INTRODUCTION The main body of this work was written in a US Federal Prison facility, in 1993 in my spare time.

As a fortunate member of the Native American Sweat Lodge group, I came into contact with a large number of authentic American Indian brothers. They helped me through the three year sentence. I give thanks to American Natives everywhere. I would like to dedicate this work to the many mushroom seekers before me and notably, Terrence and Dennis McKenna, Gordon Wasson, Paul Stamets, fellow Mushroom Warrior Rainer Hubatch, and to my Teacher and Benefactor Ed Moss, and to Carlos Castaneda, George I. Gurdjiedff, as well as to the female warriors who have surrounded me, with love and many children, Kerstin, Andrea, and Maria Eugenia. May God Shine on All of their Souls.

THE MUSHROOM WARRIOR By John R. Asbury CHAPTER ONE In which the mushroom and the setting are briefly examined. Huautla de Jimenez is certainly one of the most unique places on the face of the earth. Located deep in the Sierra Mazateca, a range of the Mexican Sierra Madre Oriental, in the northernmost part of the state of Oaxaca some 300 miles southeast of Mexico City, it is a remarkable Indian village/town, because of several factors, not the least of which is its ever changing climate, determined by the presence or lack of cloud cover. When the clouds are present, the area is cool, misty and very mysterious. When the sun shines, it is transformed into a Shangri-La with breathtaking views, radiant colors, thick vegetation and the presence of many rivers, waterfalls and abundant wildlife.

The quaint village is the cultural and commercial center of the Mazatec Indians, who inhabit the surrounding mountains. Spanish is the second language, Mazatec being the mother tongue, and the traditional dress still seen being worn by the elders is the white manta shirt and pants by the men and the traditional huipil (dress), from the region with its beautiful embroidery and blue and pink ribbons, worn now only by the oldest women. One senses that one is in a country within a country, with its own laws, language, religion and culture. However, very few are the visitors who come to this remote area strictly to see the marvelous scenery or learn the language and customs. Huautla has become one of the two Mexican Meccas (along with Real de Catorce, in the state of San Louis Potos) for adventurer's and seekers of all types of other worldly experiences. In the case of Real de Catorce, the seekers come to experience a peyote trip in the desert. Huautlas main claim to fame is the fact that four varieties of teonanacatl, which in the ancient Nahuatl language spoken by the Aztecs, means flesh of the gods, grow wild there. In modern language teonanacatl refers to magic mushrooms, or psilocybin containing mushrooms. It is precisely Huautlas geographic location that gives rise to this natural phenomenon, although it is by no means the only place in Mexico, or the world for that matter, that these consciousness expanding fungi can be found. It is the only place, however, where its ritual use, following a 2000 year old oral tradition, and the subsequent religion that surrounds and emanates from this usage is not only generally accepted, but since the mid-1950s has been fully acknowledged not only by the local residents, but by the governing authorities of both the State of Oaxaca and the federal government in Mexico City as well. Although psilocybin mushrooms are illegal in Mexico, as is the case in most countries, their ritual usage within the context of the setting where they appear, is not only tolerated but sanctioned as a national treasure, much like the pyramids and other archaeological finds. This has not always been the case. In fact, prior to the arrival of one Gordon Wasson, in the company of a guide, the existence of the magic mushroom had always been a closely guarded secret, which was strictly kept from the outside world, for the Mazatec Indians feared possible reprisal from the authorities on the one hand, while on the other, the mushroom itself was considered so sacred and divine, that merely speaking about it and especially so with an outsider, was thought to bring terrible consequences upon the speaker who uttered out loud anything about the mushrooms. In the 1950s when Wasson arrived on mules, there were no roads and in fact Huautla was much the same as it had been for the last three or four hundred years. Goods and people were transported on foot or by mules or burros just as they had been since the days of the Spanish arrival in the early part of the sixteenth century. The only change coming from the outside had been the imposition of the Catholic religion which had been a relatively easily task. It was accepted by the Mazatec Indians,

because as in most of the mountainous regions of Mexico and Guatemala, the actual impact of the new religion was minimal. The Church was far more interested in more accessible places and especially if riches were to be found in gold and silver. And the conversion went smoothly because in effect, the Catholic religion with its multitude of saints, angels and traditional ceremonies, closely resembled the poly-theism already in place before the arrival of the Spaniards. The Indians merely adopted the new names brought in by the Spanish priests, but the net effect in terms of changing the Mesoamerican mentality was slight, if any. For example, lets examine the transformation of Quetzalcoatl into Jesus Christ. The central god of all the ancient Mesoamerican peoples was called, Quetzalcoatl, the name being derived from two Nahuatl words, the first, quetzal, the name given to the rarest and most venerated of all birds, gloriously inhabiting the highest trees in the rain forest and closest to Father Sky, and the second coatl, Aztec word for snake, the humblest and most lowly and therefore closest to Mother Earth of all creatures. Quetzalcoatl was the bridge between the Highest (Father Sky) and the lowest, (Mother Earth). He was known variously as the Lord of the Dawn, (and as such was often associated with Venus, the morning star), the god of the Wind, and most often times he was depicted as a plumed or feathered serpent. Many notable pyramids were erected in his honor, two of the most impressive being those located at Teotihuacn, near Mexico City and Chichn Itz in the Yucatan. And at the Chichn site, the pyramid is constructed and situated so perfectly that during the spring and fall equinox, a serpent appears to climb the pyramid from the ground to the top. Quetzalcoatl was believed to have appeared several different times in human form. His appearances in human form were characterized by the fact that Quetzalcoatl, who also taught personal penitence and often is depicted as using cactus spines to inflict wounds and draw blood from his own body to fortify the spirit, was known for his infinite wisdom as well as benevolence. Moreover, it was generally accepted that unlike native Mesoamericans, Quetzalcoatls human incarnations depict a man of white skin, and furthermore bearded, facilitating a smooth transformation into the new God Jesus the Christ. The bloody image of a bearded and white Jesus, crucified on the Cross, was an image that almost fit hand in glove with the existing legend and symbol of Quetzalcoatl. Likewise, the more feminist aspect of the gods, such as the goddess of fertility and Mother Earth became enshrined in the Virgin Mary, (Tonantzin in the Nahuatl tongue), and still later was transformed into La Virgin Maria de Guadalupe, Who appeared not before the white Spaniards, but rather to the later, Saint Juan Diego, an Aztec and former Holy man in the mid 1500s. Thus the newly conquered Indians, saw in their raw understanding of the new religion, the old and reassuring concept of duality: the duality of male/female, light/dark, life/death, good/bad, making the conversion,

