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It turned out I didn’t have very long to wait; several hours later, around midnight, I saw headlights approaching in the darkness and soon we had the trailer hooked up and we were returning to our camp. Not many days after this we broke camp, packed up and began our trek south. We took the two-lane highway leading towards Mt Lassen late one afternoon as winter was beginning to settle across the area. Snow was already collecting in shady hollows here and there along the side of the highway and further up the surrounding slopes, their tops were already beginning to turn white. Just as the day began to turn to dusk we pulled into a remote state park, however, everything was closed for the season and the gates were locked. There were no alternative options anywhere nearby and we had a caravan: our mobile-kitchen Toyota pickup, the Taurus, our Suburban and trailer, along with J.’s little car which he still drove, though we intended to sell it; as he wasn’t yet able to accept the vow of poverty, and he still had attachment to his possessions.

Provision in our community was typically given to each of us, for our particular weaknesses, as we struggled to overcome them. I found that it was significantly easier to battle these things, with the help of MD yet, even so, weaknesses are strong within us and do not disappear overnight. For J. he had more difficulty with giving up personal property than others did, so he was allowed more leniency in this respect, but with the goal still being un-attachment and freedom from possessiveness.

One of the tenets of our training, as directed and taught by MD, was that whatever came between us and the noble virtues, such as selflessness, service, moderation, purity of thought and action, kindness and so on, these obstructions were the very things we must confront and overcome; this being done by experiencing again whatever it was that made us originally choose to cave in to these weaknesses or vices, and then in the midst of the struggle with these experiences, to choose this time, rather to act or think differently, and thereby create the beginning of a new habit that is more honorable and virtuous and loving, and which leads us to freedom from that old “stuff” as we called it. I had a whole litany of issues that I had to confront and work to transform, which I will describe in more detail as this story unfolds, but in brief I was weak in the face of conflict and needed to regain strength of love in the face of violence and anger, I also was very prideful and had thoughts of superiority over others, so I had to confront the pains of humiliation and through that find a new place inside that doesn’t artificially prop myself up by using these things as compensation; and there were many more things, such as lustful thoughts, and avoiding conflict, which I won’t go into now, but will share when the time is right.

So there we were, our caravan, far away from any towns, and without a place to park or camp for the night. To the side of the locked gates the hillside was gradual and the ground was hardened by the cold. It seemed possible for our smaller vehicles to weave their way around and past the myriad of trees that covered the hill and make their way through the forest and back down onto the asphalt further inside the gates where we could park and stay for the night. However, the Suburban and trailer combined were easily thirty-five feet long and also quite bulky. It was impossible to get these through the trees, there were hundreds of trees, large and small, scattered over the hillside and they were growing very closely together, and the route was several hundred feet to get around and back onto the park road behind the gate.

Nevertheless MD assessed the situation and told us to drive through and we would make it. The smaller vehicles went first and made it through to the other side without too much trouble, although in some places the angles and space available between the trees were sharper and tighter than I had anticipated, and we did almost get a vehicle stuck once or twice. But when M. began to drive the Suburban towing the trailer, up the hillside and into the trees, I was nearly certain he would end up getting lodged between several trees and it would be immovable. Each of us had a role as M. slowly inched his way through the trees; I was scouting one side and providing information to MD and M as they navigated forward. K. and J. and S. also had stations alongside the Suburban and trailer, and gave information about available space between the trees. All of us had the additional task of pulling branches back out of the way as M. continued to thread his way through the trees, while MD walked on ahead and plotted the route. On several occasions we used ropes and a winch to bend smaller trees aside, allowing passage, and multiple times we needed to unhitch the trailer, move the Suburban into a different trajectory, and then reconnect them again heading in a slightly altered direction. As we inched forward I began to realize that we somehow were actually going to get this camel through the eye of the needle, and then I began to realize another thing; that this was a lesson about facing the seemingly impossible and with perseverance, conquering it; and also it was about teamwork, and the joy of tackling something unimaginable together. Eventually, several hours later, the Suburban pulled off the hillside, out of the trees, and back onto the asphalt far down the road, on the other side of the gates; and moments later the trailer came out as well. We all enjoyed a brief celebration of our victory, and then proceeded to set up camp for the night.

