[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.
Saturday, June 02, 2012
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
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]
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]
Monday, May 28, 2012
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.
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.
Wednesday, May 09, 2012
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.”
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.”
Friday, May 04, 2012
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.
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.
Monday, April 23, 2012
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.
Wednesday, April 04, 2012
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.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
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.”
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
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.
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.
Tuesday, March 06, 2012
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!
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!
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Celebrating 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!”
Saturday, February 11, 2012
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.
Monday, February 06, 2012
My Pal Otis
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.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
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
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
Sunday, January 01, 2012
2012 and the Maya 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.]
Sunday, December 18, 2011
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.
Monday, November 21, 2011
ON GIVING THANKS
I’ve written extensively on the contributions from Native Americans, contributions that are usually forgotten. These include foods, medicines, political ideas (including the U.S. Constitution and method of government), and much more.
Now that Thanksgiving is nearly upon us again this year, it’s appropriate to thank those people who helped the earliest settlers to survive. By “thanks,” I mean tangible forms of thanks, such as direct gifts to Native families who are still suffering from economic hardship. Look folks, their land was stolen from them as the flow of European culture rolled over them. Now they are the “forgotten minority.”
Casinos haven’t come to all the tribes, and even casinos are not the panacea that they are made out to be.
Yes, also give thanks to God! You should humbly give thanks for your bounty and your blessings. And this does not require you to consume massive amounts of food!
I gave a talk at the Sunday Spiritual Studies at WTI. I was describing the great diversity of Native Americans here in what is now Canada, U.S., and Mexico, with as many as 5000 distinct languages and/or dialects at the time of European contact. The cultural practices and religious ideas are likewise diverse. The Native Americans were never a homogenous group of people.
As a prelude to why we as Americans should give tangible thanks to Native Americans, I attempted to answer the very complicated question of “Who are/were the Native Americans?”
I hope to write this up into a full report with all the details, but for now, here is the basic outline and reference list of my report.
1. Scientific American, November 2011, The First Americans. A report showing that the “first Americans” were here far longer than previously thought.
2. “Red Earth, White Lies” by Vine Deloria, demonstrating that the “Bering Strait Theory” is just that, a theory, based on very little fact.
3. The case of Kensington Man, whose unofficial test showed that he was related to the Ainu of Japan.
4. “The Zuni Enigma” by Nancy Yaw Davis, who shows amazing connections between Japanese and the Zuni. Her theory is that Japanese Buddhists left earthquake-wracked medieval Japan and sailed across the Pacific to Southern California, eventually migrating inland to the Zuni territory.
5. “Pale Ink” by Henriette Mertz, detailing two visits by Chinese to the American west coast, one about 2000 B.C. and another about 400 A.D. She compares some uncanny connections between the Maya and the Chinese.
6. “He Walked the Americas” by L. Taylor Hansen, a collection of fables, legends, stories, and songs from assorted Native American tribes who speak of a holy man or prophet who came from the sea and spread teachings among all tribes.
7. National Geographic, December 1972, article “Mounds: Riddles from the Indian Past,” page 783. Page 794 and 795 shows a conch shell that was dug from a mound. A drawing on the conch shell shows rowers on a boat with an obvious symbol of Tanith, a Carthaginian lunar goddess of the Phoenician pantheon. How did that get there?
8. “America B.C.” by Barry Fell, a fascinating account of the many people who came to America before Columbus, and the evidence left behind.
9. “Cahokia, Ancient America’s Great City on the Mississippi” by Timothy Pauketat.
And there was much more in this fascinating exploration of the diverse roots of the people who became the First Americans. I hope that reading some of the books listed here will help to expand your perspective.
Wednesday, November 09, 2011
Was Jesus Black?
Christmas is coming, and soon we’ll be entrenched in all the Christmas themes. In a recent conversation, a friend casually said to me, “Well, you know Jesus was black, don’t you?” Needless to say, this led to a long conversation.
I researched this over 15 years ago, and did find that there is sufficient Biblical evidence to say that Jesus was indeed of mixed ancestry, including African. But whether or not that makes him “black” depends on whose definition you use.
