thinking on survival should not be simply about my own personal well-being, but should include our concern and compassion for everyone.

As always, I invite your comments and questions, and welcome you to attend any of the classes we conduct. 

See our Schedule at www.ChristopherNyerges.com, or write to School of Self-reliance, Box 41834, Eagle Rock, CA 90041.

Interview on Czech Television

Recently, I was interview by a journalist from the Czech Republic who saw my appearance on the National Geographic’s “Doomsday Preppers” show.  He wanted to learn about some of the practical skills that I teach to prepare individuals for emergencies and disasters, such as the identification of wild foods, making fire, and methods of being more self-reliant in the home.  I presented all these skills as positive ways to enhance one’s daily life and to improve one’s survival quotient without a focus on fear or panic.

As we were finishing, he asked me something to the effect of  “What was your worst and most painful experience?”  I had to think a minute, and I recalled why I got interested in survival skills in the first place.

The very beginning of my studies involved agriculture (all my mother’s brothers were farmers), and the claim that the U.S. feeds the world.  I can recall the various frightened predictions of famine in the U.S. in the 1970s, based upon the fact that way we deal with land management was worse in the 1970s than it was in the 1930s which led to the Dust Bowl. 

I began to study botany and wild foods partly because I was worried about the larger conditions which might impact myself and my family.  This dovetailed well with my interest in Native American living skills, where the average person knew all the uses of every plant that grew in your area.  The idea of rekindling those bygone skills appealed to me.  If I had to, I wanted to be able to find my food, medicine, tools, weapons, etc., from what nature has provided.

I told the reporter, Michal Kubal of Ceska Televize, that I have gone into the mountains many times with no food, and enjoyed doing it.  But, I told Kubal, my primary goal has been to avoid pain and discomfort and untimely death in the first place.  I’ve enjoyed traveling into the wilderness and knowing that I could take care of myself.  But my motivating interest was the survival of my society, and my country, and the sustainability of the systems that we all depend upon.

Thus, any knowledge of self-reliance and survival builds strength into the community.  Individuals who are knowledgeable and trained in survival tend not to have a victim mentality and tend to be a part of the solution.  That has been my goal, and what I attempt to teach.

The various uses of wild foods that I collected and ate while on a short walk with Michal Kubal were the very foods I’d eat if there were no stores to go to, for whatever reason.  My simple salad consisted of plants that were then in season: wild radish leaves, mustard flowers, lambs quarters, curly dock leaves and some amaranth leaves. All these plants would make a delicious stew if simmered slowly in a miso broth.

I also showed the reporter the many hand-operated tools that would allow life to continue if there was no electricity. In fact, the kitchen tools I showed Kubal were taken from my own kitchen, things like hand-operated can opener, juicer, coffee grinder, grater, etc.  Though I don’t have anything against good electrical kitchen appliance, I have experienced enough black-outs to know that the hand-tools will never go out of style.

We also looked at some of the very simple and inexpensive tools that are commonly available to provide electricity from the sun, which were lamps, radios, battery chargers, etc. 

I don’t know when my segment on Czech Television will air, but I will post it on my website if possible.  My short interview reminded me that these skills are direly needed in a society that is always growing larger, in which we are increasingly dependent on others for everything.  The simple solutions to any disruptions to our society are the focus of my classes, the schedule of which you can see at www.ChristopherNyerges.com

The Power of Words

Edgar Allan Poe wrote a unique piece called “The Power of Words.”  It’s wholly available on-line, and I recommend you read it.  I found it compelling, and it reminded me of so much that has been said about “the Word.” 

The opening line in the Bible is “In the beginning was the Word,” though I have heard other translations into English.  Still, there is great emphasis on “the word.”

My father used to say that a man is only as good as his word, referring to being honest and honorable.  Don’t promise to do something if you cannot do it.  But if you say you will, do everything in  your power to keep your word. 

There is also that term “intercourse” which can also refer to two people talking. Isn’t that interesting?  The two creative faculties of the human are regarded as the sexual intercourse, as well as the use of the spoken word.

Words have power, and most of us are out of touch with that power. 

I have spent some time with the Oxford English Dictionary some years ago, learning that there are specific meanings of words that are completely lost today, and only by exploring the derivations of these words can you find it original meaning. There are also the special and archaic meanings, which can only add depth and clarity to our conversations.

The word is something very special and dare I say “magical.”  Because we “create” all the time – either intentionally or (more commonly) ignorantly – we should always refine our word usage.

Another interesting tidbit: As children we learn to draw the letters and to spell.  And somewhere in grammar school, the teachers laugh as they tell us that witches can cast spells. So there it is.  Spell and casting spells. Are we not “casting spells” and creating by our word use?

There is also the hidden side of language, where the words are telling us something, but the meanings are hidden in plain view.  The walls of the liquor stores say “Spirits sold here,” and the problem is, you never know what those spirits will do when  they enter your body.

Another intriguing topic is the English Kaballah, which I will address later.  I’d love to hear your comments.

Anti-Profanity Law

Residents in Middleborough, Massachusetts voted Monday night, with a 183 to 50 majority, to approve a proposal from the police chief to impose a $20 fine on public profanity.


According to the news reports, “Officials insist the proposal was not intended to censor casual or private conversations, but instead to crack down on loud, profanity-laden language used by teens and other young people in the downtown area and public parks.”

Duphily, who runs an auto parts store, is among the downtown merchants who wanted take a stand against the kind of swearing that can make customers uncomfortable.

"They'll sit on the bench and yell back and forth to each other with the foulest language. It's just so inappropriate," she said.

The measure could raise questions about First Amendment rights, but state law does allow towns to enforce local laws that give police the power to arrest anyone who "addresses another person with profane or obscene language" in a public place.

Matthew Segal, legal director for the American Civil Liberties Union of Massachusetts, said the U.S. Supreme Court has ruled that the government cannot prohibit public speech just because it contains profanity.

What do you think?

When it comes to passing laws over behaviour, education and example are always better than new laws. But sometimes a law is needed.

Just listen anywhere these days and you’ll hear the “f” word spoken very casually. I have often politely told people to not talk that way around me, and most have abided by my request.

I remember what Larry Schaffer used to say about people who swore excessively. “It is a sign of low intelligence,” he would comment, and I agree. Compare it to how Shakespeare could insult a person (if he so desired) simply by his wit and mastery of the language, not simply by reverting to foul language.

And then there is the issue that laws can’t directly deal with. What do you do to your own very atmosphere, your spiritual essence, when you bathe yourself with such language? Is it uplifting? Is it degrading? If you care about the spiritual integrity of your fellow man (rather than the fact that their language bothers you), you will speak up with strength and love. Still, do not expect to be thanked for your selfless service.

Memorial Day 1998

[Note: The full version of this story is found in Nyerges' "Til Death Do Us Part?" book, available from Store at www.ChristopherNyerges.com.]


It was Memorial Day 1998, and I had scheduled to conduct a wild food outing at Pasadena’s Hahamongna Watershed Park. Since it was Memorial Day, my topic for a short discussion at the end of the outing was “death.”

I have always liked the grandeur and openness of this park. When I grew up, this was a short bicycle ride away, and I regarded it as my extended back yard.

Among the half-dozen participants who showed up for the outing was Martin Kruse, a bearded, burly bear of a man who looked like he’d be more at home in the 19th century. He introduced himself and told me that he’d long wanted to meet me, that we both wrote for many of the same publications and had many friends in common, such as Ron Hood. Martin and I chatted as the other outing participants listened, and he told me about his work with archery and primitive bow-making.

