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Soon after our stay along the coast we moved to a property in the hills just south of Santa Rosa, in fact, not very far from where I had lived in a trailer a couple years earlier. The owner of the property lived in a house tucked up near a ravine at the end of a long dusty driveway. It was a spacious home with an enormous woodshop where he worked. There were a few other outbuildings on the property: a small cottage that he rented out and some storage sheds. The rest of the property was covered with large, beautiful oak trees which provided almost continuous cover from one end of the property to the other, while the other side of the dirt driveway had been cleared and cultivated into a beautiful vegetable garden.

Each of us found a place under the oaks and set up our tents. I found a pleasant, quiet little place at the edge of the property, looking out upon a grassy hillside, just under the dripline of a towering oak. S. also found a comfortable place not far from my tent while K. and her boyfriend M. who had recently joined us and moved in with her, were just downhill under the trees. MD had the grandest of tents which he had made himself, which was to be both his personal quarters and also function as our temple. It was a beautiful, high and arching, light structure made of sturdy white canvas. At its base it was rectangular and roughly 16 feet wide by 32 feet long. Along its ridge it stood about 12 feet high and its form was a graceful arc. Every 4 feet or so a sheath had been sewn into the tent walls which allowed a 2″ diameter PVC pipe to be slid in from one side of the tent and pushed up and over and down to the other side; these were the structural ribs that gave the tent its beautiful form and its support which held it sturdily in place during strong winds and storms. Both ends of the tent had a white canvas panel that was attached with large white zippers to the ends of the tent walls, and the center of these panels could be opened using another strong zipper that had been fashioned up the middle of each panel; these were the entrances to the tent, one entering the meeting area, and the other entering MD’s personal quarters. The inside was divided exactly in half by another panel, similar to the two at the ends, which was also attached along its perimeter to the tent walls, and had a zippered opening up its middle which could be opened to connect the public and private spaces. The floor was also made of white canvas and over the top were placed layers of white sheets and pillows. When the tent was fully set up and the entire enclosure glowed in golden white light from the sun, it was truly a serene and sublime place to enjoy.

When I think back to this time, in the community, and how to describe it, I feel as though I will have to settle with writing about only the smallest fraction, and in a most superficial manner, because there was so very much detail and nuance and subtlety that I can hardly hope to be able to provide the proper context for so much of what occurred. Even as I sort through the papers, writings, teachings and other materials that I kept from my four years I can hardly hope to put all of it into a clear and understandable narrative as there are thousands of pages of material to sort through, and I find that so many would require pages and pages of background to set the proper scene for them. Nevertheless, I am encouraged to set in writing at least some of the basics that can give at least a partial overview, from my perspective. Perhaps someone else will someday write a more exhaustive and informative narrative and that would be of great interest I think.

While living on this property we began our first public outreach through the publication of a short introductory brochure which briefly described the teaching of MD, the spiritual life of his followers, the perspective of our group, and an invitation to come and learn, along with a weekly schedule of events that we hosted in the temple tent. The brochure was entitled, Awakening the Light of Peace: Spiritual Initiations, and it was published and presented by The Brothers for “The Light of Peace” which was our name. These we distributed throughout the surrounding cities, in bookstores and cafes. And from this distribution many people came to learn more and to study with MD. The call that it issued, appealed on an intellectual and on an emotional level, as well as of course, spiritual. It was written in both an informative style but also poetic. I’ll share just a few excerpts here:

“You who travel the road of life, who reach up to find the Love of God.

I say desist with such delusion. It distracts you from the place that

God is found, that place that is the altar of your Soul, that cup that God

would fill to overflowing, the manger that The Christ was birthed within-

the scepter of The Heart….”

“Such an awakening is initiated by the remembering of what you have

lost – the quality of Innocence that exists within the Spiritual Self be-

yond the body of flesh.  True Innocence is born in one who is a Child

of God. Such a life expresses itself with a purity of thought and deed

that brings change to all about them….”