Many have heard of the “black Madonna” and believe that to be a carryover from when everyone believed Jesus had African ancestors in his lineage. But that’s not “proof,” anymore than we can say it’s “proof” that Santa Claus is black because we saw a black Santa Claus last Christmas in Harlem.
Where is the proof? I have actually seen Old Testament quotes used to “prove” that Jesus was black. But you can’t use Old Testament quotes for proof, since those quotes were written before Jesus was born!
And you really can’t rely on the book of Daniel or the book of Revelation for proof of Jesus’ African ancestry either since those books are highly symbolic and prophetic and subject to diverse interpretations.
Many of the Old Testament quotes that are used to “prove” that Jesus is black are King James translations, and if you read from another Bible translation – such as the Lamsa Bible translated out of the Aramaic – there would be no “evidence” whatsoever there to suggest anything about Jesus being black.
The key to Jesus’ ancestry is to look at the genealogies listed in the Bible, specifically Luke 3: 23-31, and Matthew 1:1-17. Note carefully that most such lineages list only the male line, but there in these lineages (both a bit different, by the way), we are told of at least four of the women in Jesus’ genealogical line. These are Rehab, Ruth, Tamar, and Bathsheba. Rehab (also spelled Rahab) was a Canaanite. Tamar was probably a Canaanite. Bethsheba, often referred to as a Hittite, was more likely Japhethic, that is, not a descendant of Ham. (However, this is not clear). Ruth was in the line of Ham.
Now, who was Ham? Who were the Canaanites and Hittites?
According to Genesis 9:19, all mankind descended from Noah’s three sons: Shem, Ham, and Japheth as they spread throughout the world. Ham’s descendants became the black people who settled in Africa, and parts of the Arabian peninsula. His sons were Cush, whose descendants settled in Ethiopia, Mizraim, whose descendants settled in Egypt, Put, whose descendants settled in Libya, and Canaan, whose descendants settled in Palestine. The descendants of Cush were the main populace of the Cushite Empire, which extended from western Libya to Ethiopia and Nubia, all of present day Egypt, and the Arabian peninsula into the mountains of Turkey. They spoke several languages and had skin pigmentation ranging from dark black to medium brown.
It takes a bit of study to ascertain who these people were – and there were other possible African women in Jesus’ lineage as well – but, in general, when we are speaking of Cushites, Canaanites, descendants of Ham, etc., we are speaking of Africans. It is entirely possible that this wasn’t a big deal when the scriptures were written since Jesus’ racial background would have been regarded as common knowledge.
Still, nowhere in the Scriptures can one find definitive descriptions of Jesus’ ethnicity or physical appearance. It just isn’t there. But the clues are there. He was obviously a Jewish rabbi, trained in the Jewish ways, whose background included people from all parts of the known world at that time.
Was Jesus black? It all depends upon how you define “black.” He was clearly a cosmopolitan man.
Monday, October 24, 2011
Road Kill Bill, R.I.P.
News item, dated October 13, 2001.
“Wild Bill” Found Dead in Park Bushes Wednesday.
A transient known locally as “wild Bill” was found dead at 12:53 p.m. Wednesday afternoon in the bushes of Hahamongna Park, confirmed Sgt. Debra Herman of the Crescenta Valley Sherff’s Station on Thursday night.
“We – everyone at the station here – have had contact with him several times,” Herman said.
“Wild Bill” is formally known as 54-year-old William Pluma Barrios, who was christened with the nickname for allegedly being intoxicated in public (allegedly??) and yelling at people, which has led to many calls to the station. The park, which is right across the street from La Canada High School, was known as Barrios’ most frequented area. (His “most frequented area”?? He LIVED there!)
Barrios cause of death is still not known, as the coroner’s office is awaiting test results which could arrive in a few weeks, said Lt. Brian Elias of the county coroner’s office. However, Elias added that there is no suspicion of foul play in Barrios’ death.
[You can find a photo of Barrios on Facebook or Altadena Patch. Use the term "Wild Bill"]
I was saddened to read the above news notice – in fact, I was first alerted about his death by a phone call from Francisco Loaiza.