We walked down in the flat area of the large expanse of the park, where the wet mud had hardened, capturing countless animal tracks. Martin told us how to differentiate between coyote and dog tracks. He identified crow and other birds, showed us how to recognize the tracks of squirrel and rabbit. He’d obviously done a lot of tracking during his time hunting with a bow.

When we saw the deer tracks, Martin showed us how the deer’s hind foot had stepped into its own track just laid by its front foot. Martin said that only the female walks this way, that the male’s gait is different. He told us that the size of the hoof print meant it was a female deer about a year and a half old. I could tell that Martin enjoyed telling us all about the track.

After walking into the middle depths of the wash, we headed back to the picnic area, with me leading.
Within seconds, someone in the rear called out. Martin had fallen. I first thought it was a joke, and ran to him. It was no joke. His face already looked purple. The man who had been walking with him said he’d not tripped -- he just fell. I tried to rouse him, but it was quickly obvious that he was “out.”

Since I was the only one who knew the area -- I ran to a phone to call 911. Within 10 minutes, before I even got back to the group and Martin’s flat body -- paramedics from the City of Pasadena were on the scene, attempting to revive him. They carried him into the ambulance and took him away.

We discussed whether we thought Martin would revive or not. The paramedics had been fairly tight-lipped. Still, we all knew it was serious. So there we stood in the cool afternoon breeze, contemplating death in the most sobering manner possible. I explained to everyone my death lesson -- which hardly seemed appropriate now.

Someone had just died in our midst. We had to deal with it. We talked about how important it is to live each moment with intent, with joy, with soberness. We talked about how Martin may have wanted to say things to those he loved, but no longer could

Each person commented how “coincidental” it was that the lecture topic that I’d chosen for the day, and listed on the schedule, was “Death.” We kept reflecting on Martin. At that moment, none of us knew yet that Martin would not recover, that he had in fact died, and that he died in a place he loved. Nor had we known that Martin had a heart pacer, and an artery to his heart that was narrow. We were aware that he’d had surgery -- probably to the heart -- because we opened his shirt and saw the scar.

What had really brought Martin there on that day? I felt goose bumps at first, thinking that on some level he wanted to be with me, enjoying the natural world, meeting as two souls in the place he loved, near the old Indian burial ground, on his final day.

A German woman who’d been on the outing, Walti, told me that we should not feel sad. “It was quick,” she told me later. “What better place to die.” I could not help but agree with her.

Though I barely knew him, I felt closer to him in death.

Of course, I told Dolores about this when I got home. In fact, it was not until late that night that I learned the name of who had died on my outing. Yes, he’d told me his name when he arrived, but so did a dozen other people who’d I’d just met that day. By calling around to the fire department and to the hospital, I learned Martin’s identity, and I managed to figure out his family phone number through process of elimination in my phone log.

A few days later, Dolores and I and a few others were discussing this incident, and wondering about the series of choices that brought Martin to me on his last day.

Dolores seemed very thoughtful about all this, and said that possibly Martin’s Doer (his spiritual Self) knew that his body was going to die. Coming to my outdoor outing brought him into contact with my Doer, my spiritual Self, which could have been a final uplifting act, whether or not each of us realized it.

Dolores was never one who engaged in flattery, and she always kept me humble. She knew that we were not perfect and that we had a long way to go. Yet, we continued to work at and struggle on the Spiritual Path of perfection and evolution. It was always “fall down seven times, get up eight times.” In our perspective of a morally-bankrupt, and spiritually dark world, we did feel that we (including our “spiritual family”) represented a light in the darkness. Yes, often a flickering, barely noticeable light, but a light nevertheless. It is to that Light that Dolores believed Martin was coming to, and it was with that desire that he took his final breath. And that was good for Martin.

Memory of my Father

[continuing from previous blog]

LATER IN THE DAY, Memorial Day 1983


That evening, I called my father, and asked him if he had a minute.

“Sure,” he said, “what’s up?”

“I just wanted you to know that I really have appreciated all the things you’ve done for me all my life. I know that at times I have seemed very disrespectful, but I….

“Is something wrong?” he asked. “Do you need money?”

“No, no, no. I don’t need money. No, nothing’s wrong. I was just thinking about you today, and how we never talk, and I just wanted you to know that I really appreciate you and really love you.”

I think that was the first time I ever told my father that I loved him.

“What’s wrong,” he asked more firmly, “are you in some sort of trouble?”

“No, I’m not in any trouble at all, I just…”

“This doesn’t sound like you, something must be wrong…”

“No, nothing’s wrong. I just realized that we rarely talk. Today seemed like as good a day as any to tell you that I appreciate you.” I had momentarily thought that I would explain to him that I’d attended the event earlier in the day, and let him know that he was part of my exercise. But somehow, if I did that, I felt it would diminish what I was saying to my father, that it was some sort of school assignment or exercise. Rather than regard it as something genuine coming from me, he would think that I was in the clutches of a controlling cult and was just acting out their dictates. This had to be real. This had to be from me, because I wanted to communicate these things to him.

“Well, OK,” he responded. He paused, and said, “Are you coming over for dinner?”

“No, not tonight, but I’ll see you tomorrow.”

It was the beginning of a thaw in our relationship. There was not an instant turnaround in the way we related to each other, but slowly, slowly, I began to view him as a distinct individual, and slowly, I could tell that he did the same with me.

The following day, I told Dolores how my father reacted.

“That sounds just like your father,” she laughed. We both found the exchange hillarious, and we could not stop laughing about it.

We went to dinner that night and we continued to talk about my father’s suspicious nature, and we laughed like children. It felt very good to laugh with Dolores. It was a light time, and somehow, laughing together made us closer. It also shifted the focus from problems we were having, to my father’s character, and in that moment, it was a good thing.

On Memorial Day

Excerpt from “Til Death Do Us Part?”

On Memorial Day, 1983

It was a sunny and brisk day as Dolores and I walked up the steep stony driveway to the WTI headquarters. We were going to the annual Memorial Day gathering, which would be held outdoors.

When we reached the top, we could see that several others had already arrived. A table with various books for sale had been set up near the entrance, and I began scanning some of the unfamiliar titles.

Prudence approached us, and she handed each of us a hot cup of elixir.
“Thanks,” I said, taking a long sip. “That sure hits the spot.”

Dolores and I said hello to the dozen other guests who were sitting on chairs, or reading from a pink paper. Timothy approached Dolores and I and handed each of us a copy of something printed on pink paper.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” he said, smiling broadly with his charismatic smile. “Once those instructions are clear, you should go to a private spot with your notebook. We’ll all meet back here in 30 minutes.”

“OK,” I said. We both studied the paper as Timothy stood there.

I quickly read the instructions. We were to select three living “loved-ones” and write their names in our notebook. We were then to go sit under a bush, or sit in some private spot somewhere on the hilltop. Next, we were to mentally imagine that we get a phone call, and someone tells us that one of the people on our list have died. Each of us was to feel and experience the grief as if that person really died, and attempt to make it real. With the full feeling of grief, we were to write down all those things that we wished we’d told that person before they died. We were to do this exercise with all three of the people on our list.

“Oh, one more thing,” said Timothy. “It doesn’t say this on your paper, but it would be good if at least one person on your list of three is someone who is here today.”

“OK,” I responded. I knew that my father would be on my list, and so would Dolores.