The next morning we left the same way we came in, although we were better at it this time and did it more quickly and with less difficulty. We got back on the highway heading south and after several hours, we cut back west, across the state, and over to the coast. This was the beginning of one of the lightest and most enjoyable periods of my time in this community. I had no idea where we were going, or where we would end up, but we had such a great time getting there. We stopped along the coast to spend the night on a beach just north of Salmon Creek. MD gave me a well-known book to read, Be Here Now by Ram Dass. I found a shallow cave against the cliff-face and retreated to read it, while the rest of the group played on the beach and enjoyed each other’s company. Later in the day I finished the book, since it isn’t long, and then joined the others. In the morning I awoke as my brothers and sisters pulled me, in my sleeping bag, down the sand and into the surf. It was a surprising and entertaining way to be awoken.

We continued driving down the coast of California with our caravan. I was in the Suburban with MD and he began to talk with me in a more severe tone of voice. As we continued driving, the situation became increasingly tense as he confronted me. After several minutes of this he called to the other cars over our walkie-talkies to stop and pull over. He demanded I exit the vehicle, which I did, and then on the side of the coast highway, he began to yell at me and then motioned to pick up a stone to throw at me. I waited to see what would happen, my pulse had become quite elevated, and I was concerned about the possible outcomes of my situation. The scenario ended after a few more moments, then he got back in the Suburban and called me to join him, which I cautiously did; and then we all continued driving south again. This was the first time he had interacted with me in this manner and with this intensity. I was startled, and didn’t completely know what to make of it, though I understood, in theory, what we were doing and why. It was quite different however, to suddenly experience the reality of this type of teaching, and not merely think about it as a possibility.

As we continued driving, I reflected further on what had just happened, and also on my past. I have never been a person to get into altercations, and I have always tried to avoid any kind of escalation of bad feelings. I remember the one fight I ever had, in grade school, and even then I couldn’t bring myself to punch him, but only pushed and yelled for a moment, and then felt ridiculous and apologized. Even so, it wasn’t that I was above anger, but I avoided it because I was afraid, mainly, and didn’t like the idea of being out of control, or of bringing another person to a place of uncontrolled emotion; with the possibility that something bad could happen. I had never really experienced someone yelling at me like MD had just done, and in a strange way it was liberating, because I had always feared what that would be like; in the end it wasn’t that bad. I had survived, and actually felt stronger from the experience.

We continued driving through California and then turned east and entered Arizona. On long stretches of flat, straight highway, when no other cars were around, we would practice passing notes to each other from car to car through our open windows. Mostly these were notes that MD would write for us, with a fun message or lesson, specifically intended and crafted for each recipient. He crafted them to teach, but also to amuse. On one of mine he wrote:

“What is fear? It is the end of freedom, of faith, and of Peace. Do not falter.

Sever the fear besotten threads that have bound you. Do not let the maggots

of fear kick sand into your experience of being. Build up the fortress of the

will. Have faith. God will sustain.”

(To Be Continued)

~FS

In the late summer of 1993 I was sent off on a mission of sorts, to canvas the Bay Area with our brochures and new posters, announcing our community and the teachings of MD. With the car loaded with hundreds of these, I embarked on a two or three week excursion to flood the natural food stores, cafes, bookstores, colleges and universities from Sonoma County in the north to Santa Cruz in the south, San Francisco and the east bay. I enjoyed the solitude and the purpose. And it was of particular interest to me to notice how different everything seemed now, as I traveled familiar roads, and yet they were no longer the same to me. I had changed so much in just a few short months. As I visited familiar bookstores and cafes I was struck by the sense that I was no longer living in the same world as I had before. It was the first time I understood, in a real and tangible way, the idea of being in the world, but not of the world. These places, and what they offered, were no longer for me, and I didn’t miss them at all, in fact, I felt liberated and transcendent. I might walk by a theater and place a poster on the notice board out front, and have no interest in what was playing inside. Or visiting a café, to drop off some brochures, I wouldn’t consider buying anything, since I had my oranges and bananas in the car, and that was all I needed. I was satisfied and content, and amused by my surprising transformation.