I encountered Road Kill (as he said he preferred to be called) about 30 years ago, when he would camp in the area around Gould Mesa about two miles north of JPL. In the last 6 or so years, he lived further south in various spots in Hahamongna Watershed Park, and we “talked” often. He would often break into poetry or wild laughter, but we had some semblance of coherency. When he learned who I was one day, he ran into his lean-to and came back with a dog-eared copy of my “Guide to Wild Foods” book, which he said taught him a few local wild edible plants.
Over 3 years ago, when Helen Sweany attended one of my classes, she left her pack behind. She called me to go find it, but it was gone. A few days later, a bus driver called Helen. The bus driver was given Helen’s pack by Road Kill, and Helen got it back intact, with nothing removed! Road Kill told the bus driver that he really enjoyed reading Helen’s notebook about wild foods and survival.
Today, October 24, I recorded a podcast in honor of Road Kill next to his last camp, where someone erected a stone memorial in his honor. You can listen to the podcast on Preparedness Radio Network, with the date October 27, 2011.
Here is the poem I wrote about Road Kill back in 2008. When I gave him a copy, he smiled and then let out a wild laugh. I think that meant he liked it.
Road Kill Bill was rarely seen
He lived under a tree in oak grove park
He was maybe 50, not a teen
Whose homeless life seemed so stark
For weeks we’d see him come and go
But we never together talked
we’d hear his loud alone discourses
caused some fear, car doors were locked
But he never caused us harm
Just a man living life
Under the oak trees he lived
Coming from a life of strife
One day Helen she forgot her pack
When I went back to get it, twas no more there
Helen called me few days later
Saying her pack got back, an answered prayer
A bus driver was given it
And then it was passed to Helen
Found by Road Kill Bill, given to bus driver
Bill was an honest man, not a felon
'Well, I’m not speaking for his past
For I only knew this incident
But finally one day he talked to us
After the outing he said “hi,” coincident
With us wondering who he was
Bill’s the name, they call me Road Kill
Yes he lived in the bush, said he
A lively man, dynamic still
This large man called Road Kill Bill
A scary visage but a friendly guy
Wanting to talk with others still
Who simply asked us Why
And how, do you make fire with stick
Can you really do it
Or is it just a trick
And he told us of reading Tom Brown
Of tracking deer and shelter making
He teethless told us how to improve our fire
And he smiled to see that we were not just faking
Road Kill accepted my apple
To give to his friend the deer
“For my toothless mouth
Cannot chew it, I fear”
Said he lost his teeth
In some past jailtime fight
I wanted to ask why he did time
But feared it would not be right
To open the door of frightful fights
And memories bad and invoking pain
So I just smiled back at him
My curiosity I did restrain
I told him Helen was so pleased
To get pack back with book of notes
He simply nodded that he’d done the deed
He was not a man of many coats
Just living life under a tree
In plain sight for any to see
Wild man of the oaken land
shakes you with his strong hand
When you travel this life
Of valleys and hill
You may sometimes reflect
Upon Road Kill Bill
Food he gets from here and there
No air conditioning, not a care
Bathroom and water are nearby
Wild hair with a simple tie
Not a life that all would live
Most have money that flows through a sieve
On all “necessities” that Bill doesn’t use
Such luxuries can be a noose
Are they Right or wrong
Are they good or bad
These are things that Road Kill Bill
Hasn’t had, and isn’t mad
Lives simply under oak tree
Watches animals that he does see
Bothers no one, uses little
Why should anyone him belittle
Probably not a saint
But carbon footprint zero
His lifestyle make you faint
But could he be a hero?
Written August 23, 2008
“Wild Bill” Found Dead in Park Bushes Wednesday.
 |
| Christopher Nyerges at the memorial "gravesite" for William Barrios, aka "Road Kill Bill" -- photo by Francisco Loaiza |
A transient known locally as “wild Bill” was found dead at 12:53 p.m. Wednesday afternoon in the bushes of Hahamongna Park, confirmed Sgt. Debra Herman of the Crescenta Valley Sherff’s Station on Thursday night.
“We – everyone at the station here – have had contact with him several times,” Herman said.
“Wild Bill” is formally known as 54-year-old William Pluma Barrios, who was christened with the nickname for allegedly being intoxicated in public (allegedly??) and yelling at people, which has led to many calls to the station. The park, which is right across the street from La Canada High School, was known as Barrios’ most frequented area. (His “most frequented area”?? He LIVED there!)