“By your choice you make yourself anew. Therefore your decisions

moment by moment are of the greatest import. The Child of God ever

takes the path of service. Here by kind word and thoughtful deed they

create both within them and about them a life of Divine Sweetness.

They have made of themselves the bread of Gentleness and Tender Love

and cast themselves forth to serve a wounded humanity.  Those who

freely sow such Love upon the suffering of their brothers and sisters

without thought of return shall never know poverty of heart.”

(From “Child of God” by MD)

We all assisted with visitors and spiritual seekers who came to meet with MD but we also had a division of labor for the many other aspects to keeping the community running smoothly. I continued to work at my job as a waiter in a nearby Italian restaurant to help with income, K. worked closely with MD as an assistant with typing and other administrative tasks. M. had contributed a lot of personal assets to the functioning of the community in these early stages but also continued with his employment, and S. took care of a multitude of various tasks and errands. In addition to my work in the world I was given the responsibility for overseeing the community finances, bill paying and grocery shopping.

By the end of July 1993 we began to prepare for a move north to the Mt Shasta area which we made in August. Our final month on this property was spent predominantly in the large woodshop, where together we all built a series of large tables and benches that would be used for years to come as our kitchen and dining furniture. I don’t think any of us had much, if any experience with carpentry, however MD had experience and taught us the proper use of the table saws, planers, routers, nail guns, and other tools and equipment needed for the construction of our furniture. He also assigned us each particular tasks so that our work was efficient and streamlined. Over the course of the next couple weeks we went from unskilled newcomers to fairly skilled workers. There was a lot of satisfaction in working together as a team, learning new skills, and eventually turning out a lot of functional and attractive furniture.

Each piece of furniture was large and very sturdy and covered with multiple coats of spar varnish as they were made to be used outdoors full-time. And they were made to come apart into more manageable pieces for transport since we would be moving regularly over the coming years. We built several dining tables, each about 8 feet long with two benches each and several more tables of the same size to be used for storage, food preparation and dishwashing when we set up our kitchen at our more permanent locations. Additionally, we made several other smaller tables for various functions, and two 4×4 wood panels with a 12″x12″ square hole cut in the center and a removable hatch, which would be used to cover latrine pits. We also built a smaller set of tables and shelves which we installed in the bed of my old Toyota pickup and into this we installed outdoor grills and propane tanks so that this became our mobile kitchen when we were on the move.

When we moved to Shasta we had five members. Many others had expressed interest in joining us, and several had camped with us on the land south of Santa Rosa for various periods of time, but in the end none joined us. We did have one additional member however, A. but she was unable to come with us at this particular time, but would join us several months later.

Our next home was in a clearing in the pine forest located not far from the banks of the Sacramento River, about a mile west of where it empties into Lake Siskiyou. Taking our rental van with our supplies down the rutted dirt trail just off Highway 26 was a bumpy journey; the first of many future off-road excursions of which this was to be very tame and pedestrian by comparison.

We had a few neighbors scattered here and there in various small encampments further up river but essentially we had the forest to ourselves. Our encampment included about an acre of land in this forest with our large kitchen set up in the clearing in the midst of a meadow of wildflowers and grasses. Around the perimeter of the clearing we set up several tents: at the entrance and westernmost end we placed two large green canvas tents in which we kept tools and other supplies, at the far eastern end I set up my tent, while M. and S. established their camping places along this same perimeter but about a hundred feet or so to either side of me. MD‘s tent and our temple were placed farther north in a separate smaller clearing against the trees, while K. had her tent in a private location just the other side of a copse of trees adjacent to the kitchen and dining area. Just off this area we set up our solar showers amidst a dense forested area for privacy, but would heat their bladders in the full sun; and farther off to the west we dug the pits for our toilets; and even the setting for these was pleasant.