Upon returning to our campsite a few weeks later I found it transformed as well. I had left in late summer, while the days were still sun-filled and warm and the evenings were temperate, but when I returned it was noticeably early fall; the days had that touch of briskness to them, and the air had that earthy smell that announces the changing of the seasons. And the nights were beginning to be cold. I arrived in the afternoon and found K. and J. in the kitchen preparing for the evening meal. They welcomed me with great warmth, and then they began to tell me about the newest member, who had joined our community while I was gone. They had met L. at Panther Meadow and after spending some time with MD he instantly joined. I was amazed how quickly L. had joined us and become a revered member of our community. He was described in glowing terms and with great zeal by the both of them. I looked forward to meeting him.

We remained at our location west of Mt Shasta for several more weeks and in this time we purchased two vehicles and a trailer. Through a friend L. and M. were able to attend a car dealer auction and purchase for a very good price both a Chevy Suburban and a Ford Taurus, both fairly new and in good condition. Well, at least the Suburban was in good condition, while the Taurus only looked good. MD. had advised them not to purchase the Taurus, but as often occurred M. felt he knew better and did it anyway. The Taurus nearly made it off the car lot before the transmission fell out, but not quite. There are no refunds at a dealer’s auction; though it was just purchased and had barely driven a hundred feet before breaking down, it was our problem.  We were able to get a new transmission and get the Taurus running again and after this it worked well for us for a long time. The trailer was of a heavy steel frame construction with an eight foot by 16 foot solid wood bed. In order to make it more useful, we built a wood box around the perimeter of the frame, four feet high, made of 2×4 framing with 3/4″ plywood sheathing and multiple coats of spar varnish. The back of the wood box was attached to the side panels at its two ends, using rope connections at the corners, so that the back panel could be untied and removed for easy loading. This trailer became an essential part of our lives as we used it for many things: to more our camp, to move materials for our landscaping business, and for our moving company business. But before it became an integral part of our lives it was disputed property and the object of a rift between L. and our community.

Almost as mysteriously as L. had arrived, he suddenly left. I had hardly gotten to know him when I heard that he was gone and he had taken the trailer with him. I believe we had purchased the trailer with money that L. had given to the community, although I don’t know this as a fact, but I assume this, since it explains why he felt justified, at least in his mind, to take the trailer with him when he left. I was treasurer and paid bills so it seems I should know what happened, however I only took care of routine bills, and wasn’t always involved with the cash immediately when it arrived, particularly as gifts or donations. The purchase of the vehicles and the trailer I hadn’t been involved with, but I deduced that L. still felt ownership of the money he had given to the community since he had given it so recently and hadn’t been with us for very long. On the other hand, all of us had taken vows of poverty, L. included, and none of us had individual or sole ownership of anything. In my mind whatever he may have given us, was given freely and had become communal property so it wasn’t right for him to take the trailer with him. In any case, what I thought didn’t matter as I wasn’t directly involved in any of it and was only tangentially involved until the afternoon that someone discovered where L. had hidden the trailer for safe keeping, at a home in town. We had the registration and title to the trailer so legally it was ours to take, so we did. We brought the Suburban and hooked the trailer up and drove it away while L. was elsewhere in town.

In order to keep the trailer safe we drove it far up the south side of Mt Shasta to hide it where it wouldn’t be found. There is an elaborate network of dirt roads reaching up the mountain, probably old lumber roads, and these trails extend far, far up the mountain’s side. We drove several miles up one of these little roads and then cut off onto a side road and drove down to the end, where it abruptly stopped in a surround of tall grasses and small bent trees. We unhooked the trailer and decided that I would stay with it for the night, until they would come back for me at some point later.

It was a chilly night towards the end of November. We had had one or two light dustings of snow already, earlier in the month. I sat on the trailer bed in the solitude of the mountain and looked out towards the mountain tops to the south. Over the darkened ridge rose the large silvery-white disc of the full moon and behind that glowed the sky in vibrant pink and lavender hues. A slight wind blew up the mountain from down below and I breathed it in deeply. It was a stunning and magical night in every way; I reflected on my surroundings and this unexpected adventure I was suddenly a part of, and I wondered what was coming next. Most immediately I wondered when my friends would return for me, would it be a few hours, or in the morning, or would it be days? Then after that, where would we be moving next? Winter was coming very soon and I expected we wouldn’t stay here very much longer.

(to be continued)

~FS

Without You, Lord, I am miserable. Without You as the focus, and the focusing, of my life;

I am lost, and my mind, swirls endlessly.

You give music, dance, and games to enjoy. You give family and friends for company. Yet none of these things can fulfill, without knowing You dwelling in their essence.