I walked up the rough steps which led to the upper portion of the property, and I sat myself under an old citrus tree. It was one of my favorite spots on the property because I always felt very “invisible” there, yet I had a terrific view of the surrounding neighborhood.

I began my list. I wrote down Dolores, Prudence, and my father. I then closed my eyes, and imagined that I just received a call from my brother telling me that my father had died. I let it hit me that he was gone, dead, out of my life. I began to cry involuntarily. My mind automatically thought back to the earliest childhood memories of my father cutting the lawn, and taking me with him in the station wagon to the supermarket. I remembered the things I did wrong, and was punished for, and my mind went through a non-chronological review of various events.

I cried at other memories. I realized my father was by no means perfect, and yet I could see he tried to do what was right, despite his many weaknesses or deficiencies. I found myself missing him terribly, in spite of the fact that he was still alive and I had not called him for over a month.

I began to do the same with Dolores and Prudence. Dolores and I hadn’t yet married, though we were both very interested in one another and enjoyed each other’s friendship and company. Still, we had already experienced several “rough spots” together. I looked at my watch and saw that I had already been there over 30 minutes, so I quickly finished writing my notes and then headed back down to the gathering.

Most everyone was already back down at the gathering site, and were serving themselves from the delicious dishes that everyone provided. I began to serve myself a smaller than usual dish. I still felt very “shaken up” by my brief but intensive experience of “hearing that my father had died.”

Timothy shared a few prepared readings about Memorial Day and the nature of death. Then we got to the part where Timothy asked each person to briefly share their experiences with their list of three people.

Once each person briefly shared their varied experiences, Timothy then got back in front and, with his charismatic smile, announced that everyone now would have a rare opportunity.

“You’ve all just done what most people do when they learn that someone they love has died. However, all these people are still here. Now you need to tell them today those things that you’d regret not telling them if they died. We have two phones here, so whomever wants to use them may do so now.” [Note: this was before the days of universal cell phones.]

A few people got up and went inside to call someone.

“Or, you can write a short note or letter right now,” Timothy declared. “If you don’t have any stationery, we have lots of paper and envelopes that you can use.”

“Now, if the person is here now,” Timothy continued, “I want the two of you to go to a private place and you can tell that person whatever it is that you want them to hear. Don’t be embarrassed. We’ll all meet back here together in about 30 minutes and share that experience.”

I was a bit hesitant to do this next step. It would be risky. It’s always risky to be completely honest and open. It could be embarrassing. Nevertheless, I first went with Prudence to a private spot. It turns out that she also chose me, so we were able to “kill two birds with one stone,” so to speak.

Next I looked for Dolores, who was just getting done with another person. We walked up the hill and sat under the towering eucalyptus tree. It was not easy, but we talked, and then we hugged, and went back to join the others.

After a few minutes, Prudence read a few passages from a book about death. I took a few notes as I listened, and also looked around at the expressions of those gathered there that day. I felt very much “startled awake,” and I could tell that most everyone had had some sort of eye-opening epiphany about life and death and how quickly it all passes.

I was experiencing an inner turmoil, a bit apprehensive about my plan to talk to my father later in the day. I was also very reflective about all the choices I make day in and out, and how everyone else affects me, and how I affect everyone else. Especially Dolores. How to do it all “just right,” all the time, I wondered? How can I live my life without regrets? I wondered, was everyone else feeling such inner turmoil, and inner challenge?
[more to follow]

A Night at the L.A. Adventurers' Club

In May, I gave a talk at the Los Angeles Adventurers Club, which was billed as a presentation on primitive weapons and urban survival, which is sort of what I talked about. After hearing about some of the truly hard-core mountain climbs and boating trips with accompanying deaths, I felt that my little presentation was a bit tame.

I began by briefly sharing my recent series of adventures with Helen, which we call “In Search of the Nipton Troll.” (More on that later). I also shared some discoveries about the Maya during visits to Mexico and Guatemala. (Nope, there are no “prophecies” about “the end of the world” in 2012).

Then I explained my recent appearance on the National Geographic’s television show called “Doomsday Preppers.” I said I was preparing for an earthquake, and I demonstrated how to make fire with a hand drill, how to forage in L.A., and I showed the contents of my “survival pack.”

I then discussed how such concerns about the world ending tend to distract us from dealing with the very real here and now concerns.

I shared the nine ways in which two recent authors suggested that the world might end with mass deaths or extinction of the human race. However, most of those scenarios cannot be prepared for. If a comet hit the earth with L.A. at the point of impact, there would be no survivors and your survival kit would be irrelevant.

So my perspective is that we have many very real concerns which we can and should deal with, without being distracted by 2012 fears or aliens invading from Mars.

In general, these concerns can be divided into those that are man-made, and those that are natural. The man-made are such things as war, nuclear accidents, terrorism, economic disasters, massive pollution of the water due to fracking, etc. The natural disasters, which are usually exacerbated by man, are such things as famine, flooding, earthquakes, tornadoes, tsunamis, an ice age, etc.

I’m a big fan of deriving lessons from literature and movies, so I recommended books such as “Hole in the Sky,” “Earth Abides,” and “Lucifer’s Hammer.” Each depicts some sort of disaster or survival situation, and how the people dealt with it.

I also suggested movies such as “Book of Eli,” “Hunger Games,” even “Mad Max” which provide some clues as to what a post-cataclysmic world might look like.

So how does one prepare for such possibilities? I suggested that primitive survival skills will never go out of style. These are skills such as wilderness first aid, making tools from stones, making fire from sticks, making fibre from plants and then making things from that fibre, and many more.

But I strongly encouraged the audience to not get into a typical “survivalist” trap, where you are wholly focused on physical skills and acquiring objects like knives and guns and food.

I read from my “How to Survive Anywhere” book, and my “Extreme Simplicity” book, where I suggested that we should all spend equal time on developing not just our physical skills, but also our health, our economic integrity, our moral and spiritual health, and our sense of being a positive contributing factor in our society. The negative stereotype of a “survivalist” is the guy who is a loner and who thinks he can do it all alone, and to hell with everyone else.

By contrast, to consider how to think about the long-term sustainability of our culture and our species, we should examine at least some of the methods used by the so-called primitive cultures for millennia. Among the many lessons we can learn from studying the more advanced “primitive” cultures are cooperation, realizing that your neighbor’s survival is your survival, learning to do more with less, learning how to work with the land and ecology, and not against it, etc.

Of course, this is the tip of a very big iceberg – the full scope and depth of what is meant by “survival.”  I  welcome your comments and questions.

When Vegetarians Eat Chicken

A Lesson in Not Being Too Rigid

Several years ago, after a Sunday morning Spiritual Studies gathering, many of the participants gathered to plant a tree as a remuneration to the facilitator. Most of us were helping the two main individuals who had planned the tree-planting. As we gathered to plant the tree, the two planners began to argue. One had already taken the time to dig a hole of the appropriate depth, and watered it, and gotten the tree ready to place into the hole. The other individual, however, argued that it wasn’t exactly the right spot, and insisted that a new hole be dug about three feet away. Most of us observers didn’t say much, but we thought that a mere three feet wouldn’t make much difference.

The person who had dug the hole was rather upset at this turn of events, for she felt that all her work was now for naught. As it turned out, the man who wanted to move the hole got his way. He argued that he had a degree in landscaping (or some related field), and that therefore his argument had greater weight.

To all us observers, it was a sad sight -- something the two of them should have worked out ahead of time rather than force us all to witness their dispute (not to mention the time waste).