philosophically speaking, quite natural. And just as all the exquisitely hand tooled gold sculptures, most of which were symbolic representations inspired by the religious viewpoint of the artisans who crafted them and whose present day value would exceed by a factor of a thousand to one their purely gold value in weight by the pound, were melted down into square gold ingots, for easy shipment to Spain, in a similar fashion, the Spanish priests were able to meld down all the other numerous ancient gods, such as the god of rain, the corn god and others into the names of Christian saints, assigning to each village its own patron saint, who would then assure good harvests and protect the residents from harm, thus fulfilling the duties of the ancient gods. In a further move to sublimate the old religion, the name of an important saint was often assigned to those plants, which were considered sacred by the Indians. To this end, tobacco was called and to this day is still referred to as San Pedro, (Saint Peter), while morning glory seeds are referred to as semillas de la Virgin, meaning seeds of the Virgin, and the powerful Salvia Divinorum is known as hoja de pastora, meaning leaves of the shepherdess, (Virgin Mary). In the Sierra Mazateca, the magic mushrooms are called in Spanish, santitos, meaning the little saints, probably out of the same deference to the Catholic Church. In Mazatec, they are referred to as 'ndi xi xro, which means literally, the little ones that spring forth. (But notice they dont ever mention what they are!!) Finally, to further ease the rapid transition to Catholicism, the Spaniards, perhaps even knowingly, utilized the sites and even the very stones from the former temples honoring the old gods when choosing a location for the Catholic churches erected across the country. In effect, only the names changed, and the overzealous Catholic priests were content to hear the Indians swear allegiance to Mary and Jesus, (the Indians being easily converted to the new religion after a few of their friends or relatives had been burned on a cross for having wavered in their conversion!). It mattered little to the authorities if the names Mary and Jesus meant entirely different things to the Indians as they meant to the priests. Nomenclature took priority over theological understanding, and in fact there are many Indians to this day, existing in the mountains, whose only knowledge of the Spanish language consists in the names of Mary, Jesus and the Spanish names for the patron saints of different towns. And although some of them can actually correctly recite the Lords Prayer in Spanish, when asked to explain the actual meaning of the prayer in their own language, will blush and admit they havent got a clue. This is especially true farther into the mountains, where electricity is only beginning to arrive. As a side note, it is to the credit of not just a few, highly dedicated, foresighted and altruistically minded modern Mexican Catholic priests, with a more down to Earth understanding of human nature, that great strides have been made in the last few years in regard to making the traditional prayers (Hail Mary and Lords Prayer) available in local tongues, along with New Testament translations as well.

Church masses are now conducted in a bilingual fashion, so that everybody knows what is actually being said and what is going on. The use of copal, the Nahuatl name for frankincense, and the cleaning of ones spirit with sacred leaves in Church mass is also tolerated at least in Huautla Both traditions are carryovers from pre-Colombian times. Almost 500 years after the conquest of Mexico, Rome could no longer deny the validity of pre-Columbian Mesoamerican concepts* (Footnote 1. With the election of the present day German pope, many of these activities were curtailed and the priests who promoted these ideas have since been forced to work in the ghettos of Mexico City as punishment!!) Some folk have been critical of and quite opposed to such ideas which they see as being reactionary, reviving local rites, traditions and language and therefore as counterproductive, and downright obstacles to progress. This criticism diminished substantially when in September of 2002, four Mazatec women traveled to the immensely popular Basilica de Guadalupe, just outside Mexico City, where the then visiting Pope John Paul II was celebrating mass, and dressed in their traditional huipiles, the four ladies proceeded to clean the spirit of the aging pontiff with sacred herbs and copal incense, praying in the Mazatec language, in front of the international world media. This single act created storms of controversy within the Vatican, and especially so when Pope John Paul II's health and demeanor improved so drastically. With John Paul's eventual death, the new German pope effectively shut down such new ideas from grabbing further hold on the Church. Returning to the main theme, after the initial military conquest of central Mexico, the Spanish priests were rather late in coming to Huautla and the Sierra Mazateca due to its very remote location, and the long and bitter rainy seasons did not offer much incentive to win over more converts, especially considering that militarily and politically speaking, the peaceful mountainous peoples offered no threat to the stability of New Spain. More importantly, no doubt, was the fact that there was little or no gold!! While the Spaniards who conquered the Aztecs and subjugated the rest of the country as well, had banned the use of both peyotl, (the vision producing cactus found in the Mexican desert areas to the north of the country) and teonanacatl, nonetheless Huautlas remote and unique position in the mountains, allowed the ancient mushroom practices to continue unchecked. In fact, prior to the discovery in 1953 of the mushrooms of Huautla, by Gordon Wasson, for all practical purposes, the magic mushroom had been relegated to the realm of myth, for no white man, whether Spanish or other, had ever tried, seen or even heard of one, in modern recorded history. The implications of Wassons arrival caused quite a stir not only in the town of Huautla but throughout the Sierra Mazateca and had an equally profound impact upon the modern Western world