After the noise and the fun are all through, there’s an anguish of emptiness that remains; my soul’s hangover from the worldly intoxications of the previous evening.

God, what do we need of you anymore? I hear this asked. We can live quite well on our own they say.

Yet then—what need has meat, of protein? It will still taste as good. And surely chemical bonds don’t make the water more refreshing? Just give those thirsty men glasses of hydrogen and oxygen.

Man, on morphine fails to feel his pain, but the source of the pain hasn’t vanished. If we are now too numb to know our God, does this somehow mean that He is gone?

Is God dead? Or has our perception just grown so very dim? Man is dying, not God.

I’ve sat inside stadiums, filled with promise, excitement and anticipation; filled with noise and colorful lights, the hope of victory, or the magic of art. I’ve heard the thunderous applause, the frenzy and the laughter; and what have I gained from this, what have I bought with my money, time and effort?

Time, merely spent, perhaps a pleasant memory with those I love, but then hollow emptiness, and the passing of time. I did not forestall death, I only distracted myself for a short time, while it crept up a little closer.

There is no distraction that will impede that approach. Entertainment, like morphine, drips into our veins and fills our minds; numbing us to our true lives, dulling our perceptions, and deadening us to God’s presence.

It would be time better spent, to call relentlessly upon our Great Physician; to heal and to calm us, to bring us peace; and rather turn aside from these opioids for the soul, that only imitate a cure, sedating us for a time, mollifying our symptoms, but not addressing our underlying disease.

We need you God, whether we know it or not; whether we will admit it or not. It is existentially true. And without You, Lord, we do not realize how miserable we truly are, and in this, our misery has no cure.

~FS

Each morning S. and I would take a short hike down to the river together. The water was always brisk and sometimes quite cold but it was also refreshing and a great way to start the day. Standing in the midst of the flowing water, with no one but the birds and the fish anywhere to be seen, mist rising off the water, and with the sun alighting the treetops far overhead was simultaneously invigorating and calming. Additionally, there was the joy of growing comradery and brotherhood. I wouldn’t say we had a natural friendship at first, he was direct, blunt and forceful while I tended to be more diplomatic and nuanced. However, his qualities were really very good, and in many cases useful and admirable; I came to appreciate the fact that he had these qualities and I learned these in part, from him, over time. He was also very devoted, loyal and trustworthy and over the years I was often grateful for him and how we all could rely on him. Though he was emotional, and also often spoke without thinking first, which could get us into difficulties, I now look back on many of these and laugh, though at the time I was challenged to find the humor.

K. was a very sweet and peaceful person. She had a wonderful laugh which began as a giggle and lit her whole face with joy. For a long time she was the only woman in the group and because of this she was one of the real stabilizing forces for us; she brought a gentleness and softness that I treasured, and I think we were all very grateful for, and we would have missed, had she not been there with us. She was also very intelligent and loved to discuss the things she was learning from MD. To supplement her intelligence she had a childlike innocence about the world, so it was refreshing and joyful to discuss things with her because she could talk about them with both intellect and wonder. She rarely, if ever, caved into the temptation of cynicism or sarcasm, so it was very pleasant to be around her because with her things were sincere and positive. Actually, this could be said about everyone in our group; there wasn’t a place for unkindness or the usual kinds of traps that people fall into in ordinary life. It could be truly said that there isn’t a place anywhere in the world for these things, nevertheless, we all struggle with them and either make choices to refrain from them, or we give in to them. On the one hand, we create a more joyful tomorrow, and on the other, we sink further into sadness, or anger or any number of damaging emotions.

M. was often very quiet and reflective. It took quite a bit of time, I think, for him to warm up to me and to S. He was about ten years older than us I suppose, so this might have partially accounted for it, as I think he saw us as kids. Over time he became a pillar and bedrock of our community. I believe he was the most naturally gifted of us all, with the exception of MD and his knowledge and abilities contributed immensely to our successes during the many struggles and difficulties we experienced together over subsequent years. His mechanical knowledge kept our vehicles running, his computer programming knowledge enabled him to bring a good income when needed, and in general his clear reasoning and insightfulness benefitted us all. Though perhaps this caused him to struggle with pride more than some and also maybe a feeling of superiority. But this is just speculation on my part, and maybe I’m just projecting my own problems and challenges onto him. Paradoxically, or perhaps because he was good at fighting pride, he also could be heroically humble and was able to suffer great hardship with little or no complaint, and with amazing perseverance. We all considered him to be a deep thinker and though a bit reclusive and independent, also someone that we could rely on when needed. I recall one situation when he and I had a truck broken down on the side of the road, in a torrential storm, and he spent hours throughout the night working on that truck, as he was pelted by rain and hail; and he stayed at the task until he finally got it running again. This was only one of many situations.