Barrios cause of death is still not known, as the coroner’s office is awaiting test results which could arrive in a few weeks, said Lt. Brian Elias of the county coroner’s office. However, Elias added that there is no suspicion of foul play in Barrios’ death.
[You can find a photo of Barrios on Facebook or Altadena Patch. Use the term "Wild Bill"]
XXX XX XXX
I was saddened to read the above news notice – in fact, I was first alerted about his death by a phone call from Francisco Loaiza.
I encountered Road Kill (as he said he preferred to be called) about 30 years ago, when he would camp in the area around Gould Mesa about two miles north of JPL. In the last 6 or so years, he lived further south in various spots in Hahamongna Watershed Park, and we “talked” often. He would often break into poetry or wild laughter, but we had some semblance of coherency. When he learned who I was one day, he ran into his lean-to and came back with a dog-eared copy of my “Guide to Wild Foods” book, which he said taught him a few local wild edible plants.
Over 3 years ago, when Helen Sweany attended one of my classes, she left her pack behind. She called me to go find it, but it was gone. A few days later, a bus driver called Helen. The bus driver was given Helen’s pack by Road Kill, and Helen got it back intact, with nothing removed! Road Kill told the bus driver that he really enjoyed reading Helen’s notebook about wild foods and survival.
Today, October 24, I recorded a podcast in honor of Road Kill next to his last camp, where someone erected a stone memorial in his honor. You can listen to the podcast on Preparedness Radio Network, with the date October 27, 2011.
Here is the poem I wrote about Road Kill back in 2008. When I gave him a copy, he smiled and then let out a wild laugh. I think that meant he liked it.
ROAD KILL BILL
Road Kill Bill was rarely seen
He lived under a tree in oak grove park
He was maybe 50, not a teen
Whose homeless life seemed so stark
For weeks we’d see him come and go
But we never together talked
we’d hear his loud alone discourses
caused some fear, car doors were locked
But he never caused us harm
Just a man living life
Under the oak trees he lived
Coming from a life of strife
One day Helen she forgot her pack
When I went back to get it, twas no more there
Helen called me few days later
Saying her pack got back, an answered prayer
A bus driver was given it
And then it was passed to Helen
Found by Road Kill Bill, given to bus driver
Bill was an honest man, not a felon
'Well, I’m not speaking for his past
For I only knew this incident
But finally one day he talked to us
After the outing he said “hi,” coincident
With us wondering who he was
Bill’s the name, they call me Road Kill
Yes he lived in the bush, said he
A lively man, dynamic still
This large man called Road Kill Bill
A scary visage but a friendly guy
Wanting to talk with others still
Who simply asked us Why
And how, do you make fire with stick
Can you really do it
Or is it just a trick
And he told us of reading Tom Brown
Of tracking deer and shelter making
He teethless told us how to improve our fire
And he smiled to see that we were not just faking
Road Kill accepted my apple
To give to his friend the deer
“For my toothless mouth
Cannot chew it, I fear”
Said he lost his teeth
In some past jailtime fight
I wanted to ask why he did time
But feared it would not be right
To open the door of frightful fights
And memories bad and invoking pain
So I just smiled back at him
My curiosity I did restrain
I told him Helen was so pleased
To get pack back with book of notes
He simply nodded that he’d done the deed
He was not a man of many coats
Just living life under a tree
In plain sight for any to see
Wild man of the oaken land
shakes you with his strong hand
When you travel this life
Of valleys and hill
You may sometimes reflect
Upon Road Kill Bill
Food he gets from here and there
No air conditioning, not a care
Bathroom and water are nearby
Wild hair with a simple tie
Not a life that all would live
Most have money that flows through a sieve
On all “necessities” that Bill doesn’t use
Such luxuries can be a noose
Are they Right or wrong
Are they good or bad
These are things that Road Kill Bill
Hasn’t had, and isn’t mad
Lives simply under oak tree
Watches animals that he does see
Bothers no one, uses little
Why should anyone him belittle
Probably not a saint
But carbon footprint zero
His lifestyle make you faint
But could he be a hero?