as well, for in June of 1957, Wasson published his findings and photographs in the popular weekly pictorial American news magazine, LIFE. Wasson, who was a wealthy New Yorker and senior executive with the Chase Manhattan Bank and an eminent enthno/entheo-mycologist, on the side, correctly believed that somewhere in the Sierra Mazateca were sorcerers or curanderos, as they are called in Spanish, who still made use of and practiced the ancient rites associated with the magic mushrooms, if only he could make contact with one. Having successfully confirmed the existence of the magic mushrooms through correspondence with a protestant American born missionary, named Eunice Pike, who was living in the Huautla area and was occupied with spreading the Gospel to the heathen Indians, Wasson made his way on rented mules into town, with the help of a guide. Through bribes made to the then presidente municipal, (local mayor), he eventually made his way to the wise-woman, Maria Sabina, who against her own better judgment, but yielding to pressure from the local president whose enthusiasm for the cause was fueled by Wassons bribes, consented to accompany Wasson on the first mushroom ceremony ever provided for a white man in recorded history. And the presidente municipal actually told Maria she would be doing the entire pueblo of Huautla an honor and she could not let the town down. (And this actually turned out to be true! If tourism is thought to be a good thing.) The results were shattering, to say the least. Wassons story and photos in LIFE, stirred much interest in the dawning of the psychedelic era that would come into full blossom, ten years later. Maria Sabina, likewise, became inundated with vision-seekers from all over Mexico and the entire world. Eventually, it is reputed, she was visited by John Lennon and the Beatles, Donovan, and members of other popular rock groups of the late sixties, as well as artists, writers, scientists, and even the sister of one of the Presidents of Mexico came for consultations. In fact at one point, Huautla was so overrun by hippies and mushroom seekers that the local president appealed to the state governor to send force to restore order. As one who bore witness to the hippie invasion, it was perhaps a greater cultural conflict than had been the Spanish invasion. This is because the hippies, myself included, were totally ignorant of the mushroom ceremony, the customs and ways of the Mazatecs and shamanism, respect of power plants or anything. The hippies were after a good time, while spending almost no money and Huautla provided the perfect setting! And so into their wild times were the hippies, that they were oblivious to the chaos they were creating around them. A magic mushroom trip was going for 5 pesos (forty cents USD 1968). A cabin could be rented for three dollars a month.....and you could cram as many hippies into one as you desired. A meal could be had with homegrown coffee for 25 cents.

There were people eating mushrooms in broad day light. Walking around stoned out of their minds. Some would take their clothes off at any given moment and start having sex.....even on the town square. And of course this really was too much for the local residents. The sight of 16-20 year old girls walking around naked and pretty much offering themselves up to anyone.......was way too much for the local population. And the hippies looked so different from other outsiders who had come from say Oaxaca, or Mexico City. Even Gordon Wasson and his entourage all looked like normal people from the outside world. In sharp contrast, the hippies had strange clothes and strange hair to go with it and they listened to and played strange new music. People were smoking pot out in the open, just like they did everything else. Some of the invaders had obviously done too many mushrooms without a guide. They had returned to Earth but only partially. All of these folks had the phenomena of having their eyes go in different directions, no longer in conjunction. Others, having witnessed the Sodom and Gomorrah scene in Huautla tried to move further back into the hills. They would come down every now and then and sell some of their pot to the tourists.....and then slip away to their mountain hideout. The invasion of outsiders caused bitter controversy in the region. There were those who benefited financially from the invasion, but the outsiders in general were ignorant of the prevailing Indian customs, and the anger of the conservative Mazatec people grew until finally they could take no more of the foreign shenanigans, at which time the Army was called in to resolve the problem. The hippies were rounded up, and in many cases their hair was cut followed by deportation. Military checkpoints were set up on the 65 km road to Huautla and anyone not speaking a native tongue was turned away. Newly arriving hippies, were still rounded up, sheared of their locks and deported, for the crime of having just intending to go to Huautla. The word got out fast and while the military remained in place for over 5 years, soon nobody came near Huautla from the outside. Nonetheless, a traveler to the Huautla de Jimenez in the third millennium will encounter a quite different scene than the picturesque Indian village described above. Today, Huautla boasts five banks, seven hardware stores, a dozen internet cafes, ten hotels, over hundred and fifty taxis, and some 80 (friendly and respectful) policemen, and traffic congestion, not to mention the stench of open sewage, garbage and other consequences of too much growth, and too little planning for problems that are truly unimaginable to the Indian mentality of just 60 years ago. The presence of a few shops selling mushroom decorated, manta shirts, is one of the external indications of the veneration of the mushroom religion. Many businesses are named after Maria Sabina and the Maria Sabina taxi co-op features mushroom drawings on all their cabs. There is also a small Catholic church high above town featuring a painting of the divine mushrooms right next to the front door of the cathedral. This being