In order to keep the temple space for only spiritual matters we set up another large tent on the west end of the meadow for our community meetings. Each morning we met to discuss the day’s activities, chores and events. The months that we spent in the Shasta area were largely spent hosting visitors who came to learn from MD, work to keep the camp in good order, our own group or individual lessons and studies, visits to Panther Meadow on the slopes of Mt. Shasta where MD would meet and engage with spiritual seekers making pilgrimages to the mountain, and also work in town to earn income. S. and I canvassed neighborhoods to offer our labor at various tasks; and washed windows and did other household tasks while K. and I did weeding together. In general this was a time of ease and enjoyment as we all learned to work together, formed the bonds of friendships and prepared for more difficult challenges ahead. I recall MD saying at one point years later that the first year or so of our training was mainly intended to strengthen us and to get us ready to begin the real training to come. So we learned to serve one another and to serve those we worked for, and we continued to do light battle with negative thoughts and emotions within ourselves, watching and making effort to create new kinder habits of thought.

One of the ways MD taught at this early stage was through simple written notes that he would give to us or leave for us individually. I believe I received several hundred of these, perhaps thousands over the course of my time with him. Some I remember better than others, and many I’ve saved to reflect on even today. One short hand-written note that he gave me early in the training that I always loved was this:

“Losing yourself in service

One finds oneself in the heart.

As the pool of the heart grows…pure and still

One sees One’s reflection…looking at One.

that face is God.”

This inspired me to serve, to try to lose myself in giving to others, and to drown out my selfish clambering and noisy greed, with the simple purity and stillness that leads to God. This note still makes me smile as I read it and it still inspires me to give more of myself.

Another hand-written note he gave me early on was a lesson on the importance of our words and thoughts and actions, and it helped me to realign my thinking on what I do inside, even if I think nobody is watching:

“So think as if your every thought were to be etched in fire upon

the sky for all and everything to see;  For so, in truth, it is.

So speak as if the world entire were but a single ear intent on

hearing what you say;  And so, in truth, it is.

So do as if your every deed were to recoil upon your head;

And so, in truth, it does.

So wish as if you were the wish; And so, in truth, you are.

So live as if your God Himself had need of you, His life to live;

And so, in truth, He does.”

About this time we all were also given new King James Bibles to read at our leisure. Often in the mid-afternoon we had several hours of free time before it was time to prepare dinner, and I remember the joy of reading scripture in my tent, under my pine tree at the edge of the meadow. It was just me and the squirrels and the birds sitting in the filtered sunlight, the crisp smell of pine resin filling my nostrils, a gentle breeze blowing across the grasses and through the trees, and the lofty thoughts of God feeding my mind as I read.

One evening J. visited our camp and met with MD. When I first met him I instantly liked him and felt as if I had known him my entire life. We were instant friends and brothers. If I were to imagine an ideal man of honor, J. would be that man, or at least very close to the ideal. He was human after all and had suffered at least his share of grief and sorrow, which affected him in the same way it has all of us in this world, in one way or another. So he wasn’t an ideal, as no man is, but he had integrity, strength and a strong sense of duty. He was also very trusting and childlike and endearing. On the one hand he was a big person and fully capable of defending himself and others, yet on the other hand, he was gentle and innocent and had a tendency to become distraught and overwhelmed by the struggles of life. On the one hand he could protect us all and on the other hand he needed all of our protection. I was very happy when he decided to join us and live as a member of our community. He was a very welcome and important addition, and personally I enjoyed his presence and the simplicity with which he lived.

In the late summer of 1993 I was sent off on a mission of sorts, to canvas the Bay Area with our brochures and new posters announcing our community and the teachings of MD. With the car loaded with hundreds of these I embarked on a two or three week excursion to flood the natural food stores, cafes, bookstores, colleges and universities from Sonoma County in the north to Santa Cruz in the south, San Francisco and the east bay.

(to be continued)

~FS