Written August 23, 2008
Friday, September 30, 2011
THINKING ABOUT DOLORES
(You can read my Memorial to Dolores at http://www.christophernyeges.com/ and clicking Memorial).
We read passages from the book when we had a "63rd birthday commemoration" for Dolores.
Here is a passage. (The book can be obtained anywhere, plus at the Store at http://www.christophernyerges.com/)
Here is what I read, from Chapter 7, The Sing:
And then Shimah was telling him about the yellow pollen. Juanita could almost follow the story by her mother-in-law's excited gestures. Shimah's face was strong and tense, no room for gentleness, and her voice carried a new undertone--like fear. Only her hands seemed natural, although excited, as she gestured. Strange that Shimah should tell about the yellow pollen, rather than ask the rider about himself, about news which he was surely carrying. Of what interest could the yellow pollen be to him?
But he was interested. He leaned forward as though better to hear her words; his eyes narrowed and his face looked very grave. He asked many questions. Shimah answered and sometimes Yee-ke-nes-bah. Through their conversation one word seemed to repeat itself until it began to echo and re-echo in Juanita's mind: ma-itso . . . ma-itso.
...And then Lorencito began to talk seriously to Luciano; Juanita heard the work ma-itso repeated again and again. Shimah sat nodding her head as her oldest son talked, occasionally adding a word to what he was saying. Luciano turned to Juanita; his face was marked with gravity as was his older brother's. "Lorencito says that it is not safe to keep this from you any longer; I should tell you now."
Juanita waited. Her mouth and throat felt suddenly dry. She could not have spoken. Her thoughts raced: this is in some way connected, ma-itso and yellow pollen. Perhaps it's all connected, all of the puzzling and unexplained things that have happened. And somehow, the looks on their faces, Shimah's and Lu's, Yee-ke-nes-bah's and Lorencito's, are a little bit frightening.
"Before we came here," her husband began, "when I tried to tell you about everything which might seem strange to you, I didn't tell you about ma-itso--the wolf clan. One reason, it no longer seemed as believable to me as it once had; perhaps all the years in school did that; anyhow, in Hollywood I seldom thought of it. When we came here, my mother told me the wolf clan was still strong in Cañoncito. I didn't tell you then because I could see no reason why they would try to harm us. But to be sure you were safe, my mother and sisters watched you every minute.
"There were times when I almost told you, those times when you were upset about things you didn't understand. And yet I hated to frighten you needlessly. Already there was so much for you to worry about. It seemed better to wait until I had a job, until we were living in town and then tell you. "But now two things have happened which make me sure the ma-itso is for some reason after us. I found yellow pollen in an X mark on my hat brim, and today my mother found pollen on our clothes. That is their warning. Lorencito thinks you will be safer if you know about this evil thing." A hundred questions sprang to Juanita's lips, but her husband went on talking, interrupted now and then by Lorencito or his mother.
"The wolf clan is as old as the Navajo tribe. From the beginning some men turned certain powers, which should have been used for good, toward evil things. Corn pollen, used for blessing, is used by the ma-itso as a warning to a person marked for death. And death does not come in a usual manner; it comes in a round-about way which cannot be easily traced. The victim sickens suddenly; sometimes his mind leaves him. No Medicine Man can cure him. Sometimes the victim meets with a mysterious and fatal accident.
Wednesday, September 07, 2011
Goodbye Jonathan
JONATHAN NYERGES
June 18, 1982 – September 1, 2011
Nine of us stood there at dusk on Sunday at the intersection of Baldwin and Palm in Arcadia. It was where my nephew Jonathan died in a motorcycle accident the previous Thursday.
He was driving north-bound on Baldwin when man driving westbound on Palm turned onto Baldwin. He crossed Baldwin to go south, but he probably didn’t see Jonathan. The impact killed Jonathan instantly and the small SUV was toppled, with the driver dying later in the hospital.
We friends and family members stood by the make-shift shrines erected by Jonathan’s friends. In the middle of the street, on the traffic island, were signs and letters to Jonny. On the sidewalk at the base of the traffic light were a dozen or so candles, a small motorcycle, others trinkets, lots of flowers, and many good wishes written in chalk on the sidewalk and curb.