the case, the few seekers of ancient wisdom, who do make it as far as Huautla, are often baffled by the carnival like atmosphere they encounter that has replaced the dignity and serenity of former times. The percentage of mushroom users amongst the Mazatec population has also dropped considerably. Today, finding a true wise man or woman in Huautla is much harder than finding the proverbial needle in the haystack! Seekers beware!! The phonies, (tourist guide curanderos who hope nothing goes wrong) are a dime a dozen, and the brujos, (sorcerers of the dark side who steal spirits and make one ill), outnumber healers by fifty to one. By the phrase, tourist guide curandero, I refer to someone who merely gives mushrooms to a tourist (for plenty of cash!) but does not eat the mushrooms with the person or explain much about the rules and goings on in an actual ceremony, if in fact they even know what that would be. They do not enter the trance state or view the person's problems. So anyone considering a venture such as seeking a visionary experience of monumental proportions accompanied by an experienced shaman must plan on spending weeks in the area, not days. Good connections take time and effort to establish. The weekend visionary seeker is best off staying home, as is the average tourist to Mexico who decides to take in a side mushroom trip on his rounds to the pyramids and beaches even if he or she doesnt consider themselves to be tourists. Better to go to the tourist drug town of San Jose del Pacifico, on the road from Oaxaca to the Pacific Ocean. Meanwhile, returning to the mid 1950s, scientific investigations on the samples of mushrooms Wasson had sent from Huautla, to France, and those collected by Wasson's friend Richard Heim, who had accompanied Wasson on one of his forays to Huautla in the fifties were begun. Heim then passed some of them on to Sandoz Laboratories, in Switzerland, leading to the discovery and isolation of psilocin and psilocybin as the two active alkaloids in the mushrooms, by the renowned father of LSD, Albert Holfmann. These substances, along with DMT (ayahuasca), mescaline, the active agent in the peyote cactus, were classified as hallucinogens by Western Science. This means that they induce the user to enter other levels of reality which science assumes are distortions or hallucinations. Nonetheless, to the experienced practitioner of mushrooms, our everyday reality is considered more the hallucination, and personally, I, myself, would define the mushroom as a dehallucinogen, or dehypnotic, in that they tend to peel away the trance of modern day mechanized existence and replace this said hypnotic perception with a perception of the Other, the Divine, the Eternal and the Holy. It all depends on ones point of view. Thus the hypothesis, that any reality that does not conform to modern Western scientific viewpoints is obviously a hallucination, or simply a non-reality, and therefore can NOT be real, gives rise to the term hallucinogenic. This is probably due to the fact that Western psychology is based on the perception that there are only two states of consciousness the

first termed sleep, unconsciousness, or just out cold and the other state being variously called awake, or wakefulness or full consciousness. With such a mentality, it is difficult, not to mention messy, to accommodate the concept of expanded consciousness or an increase in consciousness, as such a concept would then bring one closer to the fact that man is using only the smallest part of his brain, and that an expansion of this usage into the unused sections of the brain, might imply a greater understanding of Self, Life, and the Universe itself. Western science does not like such uncomfortable and unprovable ideas. To consider peyote, ayahuasca and magic mushrooms as merely hallucinatory drugs is to overlook the entire point of their existence and to further obscure the possibilities to explore, know and experience higher dimensions of existence. And another important fact is that human beings have in the brain what are called psilocybin receptors. These receptors have no function in human life, except when psilocybin passes by them in the bloodstream, thus sending the mushroom user into the other worlds of spirits, angels and demons or in the case of non-shamans, producing visions from the glorious to the infernal. In an attempt to discourage the usage of such sacred plants, the governments of the United States and most other countries as well have made the use and possession of these natural, organic plants illegal, thus effectively sealing off any legal roads to possible inquiry as to the true nature of reality. The religious and social implications of such unwise laws are truly nightmarish. For one thing, the US government seems to think God needs help in His Creation, for due to His Lack of Supreme oversight such dangerous plants were not Truly considered Properly from the Beginning and thus the Divine Father must needs help in outlawing His Errors, to prevent ignorant Humans from stumbling onto such unfortunate psychic portals into Higher Realms. Strange, isnt it, that human beings were able to survive the last ten thousand years, in harmonic partnership with Mother Earth, while being free to use sacred plants, whereas in the period of time since these plants became illegal, the planet has seen the destruction of the ozone layer, the loss of 90% of the fish in the sea, and most of the forests, not to mention air, noise and media contamination at levels beyond human acceptability, in a trend that points to the total destruction of all Life as we know it on planet Earth?!?! Strange indeed, I say. Secondly, the individual in society is unable to explore his interior world, (and if a mans home is his castle, then what is his own mind?, I would ask,) making it most difficult to access what Christ referred to as the Kingdom of Heaven, which He more than once indicated was to be found WITHIN oneself and not outside of oneself. Fortunately, there do exist, and have always existed warriors in society who consider Divine Law higher, and therefore more obey able, than silly and most often times, self-serving Draconian laws enacted by governments, laws whose main aim is to ensure the same lawmakers own grasp on