After it was over, Dr. Elan Neev told me a little story. (Dr. Elan Neev, who was one of the tree-planting participants, is the author of Wholistic Healing, and the founder of the Self Improvement Institute in Los Angeles.)

He said that people in Israeli villages adopt Army units, and would take care of the soldiers and feed them. In one case, a group of ladies had spent the day preparing a special meal for an Army unit, unaware that they were orthodox Jews and strict vegetarians. The meal that the ladies had prepared included chicken.

The troops came and when they saw that the meal included chicken, they quickly and quietly spoke to their rabbi.

The rabbi told them that the value of honoring their hostesses was more important than their principle of being vegetarians. He said they needed to compare these two competing values. The rabbi said that the value of not hurting another -- in this case, the ladies who worked all day to provide a special meal -- was much more important than their dietary choice. He encouraged the soldiers to eat the meal and to say nothing of the chicken, which is what they did.



When Dr. Neev was finished telling me this story, I paused, and said, “So they should have just planted the tree in the first hole, right?”

“Of course. The fact that the landscaper was ‘right’ about the location was less important than the way he hurt the woman’s feelings who had gone to all the work to plan the hole and to dig it. Of course they should have just planted the tree in that first hole. Now she will always have a bad feeling about that tree. It doesn’t matter that the landscaper was ‘right’ since the end result is a minus, not a plus.” [NOTE: The apple tree that we all planted in the “right” hole died a year later.]

This story reminds us of people with strict self-imposed dietary guidelines who go out to eat at restaurants or other people’s homes and who are endlessly picky about everything that may be in the food. “Oh, we can’t have sugar,” they say. “Oh, we can’t eat anything with pasteurized daily products in it,” “What type of oil did you use in this dressing,” etc., ad nauseam. The result is that the hosts feel disgusted, insulted, and everyone ends up with indigestion, regardless how “correct” the food happens to be.

You must wonder why such people don’t make such dietary arrangements ahead of time. Folks with strict dietary demands who then impose their systems and nuances upon everyone else don’t realize that they spoil the atmosphere so much that it counteracts any of the positive effects of the “good food.”

Dr. Neev then told me another story. Some years ago, he participated in a religious retreat in the Palm Springs area. The people leading the event were all strict vegetarians. On the last day of the retreat, the teacher served Hindu-style chicken. This shocked everyone, including his own students. The teacher encouraged everyone to enjoy the meal. He said, “One of my teachings is: No matter what you teach, you don’t want to be too attached to it.”

The Hunger Games

The “Hunger Games” books are top sellers, and the movie is a hit. More and more teens coming to my classes have been telling me to see the movie. “But read the book first,” one girl told me. Well, I haven’t read the book yet, but I did go to see the movie anyway.

By now, we’ve all heard the story. A futuristic North America is divided into 12 districts. The ruling district is extravagantly rich, while the other districts are impoverished, barely surviving. In order to maintain control after an attempted rebellion, the ruling district takes two teens from each district annually, quickly trains them, and then releases them into a controlled wilderness arena. There they fight to the death until only one winner emerges. They call these the Hunger Games, and the movie depicts the 74th annual event.

It’s a disturbing futuristic glimpse of a world where everyone watches the kills and the strategies for survival. The president states that the use of fear helps to control people, and the games are taken very seriously. The president adds that the only emotion greater than fear is hope, and the people from each district hope that their candidate will emerge a victor.

But the death of each youth is not without its consequences in the territories. Even the way in which the game can be played, and won, is not without the higher manipulation of the winner.

Woody Harrelson plays Haymitch Abernathy, a mentor for the star Katniss Everdeen (played by Jennifer Lawrence). Abernathy, a past winner of the games, seems broken by the games and his society, but he knows the rules and he coaches Katniss well.

Katniss, who grew up hunting and foraging in order to survive, is well suited to emerge victorious. And she has a soul, a fact that throws a few screws into the machinery of the game-makers.

Some friends told me that the movie was both boring and pedestrian, tired old concepts that we’ve seen before. Maybe, and maybe not. I didn’t evaluate the film based on how the camera was held, or even originality of plot. We’ve heard there are only a dozen or so basic plots, but it’s the way you spin it that makes it good and noteworthy.

I asked myself, how can seeing this movie improve my character? What are the elements of true survival and even spirituality that I should embrace in order to be a better person? I wondered as I watched, what are the higher traits that I should always embrace regardless of my gender, race, or era in which I’m born?

There are a lot of historical analogies you might read-into the Hunger Games, such as the decadent Romans who delighted in feeding Christians to the lions. Or, closer to home, the manner in which we hoop and cheer at the brutality of football and soccer games. Or, after the Lakers win a playoff, how the local teens go out onto the streets of Los Angeles, “having fun” and “celebrating” by smashing windows and burning police cars!

The Hunger Games has violence and blood, though not as much as you’d expect. Still, leave the very young children at home since this is a dark and disturbing movie.

I’d recommend the Hunger Games. It is full of useful lessons, but you have to work to find them.

How to Make Friends & Open Doors

Most people want to make new friends, and open doors of various sorts. Is it all that complicated? You’d think so, because there are seminars and books and counselors, all geared to making things happen for us.

While we learn in school that we must have a degree, and follow certain protocol, school rarely seems to teach us about how the real world operates.

Perhaps the single most important skill to develop is communications. Poor communications have ruined businesses and marriage, and led to war. Yet, the good communicator can open doors that sometimes even the schooled individual cannot.

Even Scientologists recognize this, for the first course that new students take is in communications. Communication is at the heart of what we are and what we do.

My mentor Revve Weisz recently told me about how he made so many friends back in junior high school, and how so many opportunities then became available to him.

He discovered the magic of taking an interest in other people. He took the time to remember their names, and he took the time to ask people how they were doing, and if they needed help in studies or sports. It turned out that Weisz was an “A” student in academics and excelled in sports. But the magic began when he took a genuine interest in others, with sincerity.

In his senior year, even though he wasn’t running for school president, there was an unprecedented write-in campaign to get him elected.

By contrast, how often have we had conversations with people who are barely listening, just waiting for us to stop talking so they can share their opinion or their story? Way too often! Even worse these days, how often have we talked with someone whose I was podded so bad that they could barely take their eyes away from their I-pod, I-pad, texting toy, or cell phone?

You’d think that with all these communications devices, we’d communicate better, but we don’t. Why? Because real communication means that we commune with another. Though a technological toy can help us do that, it can not replace our sincere intent to feel what another person is saying and experiencing. Just like Weisz learned, sometimes we should put our own personal interests asides – at least for the moment – when we are trying to commune and listen to another.

Yes, this requires slowing down. Yes, this requires work.

A good tool in developing these somewhat unused communication skills is to perfect our use of language, and to use language precisely. A good tool in this regard is the classic book by S.I. Hayakawa, “Language in Thought and Action.” If you’ve never read it, then fasten your seat belts!

But the flip side is that some folks who are highly skilled in language can use their words to deceive, beguile, and confuse. That’s where intent comes in. Language use is like any other skill – it is neutral. It is our use of intent for pure communication that makes our improved language skills a tool of our personal evolution.

And this is why you really can communicate well with someone who speaks another language, and by the use of your intent, you can speak heart-to-heart by use of facial expressions, pantomime, and perhaps a handy translator.

I have been practicing sign language for the deaf for some time, and occasionally get to use it. It is a simple and direct way to communicate and there seems to be less opportunity for deception. I find it to be a pure way to commune with someone, without any words at all! That’s right – we can communicate, and do so clearly and cleanly, without any words whatsoever!