We talked about what happened, or, how we thought it might have happened. I took photos. Then I noticed all the various colored spray paint marks in the middle of the street. They were the marks made by the police to define the accident scene. Richard and I tried to figure out what the markings meant. We couldn’t figure it all out, but we thought we recognized marks for the main part of the motorcycle. We stared at a spot where Jonny apparently fell.
The sky was red with awesome clouds, and drops of rain had begun falling lightly. Rain, any rain, was a rarity in early September in California. As we silently stood, we listened for Jonny as the cars roared by. I heard Richard continuing to describe what happened, and listened to his hopes that somehow it was all a dream and Jonny would ride up their driveway on the motorcycle. The sky began to light up in an electrical storm. These were huge flashes of multi-branched light quickly followed by the crack of thunder. I took it to be Jonny’s goodbye to all of us who stood there honoring his last stand, where his 29 years ended.
I reflected on the few but happy interactions I had with Jonathan. Helen and I last saw him at Tina Frausto’s Fouth of July party in Altadena. He was there with motorcycle helmet in hand. He was happy and we enjoyed our short talk.
I remember when I went to a mailbox shop one day in Sierra Madre when I needed something notarized. The man behind the counter smiled as he refused my money for his work. It was Jonny who recognized me. He was happy, and smiled in his generosity. He always seemed so happy to see me, even though we only saw one another very seldom. I’d always hoped that I’d have the time, or make the time, to develop a closer relationship with my nephews and nieces. Now there would be no more chance with Jonny.
I knew through his father – my brother Richard – that Jonny loved bikes and motorcycles from an early age, and that he was – like his two brothers Michael and Jeffrey – a whiz when it came to the technical things like computers.
I wish I could have known him better. Now it is too late.
I know the pain too well of losing someone we love. When my wife Dolores died, I felt empty and lost and depressed for a long time, and close friends offered me much support. Now is the time for friends and family to do all they can to offer your loving support and physical support to Richard and his family.
After Dolores died, my mentor shared with me something to keep in mind with all our living loved ones. This is an urging for how all of us should begin interacting with each other, all the time.
FARE WELL SONG TOO-SELDOM SUNG
This could be the last time that I see you;
either you or I could die before we meet again;
so please know that I deep-admire your admirable traits
and laud your ceaseless efforts to perfect your soul
and elevate your character (and that of everyone you interact with).
I hope we interact again (in this life or the next);
but if we don’t
I want that you should know
my heart has been enriched by having had you in my life
and hereby do I wish you Godspeed
in your up-and-onward sojourn through Eternity.
Tuesday, September 06, 2011
Labor Day 2011
A review of “Razor’s Edge”
We were in a small field and a small stream was trickling by. We created an ember with a bow and drill, and then put the ember into a wad of mugwort. We blew it into a flame, and then created our small fire between two rocks. We balanced a #10 can over the rocks, and heated water. Soon, we added coffee grounds to the water, and then strained our coffee through a clean sock into each of our cups. The hobo coffee was delicious and then we began to warm our stew made from beans and wild greens.
It was Labor Day in Highland Park, and we gathered for the annual WTI event [www.wtinc.info] to discuss the meanings of “real labor,” and to consider why we do what we do all life long, and whether or not there are better alternatives. Our focus was upon those peripatetics throughout history who could not go along with their society’s norm, who knew there was a better way, and who worked to share this insight with their fellow man.
Such peripatetics could have included Jesus, Socrates, Ghandi, Pythagoras, and many others.
As we enjoyed our coffee and beans, we moved to a nearby makeshift shelter where an outdoor TV had been set up. We sat in the shade as we viewed and discussed the original version of “Razor’s Edge.”
The story begins in 1919, post World War I, where the author Somerset Maugm, describes one of the most unusual individuals he’d ever encountered. The main character, Larry, survived the last battles of WWI, but his fellow soldier, right next to him, was shot dead. That caused an indelible mark in Larry, and it led him on his search for the meaning of life, his life, life in general. It meant Larry found himself unable to settle down, and wandered to Paris, and to a monastery in India. Meanwhile, we see what happens to Larry’s childhood friends as they pursue their ordinary life, the very life they wanted for Larry.