power. Such Warrior Men and Women, have been willing to put the pursuit of Divine Knowledge at a higher priority than following blindly, like turkeys, the rules imposed by heathen governments. I am reminded of those great words uttered by the Rev. Martin Luther King in 1963 and which are as true today as they were back then, which I will now quote, In a civilized society, it is the duty of all citizens to obey just laws. But at the same time, it is the duty of all citizens to disobey unjust laws. The cruel, Spanish conquistadors did about the same with respect to the Mexican Indians they subjugated in the sixteenth century, for as was mentioned earlier, one of the first rules of New Spain, (Mexico) was punishment of death by Burning alive on the Cross for all users of peyotl, teonanacatl or other pagan sacred plants, certainly a very effective deterrent, and one the US government might consider as an option to implement if its drug war spins too far out of control! Fortunately for the world, the Spanish Inquisition only pushed the mushroom religion deeper into the more inaccessible mountains, like Huautla de Jimenez, of Oaxaca, where it was able to remain almost totally intact. This then, is the story of one such warrior, a modern man, who, reaching past immense obstacles and ignoring all costs, and personal safety, sought out and penetrates the nature of His own existence as well as many of the ancient mysteries of Mesoamerica, right on down to the Root and Purpose of Creation Itself, for this is the Gift, Shamanism offers to those who want it badly enough, and are willing to pay the price. Being a warrior in any era is never easy. Pitfalls and danger mark the psychic landscape at every turn on the path that such a man, or woman, must travel. Luck also plays a big part of the story, for ones luck can be lost, or stolen or thrown to the wind. Fate and destiny also play an important role, and it is the person himself who eventually overcomes the obstacles on this path or succumbs to an untimely death, insanity, or hopelessness and abject failure. (For the weak and lazy spirited, better to forget such folly and best to drink a beer and watch TV where there will be no surprises)!! While the existence of such warriors is rare, success is rarer still. The path is long, arduous and filled with terrors as well as joys. And in the end, it is the destiny of the warrior that pulls him to the path and keeps him on it, and not the person himself who chooses such a life. Self-knowledge has its price, without a doubt, but for the seeker, and warrior, the price one pays for being ignorant of all that a man or a woman can be, and of all that is unseen, unprovable and therefore generally denied and dismissed by Western science as not existing at all, is even greater still. It seems to be a question of choosing which path is costlier: comforting, smug, complacent ignorance, or a good deal of sacrifice leading to total knowledge of oneself and the Cosmos, both the Manifest and the Unmanifest. And thus in the ultimate struggle, it boils down to a question of economics only in this case we are referring to the economics of internal force, not money. Or to put it simply, one pays a lot now.or one pays a

lot more, later, but in any case, paying dues is a permanent principal of individual human development. Simply put, nothing is free, nothing. CHAPTER TWO In which the author discovers Mushroom Land For some inexplicable reason I was drawn to Mexico like a moth to a candle. It was the year 1967, and the hippie/flower revolution was just heating up in California and New York. In the midwest and southern parts of the country the changes would come a few months later. After spending my freshman year at the University of North Carolina, and hating almost every day of it, I elected to study at a small college located on the outskirts of Mexico City. At UNC there were some 17,000 students and only two had longish hair....not truly long hair....only hair that covered the ears. I was one of the two. People threw bricks at me. No white students would sit next to me. People would come up to me and offer me a $5 dollar bill to go cut my hair. They called me a communist and a beatnik. I was unable to rent a room for my girlfriend, Linda, for the homecoming football game, and had to sneak her into my dorm instead. Being even a pre-hippy in the South was not a good life, and I was determined to do better for the following year. I became very close to this same girlfriend, who seemed very bold and ready for everything. The mini-skirts were just becoming stylish, and she wore the most minimal length possible of these. And although I had lost my virginity to the nurse at the boarding school I had attended a year earlier, I can say that Linda was the first girl I ever made love to and after our initial love session....we were like a pair of bunnies, romping every chance we had. I obtained a matchbox full of marijuana and brought it home for the summer vacation. Marijuana in North Carolina was an extremely rare find in 1967, and it had cost me some 8 months to find such a treasure. When I arrived home, I broke out the weed, and Linda and I smoked for the first time in our lives, while her liberal minded mom watched with amusement. The pot was strong, and at first I was sure that I was now permanently deranged and my mind had been blown altogether. For three or four minutes this caused me great consternation, but after that I settled into the new state without a care about whether the effects would wear off or not. Linda's brother who had attended a Mexican University for a summer session, had shown me slides of his stay and travels in Mexico. I was particularly taken in by the impressive Mexican landscapes, and cloud formations, but after I viewed slide photographs of the archaeological ruins at Tula, north of Mexico City, I was convinced I had to go and check it out for myself. I didnt know

exactly what I was looking for in Mexico, only that I sure hadnt found it in the United States where I had been born and raised. So, in the fall of 1967, Linda and I boarded an airplane and headed off innocently on a trip that would change my life forever. I remember the feeling, upon boarding the plane, which was a Mexican Airline flight that things were going to be a lot different in Mexico than in the States. And I reached this rapid conclusion due to the look of genuine and wholesome happiness I saw in the faces of most of the other passengers, all of whom were Mexican nationals. The hostess on the plane came by, as soon as we were in the air, offering margarita cocktails at twenty-five cents a crack, (with no ID check) and I felt content, in having made the right decision about coming to Mexico for my further education. Landing in Mexico City only confirmed my feelings. Everything was so different, so foreign, and yet somehow I felt as though I were in my own element for the first time in my life. I was assigned a room, for the first trimester, in the home of a friendly Mexican family while Linda was assigned to another family that housed female students. There were four or five other fellow American students also living in the same house, and soon I fell right into the swing of things. I must admit, nonetheless, that at first, I spent most of my time with other American students, eating in American style restaurants, and generally keeping my distance from really getting into the Mexican culture and lifestyle which mostly seemed too foreign and therefore possibly dangerous to such a naive and inexperienced young gringo. In essence, I was just a tourist who was attending school on what appeared to be a grand extended vacation. My initial intention was to study a course leading to a degree in International Relations with the ultimate goal of becoming a diplomat in an American embassy somewhere. As I spoke very little Spanish I took all the classes I could in Spanish language instruction, for that was one class where I could clearly see the practical advantages and benefits of mastering the language of Mexico and most of the rest of Latin America as well. However, the longer I was in Mexico, and the few brief contacts I had with the American embassy soon eroded any desire I had to become part of the American diplomatic corps. Nonetheless, despite months of exposure to the Mexican people and culture, I remained pretty much the same fellow who had arrived the previous fall. It was not until I made my first true Mexican friend, that my life took a sharp turn from which there was no going back, but for that part of the story we wait a few minutes. By the time for Christmas vacation, Linda and I had gone our separate ways, but remained friends. There had been no fight or big problem, just we now needed some air from each other. I had a new girlfriend, from Chicago and along with another pair of students also from the Chicago area, we made