Making friends and opening doors are intimately related. You can do both by taking a genuine interest in others and working at your communication skills.

Turning Over the Money-Changers' Tables

A view at the base of the pyramid at Chichicastenango, Guatemala

Growing up in a Catholic family, I have always had a special reverence for Passion Week, perhaps the holiest of all the Christian holy days. The climax of this tradition begins on Palm Sunday with Jesus’ entry into the city of Jerusalem on a mule while palm leaves and garments are laid in his path by his followers. He is widely acknowledged as a healer, though some are upset that his actions are drawing so much attention.

Then, later that day, or the next day, he becomes enraged by the “money changers” and ubiquitous vendors along the way to the temple, and knocks over many of these booths.

Of course, it is no different today. Every holy site on earth is packed with vendors and their booths of trinkets that they hawk to every tourist who passes by. These booths of vendors are found around the Vatican, the Church of Guadalupe in Mexico City, Chichen Itza, the Egypt pyramids, etc., ad nauseum.

Jesus knocked over the merchants’ tables because he felt their very presence in the temple desecrated a holy site. This didn’t garner him many friends, especially not the merchants who felt justified in their commerce. This act set the stage for the various accusations, arrest, trials, and crucifixion.

Today, commerce seems to run and rule every aspect of our lives. Everything has a price and scant few protest the gross invasion of commercialism, on billboards, on our e-mail, on the bus-stop, in the bus, on the bus, at every sporting venue, on the clothing of bicyclists and car racers, etc. Yet, we somewhat draw the line at our religious locations. Somewhat.

Jesus recoiled that the work of the Temple seemed to be just the work of commerce. Let it be done elsewhere, he argued. Of course, his actions were radical, and noteworthy, and look how he was “rewarded” for trying to separate commerce from “the house of God.”

I once experienced what I felt was very similar to what Jesus felt that day.

I was in Guatemala on a Mayan study and tour, we drove to the town of Chichicastenango. It was said to be a sacred city where the oldest version of the Popul Vuh exists. We were going to visit one of the holiest Mayan sites, which was once a pyramid in the town, upon which a Catholic cathedral had been built a few hundred years ago.

To get to this site, we had to walk through several blocks of narrow passageways, densely populated with booth after booth selling jewelry, artworks, fabric, clothing, food, herbs, and all manner of trinkets. There was no escaping the throngs of vendors, to whom any eye contact meant maybe you wanted to buy what they had. The narrow passageways were so thick that you literally had to bump shoulders with everyone else, and the hired tour guide yelled out to all of us to carry our daypacks in front of our bodies to thwart pickpockets.

I began to feel that I had descended into a hell of sorts. I had not been feeling well, and I had just learned two days earlier that my brother had died. I was in the mindset of entering into a Holy of Holies, but to get there you had to pass through the gauntlet of the most overt commercialism imaginable. I withdrew deeply into my self, something next to impossible to do in such a public place.

Eventually, our group all arrived at the base of what was left of the whitewashed pyramid. At the top was the cathedral, where the church today allows the Mayans to practice their traditional religion. We would eventually enter the church and hear about its history, and see a Mayan priestess performing a ritual in the middle row of the church.

But outside, with the din of voices and screaming all around, the merchants booths were set up right to the edbe of the pyramid. People sat on the pyramid, and near the base, copal was continually burned and black smoke poured heavenward. The narrow passageways of all the corridors of booths led to this pyramid, and a constant throng of passersby moved constantly this way and that.

I felt awestruck by that unique spiritual “something” that was an inherent part of this special place. But why had the commerce been allowed to invade and over run this site. At least no vendors were allowed into the church yard or church!

But outside, at the base of the pyramid, I had a clear mental picture of the wrath of Jesus back at the Temple of Jerusalem, knocking the vendors tables over. I could see the Rightness in what he did. I felt such a strong desire myself – to be rid of the hawkers of ware in that holy place.

There was no way I would kick over a table of jewelry or other goods. For one, I was not feeling well and didn’t have the strength for such an act. For another, I was well aware that I’d be spending time in some out of the way Guatemalan jail cell, and that notion was very unappealing. I simply took in the moment, tried to feel the reality of the commerce that has overtaken us, and looked forward to my departure.



Yes, Easter is about the death and ressurection, a theme that is found in numerous religious traditions world-wide. It is a worthy theme to study and to plumb its mysteries. It is all about each of us allowing our ignorant ways to die, and to allow our spiritual divinities to be resurrected from the ashes of our pointless lives. But don’t forget that Jesus desired to kick out the love of money from the spiritual temple. That too is something that each of us should do in our own private lives.

And if and when we get the courage to actually do this, do not expect your friends and family to smile in approval. You would be wise to look at story of Jesus to see what you should expect, and to plan accordingly.

Dealing with 2012 Fears

When I was in Guatemala last winter, one of our impromptu teachers was a man who operated a jade store and Mayan museum. He explained the creation myth to us from the Popul Vuh, and then began to speak about the Long Count of the Mayan calendar.

“But it seems like a lot of people really want the world to end!” he said, as we all laughed. He went on to explain – as my group heard over and over – that there are no predictions from the Mayans about the “end of the world” or doom and gloom. Some poor journalists must have thought they heard “end of the world” when it was only “the end of one calendar cycle.”

“Yes, anything could happen,” he continues, “but it’s good to stick to facts. The Maya don’t say anything about the end of the world. In fact, they have dates listed for several thousand years from now. If they thought the world was coming to an end, why did they use those dates?”

Our main teacher, Miguel Angel Vergara, speaks after the laughter dies down. The December 21, 2012 date completes the 13th Baktun of the Long Count calendar, a 5,125 year long period of time. To the Maya, 13 was the number of completion, transformation, spiritual advancement. So why do so many think of it as a “bad luck” number, Vergara asks us. He offers an answer. Perhaps it is because we know that spiritual transformation is hard work, and it means leaving behind our bad habits and vices. Perhaps they do not want to evolve, he said. To those people, 13 is thought of as “unlucky” because they do not want to give up all the things that hold back their evolution.

Vergara then asked us to list our fears about the 2012 date – either our own fears or fears that we have heard others voice.

The list was predictable, and he wrote them on his white board.

The Unknown.

Death.

Suffering and pain.

Family.

Losing things.

Vergara then addressed these “fears” one by one.

Yes, the unknown is a mystery, he told us. He paused, and then emphasized to us that the past is the past, and is over. The future is the unknown. It is only the present that is our real gift. There fore, we need to simply focus on the present, and not let our minds run away in the past or the future.

Death. Yes, we will all die. We will. And so? Accept it, and then live your life fully.

Suffering and pain. Again, Vergara said, yes, life is full of suffering and pain. That’s life. It has nothing to do with 2012.

Concern for our families. Vergara smiled and said, “They will survive without us.” He acknowledged that everyone is concerned about their families and this is natural. But we need not have an imbalanced worry about whether or not someone else might or might not survive a situation. Just carry on with living your life.

Lastly, he addressed the notion of losing things. We will lose things, he said. That’s life. Whether in catastrophe or in ordinary life, we lose things.

Vergara paused and said loudly, “Think! You all of us have ALL that you need. You have cars, money, homes, and you still suffer. What are you fearing? You are all like millionaires [sometimes he would say billionaires] compared to most of the people in the rest of the world.

“We buy what we need at the supermarket. We have lost our inner warrior. We are weak and we are comfortable. We don’t want to fight.