I first viewed this movie when it was on TV in the middle of the night, a restless night when I could not sleep and I was asking the very questions that Larry asked himself. What is this all about? Why do I do what I do? What should I do? Why is everyone so unhappy with me if I do not do as they want?
The original black and white version of “Razor’s Edge” remains an inspiring classic, and I strongly recommend that you view it, and put yourself in Larry’s shoes.
Did Larry ever find his answers? He said he found some of his answers, though not all, and that he might never find all his answers. But while in India, while alone outdoors as the rising sun made its appearance, he experienced what some would call a Oneness with The All, and felt that he were a part of God. It was an experience that he could barely describe in words, and one which he thought back to often.
That was what I did on Labor Day.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Some "Economic Survival" Considerations
Here is some “food for thought” adapted from the last chapter of my “How to Survive Anywhere” book (published by Stackpole Books, available from Amazon.com, or ChristopherNyerges.com.).
It would be the height of naivete to discuss the full picture of “survival” and not bring up money. Money is an integral, inescapable part of life in any specialized and organized society. Talk show host Tony Brown once said “If I’ve been accused of over-emphasizing money, it’s because I place money right up there with oxygen as a necessity.”
Whole libraries have already been written by the folks who live their lives 24/7 in the pursuit of money. You know, Suze Orman, Loral Langemeier, and all the folks that tell you how to make a meaningful income by investing, or buying real estate, or whatever. If you feel you are lacking in this area, you owe it to yourself to explore those who have already succeeded in this arena.
For our purposes here, let’s look at “money” in a meaningful context.
None of us really needs money, per se. We need (and want) those things that money buys for us. This means that if we focus upon the acquisition of money per se, we may simply be bumbling ahead with our lives, assuming that the acquisition of money is itself an important goal.
We should define our goals in life, and we should recognize that although money can help to accelerate our achieving many goals, money cannot replace our desire and drive to achieve and accomplish that goal. In other words, the desire to accomplish and to produce results, and to establish working networks with other people is far more meaningful to our life’s goals than is “money.”
Knowledge and self-education is perhaps the most important first step to increasing your survival awareness, and allowing yourself the possibility of making new choices. This concept was the subject of the last chapter of our Extreme Simplicity: Homesteading in the City book, where we explored the four illusions of money. Fear and greed are the primary factors that drive our economy. If you allow fear or greed to drive you, you cannot make the best decisions.
Once you recognize that much of our personal thinking, and public broadcasting, about “economics” is counter-productive to our “economic survival” (and automatically impinges upon other facets of survival as well), we inevitably look for personal solutions. What can I do? What can I do, especially if I am in a limited situation? What can I do now?
GOALS
Begin by defining your goals very specifically. Write them down. Record some short-term goals, but also your long-term goals. These must be goals that you deeply desire to achieve, and they should be goals that you can achieve. Plus, you might have a list of goals that you must achieve (e.g., I must have $1700 for my mortgage each month or I lose my home!). For each goal, you should be able to record at least three concrete steps that you can take – whatever your current financial situation – to achieve these goals. Bring other people into your analysis. Don’t try to do this alone.
Also, consider the broadest ramifications for your “goals.” Are they benefiting more than just myself? Are these goals that might facilitate friends, family, neighbors to work together (thus increasing our survival quotient)?
In “Beautiful Mind,” the movie about the life of John Nash, the mathematician who developed “game theory,” Nash quotes Adam Smith (often referred to as the father of modern economics) as saying “The best result comes when everyone in the group is doing what’s best for themselves.” In other words, your self-interest should serve the group. It is better for the society that you not lose your home to foreclosure. Nash saw that Adam Smith, while correct, was incomplete. Nash enhanced Adam Smith’s axiom to” “The best result comes when everyone in the group is doing what’s best for themselves – AND the group.” It was clear to a mathematician that thinking about others is definitely in your best “survival” interests.
Obviously, this is just food for thought. The practical applications are up to you to find, and to put into action.
Here are some financial-related principles to ponder, and to experiment with. Think of them as tools for survival and enlightened living
1. As ye give, so shall ye receive.
2. Always lead with an offer. (Don’t expect someone to care about you just because you are “in need.” Before you ask for help, find out how you can benefit the other person).