the trip to the Yucatan peninsula for Christmas/New Year's break driving one of the first Chevy Camaros in Mexico. It was a heady time. By this point, I had gotten over all fears about smoking pot and like many of the students at the University, we smoked first thing in the morning, throughout the day and last thing at night. Pot was so cheap in Mexico it was unbelievable, and I quickly found my calling as an amateur pot dealer. I would go down to Acapulco and then later to the then very remote town of Zijuatenejo and buy kilos for $40 and then resell the weed to fellow students for double or triple what I paid. This provided a modest income, but more importantly, ensured a never ending supply of the gold colored weed from the state of Guerrero. One of the wilder hippies at the school offered to sell me four hits of blotter LSD, which I bought for like two bucks a piece. He had explained that they were 1000 mike doses and needed to be cut up into four pieces each. I decided right on the spot that I would not cut them up, but rather take them whole, for after all they were already very very small So, this was to be the focus of the trip to the Yucatan with the Chicago bunch. We were going to visit the famed Carribean island called Isla de Mujeres, and me and the other Chicago man, named Don, were going to try the acid, once we got to the beach. The two girlfriends were to be our guides even though they knew zip about what their role would be since they themselves had never tried it either. I will never forget looking at the four little pieces of paper with just a slight mark in the middle which was where the acid had been placed, leaving a small brown stain. I could not imagine that something so teeny weeny could possibly have so strong of an effect. I had read and heard a lot about LSD and most of what I had heard was quite frightening actually. But I was caught up in the current of the times, and finally my curiosity had got the best of me and so we planned to try it on New Year's Day of 1968. We parked the car on the mainland and took the ferry to the island. We rented two small cabaas (cabins) and we had arrived on New Year's Eve. There were little or no celebrations going on, and the island was almost deserted. We woke up early the next day, very much excited about what was to come next. We rolled a few joints of pot, ate a banana and Don and I swallowed one paper of the LSD each. Next we headed to the beach with our blankets and towels, dressed in swimming suits. We laid down on the blanket and smoked a fat one. Unbeknown to us was the fact that there was an airstrip about 50 yards from where we were laying on the sand. The LSD was just beginning to take effect. And there was an airplane circling for a landing. We were high from the fat joint and the LSD was coming on like a high speed train and now the plane appeared to be coming in for a landing......and it appeared that it was going to land on top of us and there was a great chance that we would die. Don and I were laughing our heads off. What a way to go, we thought. The plane was a

mere 15 feet above us when it passed over and landed another 50 feet past where we were. But the shock of the near death experience plus the 1000 microgram dose had pushed us into a new dimension. It was scary and hilarious at the same time. Don and I seemed to have the same head. One could not tell who was thinking what. We were just laughing and laughing and laughing. The girls tried to calm us down as best they could. There were fortunately no tourists around to see what fools we were. We went into the water and I felt like I had merged with the Oneness of the Universe. After about three hours, the trip leveled off a bit and we were able to stop the wild laughter and sort of come to terms with the event. We decided to go to the cabaas and spend a little time in romantic pursuits. I will never ever forget the love making session that ensued. My girlfriend mounted me and she appeared to be a huge, beautiful, goddess-butterfly- woman. The sex seemed to go on and on. There were no limits to the ecstasy that everything altogether produced. Finally at the climax I was filled with orgasms all over my body and it lasted for many minutes. I have never had such a wild and wondrous sexual encounter before or afterwards. After the sexual escapades, we met up with Don and his girl and we made it to a small restaurant that offered fresh steamed lobster tails for two dollars a person. We could not get over the magnitude of the experience. It was something for which there were no preparation no matter how many books one read or stories one had heard. We had gone out of this world while still in our own bodies. On the one hand it was the end of innocence and the end of childhood and many other endings. At the same time, it was the birth of a new era for me personally, and the same was happening to people all across the USA and much of the world was getting on the train too. In the spring of 1968, I rented a luxury apartment with my girlfriend and several other like-minded students. I was convinced, after my one acid trip, that LSD was the most powerful substance on the earth and one night in a heated discussion in our apartment, which had become a nightly meeting place for hot new topics, and to which my new Mexican acquaintance, David, was a frequent visitor, the subject of the magic mushrooms was brought up by another of the fellows present. Although this fellow had never seen any mushrooms personally, he had heard testimony of others who claimed they were 100 times more powerful and dangerous, than LSD. Moreover, this same fellow, continued to exclaim, Those who eat the sacred mushrooms, were able to talk with God! I was extremely skeptical. If there existed a plant which would enable the eater to talk with God, wouldnt the whole world be there waiting in line for such an opportunity? I countered adamantly. And yet I was still intensely interested. I for one was of the opinion, that no mere