We need to change our thinking and become fighters again. Nothing is ever for sure.

When I used to visit a friend, we’d go outside and pick oranges outside from the tree. Today, the children are busy texting and they don’t even want to go into the kitchen.



What is the best formula to recover this part of ourselves?

He offered many solutions. He described ceremonies that we could perform to reconnect with the earth, and our divinity. He said Love, Real Love, is a part of our solution. Vergara added that “Ninety-nine percent of the time we fail to solve our problems because we don’t knock on the door of divinity. We think that our ego will solve our problems. We know all the things of the outside world, but we don’t know our Self. Are first task is to Know Thy Self.”

He emphasized the need to avoid fear, and go forward with our purpose in life.

“All these fears,” said Vergara, “are phantoms created by the media. The main purpose of life is Self-Realization.”

ON WILLOW

SPEAK TO US ON THE WAYS OF THE WILLOW

A lesson in learning how to learn


The wise man of the forest had been hailed by the people of the land, the eager pilgrims, to teach another lesson in the ways of nature. “Speak to us on the ways of the willow, oh kind sir,” asked one of the pilgrims. “The people are in great need, and it would benefit them greatly to learn the secrets of the prolific willow.”

The wise man listened intently, and told the pilgrim that he would teach the lesson on the morrow, and that the pilgrim should bring the families to the spot in the river where the willows grow around mid-day.

“Oh thank you kind sir,” said the pilgrim. “We shall be there, eager and ready to receive your lessons.”

On the following mid-day, the wise man was at the willows early, as the pilgrims began to trickle in.

It was a cool day as the pilgrims gathered around the riverbed area, near the tall and drooping willows.

“Oh, kind sir,” asked the elder pilgrim. “It is so chilly in this area. Perhaps we can build a small fire to warm up before you begin your talk?”

Without speaking, the wise man of the forest collected a long straight piece of dried willow. It was about as thick as a pencil, and about a foot and a half long. He took another dead and dried piece of willow branch, about as big around as his fist and maybe a foot long. As the pilgrims watched, the man of the forest first took his large knife and split the branch in half, and then further split the half so he had a flat rectangular piece of willow. All the pilgrims watched carefully as the wise man made a little triangular cut into the edge of the wood, and then he began to press the pencil-shaped piece of willow onto the flat piece. The wise man pressed hard, and begun to spin the willow drill onto the flat piece of willow, and soon smoke flowed from the friction. The wise man continued to spin thusly, and smoke poured out from the drilling. Soon, there was a red-hot ember in the dust that the wise man created.

The wise man quickly collected a bunch of dried willow bark from a dead branch, and scraped it with his knife to create a fluffy bunch of thin bark. He deftly placed the little ember into his nest of fluffy willow bark, and carefully blew on it until it puffed into a flame. He then placed it into a circle of stones, and added dry willow sticks so that the fire could grow and the pilgrims could warm themselves.

The wise man then began to collect his thoughts for his talk, when the leader of the pilgrims spoke up again.

“Kind sir, I don’t want to trouble you, but we have an elder here with pain in his legs. He cannot stand or sit comfortably on the floor. Is there something we can do for him?

The wise man nodded, and then proceeded to cut some of the dried and dead willow branches, those that were the straightest. He also peeled some long strands of the willow bark and put it to the side. First, the man of the woods created a square from the willows, and securely lashed the square. He then carefully measured, and then cut, willow branches that he then lashed to the square like legs, and the square because the seat of a chair. Taking a few more thick willow logs, he split them so they were flat, and secured these to the seat of the make-shift chair.

The wise man then helped the elder into the chair, cautioning him to sit carefully.

By now, the pilgrims had warmed some rice and vegetables on the fire, and one lamented to the wise man, “Too bad we didn’t bring forks and spoons.” The wise man whirled around back to the willows, and carefully trimmed pencil-thin twigs about 10 inches long. He passed several pairs of these to the pilgrim, saying only “chop sticks.” The pilgrims eagerly took these and began to eat their vegetables and rice.

By now, much time had passed and the sky was darkening.

As the wise man considered how to deliver his talk on the virtues of the willow, another pilgrim spoke up saying, “Kind sir, I have a terrible headache. Is there anything that I can do to help?”

The wise man nodded, and then carefully peeled off some fresh willow bark. He put the shredded green bark into a metal can, added water, and set it into the coals of the fire. After a few minutes, the wise man poured the tea-colored water into the pilgrim’s cup, and asked him to drink it. “The willow bark is nature’s aspirin,” he explained.

By now, the sky was darker, the children restless, and a cold wind began to pick up. The leader of the pilgrims looked about and decided they should depart for the day. As everyone was packing and getting ready to depart, he spoke up loudly for all to hear, saying, “We are all so thankful that the wise man of the woods came here to teach us about the wonderful willow, but we are very sorry that there was no time for him to teach us anything.”

The wise man tried to conceal his smile as he walked out of the canyon with the pilgrims.

Sun Bear

“If your religion doesn’t grow corn, I don’t want to hear about it.” – Sun Bear


I’ve always liked that quote from Sun Bear. I’ve even seen it on a bumper sticker. Sun Bear created what he called a modern tribe, the Bear Tribe, with both Indians and non-Indians who were interested in self-reliance and living in a traditional tribal society.

After he died, the tribe scattered and the popular magazine, Many Smokes, was no more.

His famous quote arose from various people who would talk to him about their religion or philosophy, and he grew tired of the highly esoteric, New Age, mind-religions and beliefs. He felt that you should always question the beliefs you hold dear, and that these beliefs should sustain and support you. They should “grow corn.”

Sun Bear and his followers traveled around the U.S. and the world, sharing his teachings, a blend of traditional Native ideas and beliefs, as well as his modern spin on what it takes to live self-sufficiently, and “in balance.” He encountered many other beliefs and –isms, and philosophical concepts.

At their farm they produced their own food, built their buildings, and actually created the world they wanted to live in. I don’t know what specifically caused Sun Bear to make his pronouncement, but I suspect it was theabundance of cults and gurus back in the 70s and 80s where the followers ran around, selling trinkets and holy objects, doing their best to support the leaders, in the name of “doing God’s work.”

Another side to this quote is that we should not divorce our day-to-day life with our beliefs. We should apply the principles that we say we believe in towards the problems we face. We should apply what we believe even when it is inconvenient to do so.

So basically, Sun Bear is telling us that if your religion or philosophy or belief system is not practical, or productive, or useful on all levels, then he didn’t want to waste his time on it!

Celebrating the Dandelion

Peter Gail of Cleveland has written the book that contains everything you’d ever want to know about the common dandelion. He calls it “The Dandelion Celebration,” 151 pages that might surprise you if you’re one of the many gardeners who despise dandelions because they grow in lawns. My father was one of those people, and when I was a child, he’d pay me a nickel for every dandelion that I dug out of our front lawn. But it turns out that dandelions are not trash, they are treasures. Peter Gail shares all of this – and more – in his celebration of the dandelion.


Gail begins by telling us some of dandelions’ complex and long history of food and medicine. He shows us comparisons of dandelion’s nutritional content with other common wild and cultivated foods. We learn that dandelion is the richest source of Vitamin A and magnesium, in his study, as well as a rich source of most of the tested minerals. It is richer in beta-carotene than carrots.

Despite the media attention given to broccoli, collard, and spinach, it turns out that lambs quarters, amaranth, and dandelion -- three common weeds – are far more nutritious than their cultivated counterparts.