3. Make every place better for your having been there. (This is true “Appreciation”)
4. What blesses one, blesses all. (Another way of saying “all ships rise in a rising tide”).
5. Discover the “magic” of Tithing. (Even financial advisor Suze Orman suggests that you give to the church or charity of your choice).
6. Pay back your debts
7. Barter and exchange. (You’d be amazed at the sorts of relationships that can develop when money is not involved.)
It would be the height of naivete to discuss the full picture of “survival” and not bring up money. Money is an integral, inescapable part of life in any specialized and organized society. Talk show host Tony Brown once said “If I’ve been accused of over-emphasizing money, it’s because I place money right up there with oxygen as a necessity.”
Whole libraries have already been written by the folks who live their lives 24/7 in the pursuit of money. You know, Suze Orman, Loral Langemeier, and all the folks that tell you how to make a meaningful income by investing, or buying real estate, or whatever. If you feel you are lacking in this area, you owe it to yourself to explore those who have already succeeded in this arena.
For our purposes here, let’s look at “money” in a meaningful context.
None of us really needs money, per se. We need (and want) those things that money buys for us. This means that if we focus upon the acquisition of money per se, we may simply be bumbling ahead with our lives, assuming that the acquisition of money is itself an important goal.
We should define our goals in life, and we should recognize that although money can help to accelerate our achieving many goals, money cannot replace our desire and drive to achieve and accomplish that goal. In other words, the desire to accomplish and to produce results, and to establish working networks with other people is far more meaningful to our life’s goals than is “money.”
Knowledge and self-education is perhaps the most important first step to increasing your survival awareness, and allowing yourself the possibility of making new choices. This concept was the subject of the last chapter of our Extreme Simplicity: Homesteading in the City book, where we explored the four illusions of money. Fear and greed are the primary factors that drive our economy. If you allow fear or greed to drive you, you cannot make the best decisions.
Once you recognize that much of our personal thinking, and public broadcasting, about “economics” is counter-productive to our “economic survival” (and automatically impinges upon other facets of survival as well), we inevitably look for personal solutions. What can I do? What can I do, especially if I am in a limited situation? What can I do now?
GOALS
Begin by defining your goals very specifically. Write them down. Record some short-term goals, but also your long-term goals. These must be goals that you deeply desire to achieve, and they should be goals that you can achieve. Plus, you might have a list of goals that you must achieve (e.g., I must have $1700 for my mortgage each month or I lose my home!). For each goal, you should be able to record at least three concrete steps that you can take – whatever your current financial situation – to achieve these goals. Bring other people into your analysis. Don’t try to do this alone.
Also, consider the broadest ramifications for your “goals.” Are they benefiting more than just myself? Are these goals that might facilitate friends, family, neighbors to work together (thus increasing our survival quotient)?
In “Beautiful Mind,” the movie about the life of John Nash, the mathematician who developed “game theory,” Nash quotes Adam Smith (often referred to as the father of modern economics) as saying “The best result comes when everyone in the group is doing what’s best for themselves.” In other words, your self-interest should serve the group. It is better for the society that you not lose your home to foreclosure. Nash saw that Adam Smith, while correct, was incomplete. Nash enhanced Adam Smith’s axiom to” “The best result comes when everyone in the group is doing what’s best for themselves – AND the group.” It was clear to a mathematician that thinking about others is definitely in your best “survival” interests.
Obviously, this is just food for thought. The practical applications are up to you to find, and to put into action.
Here are some financial-related principles to ponder, and to experiment with. Think of them as tools for survival and enlightened living
1. As ye give, so shall ye receive.
2. Always lead with an offer. (Don’t expect someone to care about you just because you are “in need.” Before you ask for help, find out how you can benefit the other person).
3. Make every place better for your having been there. (This is true “Appreciation”)
4. What blesses one, blesses all. (Another way of saying “all ships rise in a rising tide”).
5. Discover the “magic” of Tithing. (Even financial advisor Suze Orman suggests that you give to the church or charity of your choice).
6. Pay back your debts
7. Barter and exchange. (You’d be amazed at the sorts of relationships that can develop when money is not involved.)
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