mushroom that grew in some far-off mountains, if it even existed at all, could have the psychotropic potential which my one exposure to LSD had provided. My friend David said he had also heard of the place where they could be found, and furthermore he proposed an expedition for the Good Friday weekend that was approaching, if he would be able to secure his mothers spare car. He said the mushrooms grew in Huautla, a small town in Oaxaca. I had never even heard of Oaxaca, and I was totally ignorant about such ideas as shamanism, sacred plants, , or any other concepts, not found on a college campus. But these were heady times. The plain fact was that I was basically just an average guy, headed for an average life and for all intents and purposes, spiritually speaking, I was about as dead as a doorknob. My interests lay in the material world: girls, beaches, smoking pot, rock music and only lastly school, and the latter was primarily motivated because it provided an excuse to pursue my other areas of interest. Nonetheless, I finally decided to accompany Davids little expedition into the mountains. I intended to put an end to the mushroom controversy, and was fairly convinced that either such magic mushrooms did not exist at all, or if they did exist, then their effects had been greatly exaggerated, and their would be no dialogue with Above. As there were to be no classes on Good Friday, the plan was set to leave Mexico City as soon as classes were out on the Thursday prior to the holiday weekend. Thus at three thirty or so, that Thursday afternoon, David, his girlfriend, my girlfriend, Donna, and myself all piled into Davids moms car and we set off for the distant mountains. The first part of the journey was uneventful; we smoked lots of pot, listening to the Jefferson Airplane, the Beatles and the Doors on the car-stereo and sailing down the highway. The further away we got from Mexico City, the more the roads deteriorated. We knew that the paved road would end in Teotitln, and while the last sixty or so kilometers were paved, like the map said, there were so many potholes and washouts that we could barely travel above 15 mph. We reached Teotitln at about ten thirty that night, exhausted, out of gas, yet ready to press on. We were told that the gas station was closed and wouldnt reopen until five in the morning, and that in any case the road to Huautla was far too dangerous to travel after dark. We resigned ourselves to the delay, and sought refuge in the only hotel in town. The Hotel Mary was a run-down affair with no screens in the windows, and hoards of mosquitoes pouring through the windows to feed on the hapless victims staying in the hotel namely us. I dont think I will ever forget that night. It was so hot, that even a sheet was out of the question, and yet that left the exposed skin to feed the noisy and totally fearless hoards of black mosquitoes. After an hour or so of swatting, tossing and turning, I turned the light back on and decided to fight the enemy head on, even if we spent the night, smoking pot,

swatting mosquitoes relentlessly, and waiting impatiently for five am to arrive. After what seemed like an eternity, feeling far more exhausted than we had upon arriving, we showered our welt-covered bodies, jumped into the car and began searching for the gas station. The streets of Teotitln in 1968, were nothing but rock strewn, deeply rutted dirt trails. The whole town looked as if time had stopped some fifty or even a hundred years earlier. Most of the buildings were in a state of decay and disrepair. A thick layer of dust covered the outside of every building. Sidewalks were non-existent. I wondered, Why on earth would anyone live in this old decrepit dust bowl? We went up and down the streets looking for the gas station, hitting big rocks and bouncing all over the place. The few people that were awake, to which we made inquiries, seemed unable to comprehend Davids questioning about where the gas station was. They were Mazatec Indians who spoke not a word of Spanish. Now, for the first time, David was on equal footing with me, language wise. Nobody could communicate. We ended up back at the hotel, and by now dawn was breaking and we were directed back in the same direction from which we had just come. This time we saw an old bus that had appeared out of nowhere and it was parked in front of a small tienda (store), that we had passed by several times during the last half hour. An old man was pouring gasoline out of a five gallon can into the bus, and then returning to the store to refill his can. After about twenty minutes, the bus was fueled and pulled away. We were next. I had never in my life seen such a gas station. Gasoline was kept in a couple of 55 gallon drums, siphoned by mouth into the five gallon can, and then poured into any vehicle that should chance along to this unlikely fuel depot. It took another 20 minutes until our car was filled, and we paid the man and asked him how far it was to Huautla. He replied that it was 65 kilometers, (39 miles), so we figured wed be in Huautla in an hour, or two at the most. We couldnt have been farther from the truth. The road out of Teotitln was a road in name only. Boulders and rocks lay everywhere as if they had been thrown down by some giant, intent on impeding any traffic which might come along. Where there were no rocks, the road had huge pits forcing the vehicle to hit bottom at least twice every minute. We crawled along at a snails pace of four to five miles per hour. As soon as we got to the last outskirts of the dust-bowl that was Teotitln, the road began to ascend along the face of a huge mountain. An hour later, Teotitln was but a mere speck in the landscape that loomed thousands of feet below. The road itself was extremely precarious, not to mention the rocks and pits which never once ended. Six inches from the edge of the one lane road, was a several thousand foot drop off. I was definitely having second thoughts about the entire venture. We were all tired, and the hope of sleeping in the car while riding was as absurd as trying to sleep on a killer rollercoaster. Occasionally a beaten up old bus, or equally decrepit truck would approach from the opposite direction, and then it