There is page after page of the health benefits of eating dandelion, so why don’t more people eat them? Because dandelion is bitter.

So Gail has collected over 600 dandelion recipes, and he includes many of his recipes in this book for turning this bitter weed into a tasty dish. He tells us how to use the roots, leaves, flowers, and hearts. There are recipes for some very unlikely dandelion dishes, like dandelion ice cream, dandelion waffles, and dandelion pie. There are also the standards, such as dandelion wine and coffee.

It’s a great book and should be in your library. Check our Store to get your own copy. Spiral bound for easy-use.

As Gail says, “If you can’t beat ‘em, eat ‘em!”

A Mini-Tale of Semi Urban Survival

On January 11, I performed my annual birthday ritual of running one lap for each year, and recalling the details of each year as I ran. After I was done, and after I took a remarkably hot “memory bath” outdoors, and after rubbing my body with Peuvian mint leaves, I met with Urban Nature Girl Helen at Whole Foods in Pasadena to share a light birthday lunch.

Helen’s schedule only permitted her a brief time in the early afternoon, so we met and ordered our soba noodle soup. We also purchased some juice, and a small raspberry cake that we’d split.

My legs and hip were still buzzing from the 57 years of memories, and I was in relaxation mode as we sat for our noodles. We talked about my run, and my memories.

Then it was time for our cake. I was about to cut it when Helen informed me that it was “essential” to blow out a candle, even a small one. She found a little twig to use as the “candle,” and she told me to go ahead and light it so I could blow it out. I had my magnesium fire starter with me on my keychain, but it didn’t seem appropriate to use that inside Whole Foods. I asked her if she had a Bic or matches in her purse. She didn’t. I had very little with me since I had been running. I went out to my car to find matches or a lighter, but didn’t have either. My excuse was that this was not the car where I kept much gear. I then searched my pack to find matches or a Bic. Nothing. I know this seems hard to believe, but I couldn’t even find a knife!

I went back in and told Helen not to bother, that we’ll just have the cake without a candle. She just gave me that look, which meant that we would have a candle. She got up and said she’d find a candle and matches. When she came back, she had neither a candle, nor matches, nor a lighter, since this “green” store sold none of these essentials for life. But she did come back with a pack of incense sticks. She told me to go ahead and light an incense stick, and keep the flame going long enough to blow it out.

Ok, yes, but I still only had my magnesium fire starter and no knife.

“You don’t have a knife?” she chided. “You’re supposed to be some sort of survival guy,” she said, as we both laughed. “Don’t tell me that you can’t make a fire.”

So, I pulled out my little P39 can-opener from my key chain and used it to laboriously scrape my magnesium to get a tiny pile of shavings. It took maybe five minutes to get even a small pile of shavings, which we then bunched up into a small piece of a napkin. Then I practiced sparking the sparker on the magnesium tool with my little can opener, which wasn’t easy, but if I held everything just right, I was able to produce some sparks.

“OK, ready?” I asked Helen. She held the napkin and the incense stick as I carefully scraped the striker with my P39, and the napkin lit, and she quickly lit the incense stick and stuck it into the top of the cake. She even managed to click a photo before I blew out the “candle,” which meant I will get my wish that the world will not end in 2012 and all my goals will be achieved.

We ate the little raspberry cake, laughing about how long it took to get that fire. And no one at Whole Foods even seemed to notice our little drama since we were over in one corner of the store.

And yes, it did feel better to make that little fire in such an unexpected place and unexpected time, rather than to slink home hanging my head in shame.

My Pal Otis

When it was clear that my pot-bellied pig Otis was dead, I wrapped him and carried him to my car, and drove him to Highland Park where I buried him in the “family graveyard.” I had prepared a hole for him west of where I buried Cassius Clay. Helen and I had to dig the hole a little deeper because Otis was a bit bigger than I realized. I wanted to bury him deep enough so that stray dogs wouldn’t come by and disturb his body. After we buried Otis, we put some flowers on his grave, and I placed his “Otis, Kansas” license plate (which I always kept on his gate) nearby. On her music-device, Helen then played a song, Aad Guray Nameh by Shatam Kaur, as we sat thinking about Otis for a bit. I was sad, but I knew that Otis had a good life and a long life, for a pig!

After all, Otis lived over 19 years. My vet once told me that that was well over twice the average life for a pot-bellied pig. He’d gotten much slower in the last two years, and in the last six months, he was slow and unsteady on his feet, and he began to eat less and less.

He was up every day to eat when I was gone to Guatemala for two weeks in early December of 2011. But when I got home, Otis was lying on his bed and just grunted when I greeted him. I hugged him and I hand-fed him, and I felt that he experienced a certain ease that I was back. But I could also tell that he was on his way out.

I felt a great empathy for Otis. He was a big guy, for sure, but his personality was such that he always seemed like a little boy. I told him that everything was OK and that I was happy we had a good life together. I thanked him. I told Otis that it was OK to go on, if it was his time, if his body had become a burden. I whispered in his ear that it was OK, and that I loved him. He just grunted his friendly “oink” in return. Otis never got up, and he died a week later, on Hannukah.

It was the spring of 1993 when Otis came into our family. Dolores and I had talked about getting a pig, and the pot belly “craze” was fading out. Though we toyed with the idea of breeding pot-bellied pigs, Otis had been neutered, so that was not a viable idea. But that was OK, because we fell in love with Otis right away.

We learned a lot about the nature of “pig-ness” during Otis’ life. In fact, this was partly why we got Otis in the first place – we were going to learn about the nature of pig-ness, which is also an aspect of human-ness.

We learned that he certainly had a good memory, especially as it related to food. He once discovered a bag of carob pods that I had in the living room, and he nearly ate half the bag before I caught him. After that, any time he got into the house, he always went right to that spot where the carob had been.

Though we’ve heard that pigs are very smart, you can’t really compare them to dogs, for example. Dogs might not have pigs’ great memory, but they seem smarter due to their loyalty to their masters. I’m sure that Otis always recognized me from other people, but loyalty? I don’t think so. Pigs don’t seem to want or need close affinity to people in the way that dogs do. Nevertheless, later in his life when Otis was mostly alone, we did develop a “closeness.”

Yes, Otis was a pig, and yet he was such an individual! I learned to know what his sounds and grunts meant, so I knew when he was happy, when he felt threatened, when he was worried, and when he liked (or disliked) someone. His range of vocal sounds was broad and fascinating.

For his last few years, our cat Popoki would sleep with him, often lying on Otis’ big belly, which was always very warm. The two of them seemed to not just tolerate one another, but appeared to be good pals.

Since a pot-bellied pig’s expected life is about 7 to 9 yeas, we estimate that he was about 200 years old (by human standards) when he died.

Finally, when I went to Guatemala in 2011, Otis greeted me when I came back. He was lying down and didn’t get up. I tenderly rubbed his big nose and hand-fed him some hay. I kept him covered, and comfortable, and felt sad that my friend was departing.

And though I was sad, I felt a certain inner joy that he lived a long life with me, and that Helen was there to help me bury him and give him a special ceremony. I thought that I would go through a period of great sadness, but I didn’t. We had a good life together, and I was able to be there with him in the end of his very long life. I feel that some part of Otis will always be with me.



Postscript: A few days after I buried Otis, when I parked my car near his pen, I heard his distinctive oink. A trick of the mind? I like to believe Otis was saying goodbye to papa.