(to be continued)

~FS

Though I had already been studying with MD off and on for several years, the way I see it, the official start to our community life began early in the summer of 1993 when four of the original members camped for several days on the rocky cliffs at Salt Point on the northern California coast. The location was remote enough, several hours up Highway 1 from San Francisco, that we didn’t have any other visitors during our time there; yet accessible enough, only a few hundred yards off the highway, that we could easily pack our sleeping and cooking gear down to the rocks from our car. Rather than sheer cliffs, this location had a series of large rocky terraces which gradually stepped down to the water, so it was quite safe and afforded wonderful views of the water from many vantage points and heights, some very near the ocean waves and others perched high above.

One afternoon, I sat on the rocks looking out to sea. The sun was high and bright and the ocean swells reflected brilliantly its light. The smell and the taste of the salt air filled my nostrils and lungs and I felt a great peace and calm come over me. As I watched the rising and falling of the ocean I noticed my own breath had begun to follow the same rhythm and pattern. Without forcing, but just observing, I felt myself inhale and my lungs expand as the ocean surged, and as I exhaled and my lungs contracted I watched the waves relax and subside. Over and over I observed the synchronicity between my own breath and the wave’s motion. At some point I no longer felt that I was watching the waves, but instead that they were moving within me; the reflection of the sun’s rays dancing on the surface of the water as it surged within my own chest, the ocean rolling through my torso, my own diaphragm responding to that same force which controls the tides.

This sensation startled me, and frightened me a little, so I turned away from the sea to regain my sense of normalcy. Where did I go just then? In a way I had lost myself; where do I stop, and where does the world begin; what are my limits, if not my physical body? I considered these things for a moment, and then lamented that I had turned away and broken my connection. I was unable to recreate the experience again, so I just watched the surf after that and enjoyed another beautiful day which transformed into another beautiful night. Each of the four of us found a private place among the terraces and rocky grottos to sleep at night. There is nothing quite so soothing and relaxing as sleeping under the stars with a gentle ocean breeze cooling your face as you snuggle down into the warmth of your sleeping bag, while in the distance the ocean hums a strong but gentle lullaby.

(to be continued)

~FS

I found myself in a fantastic place, at a convergence; as if between two lenses: one lens as a mirror reflecting back in time, the other as a telescope projecting into the future.

Were I a train traveling through time, and were my rails made of purest light:

the left rail streaming forth from my past, the right rail bringing light from my future, all three would meet, myself, the right, the left, bending at this one point upon my horizon.

And here I stood, at the point of convergence, and like light arriving from two distant stars, two images appeared:  one young and one old; and here before me stood these men. And I recognized myself in them—as they began to speak—the younger first:

“Of what purpose does worldly work serve? Why must I do this worldly work?”

“Work is a tutor and a guardian. It is a gracious distraction, to keep you busy with trivialities. Until you are ready to seek God with all your heart and all your time, to seek His kingdom first, until then you will work in the world. Lest in your idleness you should fall further away from Him, through apathy and laziness.”

“You’re telling me work is for my benefit then? It feels like a chronic curse; the tedium, the weariness, the never ending busy ness.”

“For now, serve God by serving others. Seeking to know God is not trivial, that is the only non-trivial thing we can do, but we are not ready, or willing to do this, so until we learn that only God is meaningful, and only seeking Him gives our lives lasting purpose, we are occupied with other work which, though trivial, still trains us in the habit of effort, perseverance and service. And even this is better than a life of idleness.”

I’m glad the younger asked such questions of the older, for my troubles were much the same as his.

“I must return now to my work,” the elder said, “the work of prayer and devotion. But I will leave you with this final thought on your work before I go:

“Work makes us men, training out the child within us. But spiritual work makes us children of God, training out the worldly man within us.”

And with that, the images in the lenses faded, their light returning to their proper times, and I reflected on the value of work. I liked what the elder said about this, and resolved to keep this in my heart:

“Work makes us men, training out the child within us. But spiritual work makes us children of God, training out the worldly man within us.”

~FS