My 2012 Birthday Memory Run

Another cycle in my life has arrived and I performed my annual ceremony this morning. I went down into the Arroyo Seco, and ran 57 laps for my “birthday memory run.”


It was cold and overcast down in the canyon amidst the sycamores, alders, and oaks, and the weather seemed to parallel my being born into the world with ignorance of the ways of man. The fact that there was no one around seemed to further make the point that we are each born into this world, alone and naked.

I began my run, one lap for each year, while trying to re-live that year as I ran. I was able to more fully get into the past feeling of being there, and actually living it.

Suddenly there was this Conscious awareness, “me,” and it was looking out at a very strange world through my new eyes. “What is this strangeness?” I thought. I found myself crying as I ran through these early years, as I often cried back in the mid to late 1950s in my Pasadena home. Why did I cry? I was fed, clothed, warm, and there were no abuses. But I felt an indefinable feeling that something was wrong and that I was no longer a part of the Eternal Oneness that I’d been connected to.

But how could I have told anyone about that? Even now, it’s difficult.

I ran around the large body of water, surrounded by still fallen branches from the recent heavy winds.

As I ran, I realized how we all take everything for granted, and we question too little, much to our detriment. We seldom ask “Why?” and we quickly join the herd in trying to get better, get more, outdo, make money, make more money, go to school so you can get a job, and get married. These are the things we all do. They are expected. We do so automatically. And we end up with barely any time to look at each of our choices, and each thought, to see where our choices are taking us.

I felt much empathy for my parents, two people who were like gods to me as a child, and who in fact struggled like every one else in their day to day challenges. How blind I was!

I looked for real love, and sometimes found it. My life with Dolores was full of ups and downs, and successes and failures, and a rich tapestry of struggling to find meaning in life, all the while working to fit this into the necessities that society and others impose upon us.

I saw my various projects that brought me and others happiness and fulfillment, though my mind went to the many projects that I did not get done. I wrote in my notebook these projects so I could take action this year.

I saw the birds and heard the squirrels and a cool breeze sung in the treetops as I neared the end of my life’s review.

Life is sweet and short, and, as we’ve all been told, this is it and there’s no dress rehearsal. I smiled inwardly at my circle of friends and family, and hoped and prayed that 2012 will be the best year ever, the transformational year of change, as reflected in the fulfillment of the 13th Baktun of the Mayan Long Count calendar. Yes, 13 means “good luck” to Mayans!

It was a great run, and I thank each of you who have been a part of this wonderful

2012 and the Maya Calendar

On December 30, 2011, the Los Angeles Times published a cartoon on their editorial page titled “Teenage Mayan Prankster,” with two youth saying “Yeah, predict the world will end in 2012… that’ll really freak ‘em out.” What’s wrong with the cartoon? They are shown carving a large image of the popular Aztec calendar!

The cartoon is an example of the general ignorance about the Mayan calendar, and what it might mean for this year.

So, for starters, there is a real Maya calendar and yes, one large cycle ends on December 21, 2012, and another cycle begins. But there are no predictions whatsoever about “doom and gloom” by the Maya.

[Scroll down and read my 2012 Blog of January 4, 2011, where I speak about this in more detail.]

WHAT HAPPENED WHEN I WAS IN GUATEMALA

[photo by Sunny Savage; Richard Nyerges at right]

I was sitting in a bus, driving through the Guatemalan countryside when I got the call that Richard had died. I was troubled, and upset, and saddened that I’d not see Richard again. I began to think over some of our life together. I thought mostly of childhood incidents, and they mostly made me laugh.

-- The haircuts Richard and I would get from our father. My father would sit us up on highchair in the garage and the whole neighborhood could watch the spectacle of a poor haircut.

-- Or our early morning paperroutes when we were out in the neighborhood on our bicycles when everyone else was asleep.

-- Once Richard left the house when my father told him he couldn’t, and my father was so mad that he got in the car and drove over to Santa Rosa and Highland screaming the whole way. He dragged Richard into the car and was screaming and slapping him all the way home, much to the entertainment of all the other children in the neighborhood.

-- I was often surprised when Richard was overly protective of me as his younger brother. Once, while walking home from school, an older boy said something to me, and I just ignored it. But Richard went over to this boy and punched him more times than I could count, and the boy limped away, and I was shocked at his reaction. Yet, I gained a new respect for him.

But mostly, when I heard of his death, I was sad. He’d not be around anymore, even though we probably only talked once a month or so. The last time I saw him was at Jonny’s memorial. I realized that life is short and precious, and we don’t always get all the time we think we need, or deserve.

I remember many years ago when I felt bad, or had some problem, I could always call my parents and talk. I would talk for an hour or so with my mother, and it always made me feel better, and hopeful. Then both parents were gone, and I discovered that I could Still talk to them, which I do almost daily. I just don’t get the same responses anymore.

We could do the same with Richard too, and he will feel your support. Even if you don’t believe this, you can talk to him still and feel better yourself.

The following two days in Guatemala were particularly painful, not entirely but partly because of thinking about Richard. One night I spoke with a friend, Doug, and Doug told me many things, including that my pain wasn’t because of Richard’s pain, but because of my own fears about life, and that was very insightful. Doug told me that night that Richard would appear to me in my dreams. But Richard did not appear to me that night.

The following day, I was participating in our class on the meaning of the Mayan glyphs, and later did a meditation while light music was playing.

When I closed my eyes, I found myself on a large flat mountaintop, not unlike the top of one of the many pyramids we were visiting. Richard was there with me, smiling. He didn’t say anything, but we held hands and began to dance in a circle, slowly at first. We smiled and laughed as we held hands and twirled. We laughed, and Jonathan joined the circle, as we talked lightly about how much fun it was. Dolores joined, and my mother and father joined, smiling. My mother said, “Aren’t you going to invite us to dance?” and we all laughed and continued to dance in this circle.

It was such pure, child-like enjoyment, and others, seeing our delight, quickly joined. Helen joined the circle, and Tom and David and Gilbert quickly joined. Pam, Michael, and Jeffrey joined. Spouses and children joined and the circle got bigger and louder and we were singing and smiling and it was like a Michael Jackson “We are the World” songfest, except the music was more like the Jewish folk song Hava Nagilah. [If you don’t know this song, you should listen to it right now on YouTube to get a feel for my dream].

We went round and round and friends began to join – I saw the neighborhood friends join with Richard – Lee Keller, George Sotello, Babbit, Jim Billups, and I saw the many family friends join the dance – Paul Martinez and Carlos Frausto and the deFazios and people kept joining, friends of Richard and friends of his friends and the circle got larger and larger, and the music was like this celestial angelic music and we moved as one and we smiled and we felt a oneness that you just want to feel on earth but you rarely do.

The circle got larger and larger and as we danced and moved we all began to see that we were all one family, one organism, and we recognized that if I hurt you, I hurt myself, and that if I steal from you, I steal from me, and that if I cause pain to you, I cause pain to myself. We were all moving and there was no fear, no pride, no lies, no prejudice, no Democrats, no Republicans, and Richard in his bright green shirt, was smiling broadly.

As the circle continued and everyone felt their oneness with each other, and with Richard of course, I saw flashes of bright white light all around us – believe me, this would make a great music video!

While we danced, Richard was on the far side of the circle and he said, Don’t cry for me. I said, People are sad. Why not cry. He said, Don’t cry. Just live better. Live your life, and be good. Live better and respect each other and be good to each other. Do that in my memory.

My meditation ended.

So, in Richard’s name, I thank every one of you for being a part of this wonderful circle.