would usually take twenty minutes or even more to negotiate the narrow, treacherous areas that would allow one vehicle to pass the other. The nice and comfy apartment back in Mexico City seemed like a lot better idea than continuing this arduous journey into the unknown. I wondered what could possibly be worth what we had already been through, and what more surprises lay ahead. The prospects didnt look good to me, but when I ventured this opinion, David and the others said we couldnt turn around now, having come so far. So we just kept bumping along. After some two and a half hours of solid climbing, we reached the top of the mountain. The view of the desert so far below and other mountain ranges hundreds of miles away, was extraordinary. My spirits were definitely picking up. In addition, the air was now cool and refreshing, and as we continued on, the scenery was beautiful beyond words. Whereas the front side of the mountain had been an arid, almost lifeless land of scrub and cactus, we now were traveling through the greenest lushness ever. Although the landscape in our view was mountainous and thus steep, large areas were under cultivation with what appeared from far away to be a patch-work quilt patterns of corn fields, beans and here and there could be seen quaint little homes with adobe walls and thatched roofs. Huge trees, oak, pines, alders and others occupied the areas not being cultivated. The total effect was enchanting. About an hour later, we arrived at a little restaurant at a crossroads in the sierra known as Puerto de Guadalupe, with a large shrine of the Virgin Mary, just across the road from the restaurant. We were ever so thankful to get out of the dusty, cramped Rambler that had taken us so far from the civilized world of Mexico City. The little restaurant was delightful, and it still exists today virtually unchanged in appearance (though the food is nothing like it once was) and is located half way between Teotitln and Huautla. The owners daughter was our waitress and since we hadnt eaten a thing for nearly 24 hours, we ordered the daily special of squash soup and homemade tortillas, both of which were delicious. It was the first time I had ever eaten a handmade Indian tortilla, made with homegrown and hand ground corn and which measured at least ten inches in diameter, and a quarter inch thick, served hot and delightful. This was quite a contrast, from the machine-made tortillas of Mexico City and most of the rest of the country, which tasted more like cardboard than food. Now I could see why the tortilla was the basic food staple of the country. Obviously, modern life had had its derogatory effect in Mexico as in the United States in the case of white bread, which had once been made at home with whole grains, but now was nutritionally deficient to the point of needing enrichment. The light meal was topped off by several cups of coffee made from locally grown coffee beans, roasted earlier in the restaurant and brewed with fresh spring water, which flowed to the restaurant by hose and gravity from a spring higher on the mountain. It was the best coffee I had ever had in my life, up to that point. After an hour spent taking in the hospitality at this lovely

oasis, the owner, a short stocky Indian women with a friendly smile, asked if we were going to Huautla to eat mushrooms, to which we replied that we were. I was really surprised at this further confirmation that the mushrooms did exist and that we appeared to be heading to the place where they could be found. We thanked her for the refreshments, paid and tipped the waitress and climbed back into the Rambler which looked as if it had aged some five years in the past twenty-four hours. David looked underneath and remarked that his mother would thankfully never notice the dents and gouges on the under-carriage of the vehicle. We passed through several colorful villages, the women all dressed in colorful huipiles, handmade Indian dresses that identified a womans village by the colors she wore, the men in cotton white pants and shirts and sporting straw sombreros. Very few people had shoes or sandals, almost all going barefoot. We passed several waterfalls, and our car got stuck in mud so we waited until the next vehicle came along, to help push us out of the muck. Finally, at about two in the afternoon we passed a rusted and bent sign that read Huautla de Jimenez. Other than being a little bit larger than some of the other villages we had already passed, it was much the same. An old man approached our car as we slowly made our way towards the plaza and church, which was always at the center of any village. The old man motioned for us to stop, and he approached David in a low, conspiratorial voice, uttering the word, hongos? the Spanish word for mushrooms. David said, Si, and pulled the car off to the side of the road. That was easy enough, I thought to myself. The old man and David spoke for a few moments, and then the old Indian invited us into his bodega, storeroom, which was a fairly large, empty adobe-brick room in which he set up four chairs. He explained that the mushrooms were to be only taken at nighttime, but we countered that we had come a long distance and didnt want to wait for nightfall. So the old man obliged us, by closing the wooden shutters over the windows, creating a near dark effect in the big, cool room. Apparently he and David had worked out the price for the mushrooms, which was about forty cents per person, and a few minutes later he returned with our mushrooms. The mushrooms were wrapped in banana leaves, and to each one of us he gave a folded and tied banana leaf-bundle. We opened our packages without further ado. I examined my package with more than a trace of hesitation, as did the others. The contents definitely were mushrooms, but they were small, black, shriveled up and rather moldy pathetic looking things. This is what all the hoopla is about? I wondered out loud. The old man seeing our lack of enthusiasm, explained that nothing could be done, in any case, because these were the only ones available at the moment. I knew we were in for a letdown, at this point. However, we ate them anyway. They tasted as nasty as they

looked, except they also had sandy grit mixed in, which the visual impression had failed to reveal. The old man explained that we shouldnt be concerned and that we should just sit on our chairs and wait for the viaje, trip, to begin. So we waited an hour. Nothing happened. I had felt all along that there was nothing to this silly notion about mushrooms being stronger than LSD. The old man told us to wait another hour. I felt idiotic, sitting in the big cold, dark room, on stiff wooden chairs, waiting for something that was never going to happen. After waiting a total of some two and a half hours, we thanked the man and went back in the sunshine to the car. I was feeling a mixture of disappointment and anger flavored with a dose of frustration. I voted we return to Mexico City without further delay. Theres nothing to all this mushroom-hype, so lets head out of Dodge, I remarked. David was reluctant to give up so easily after having driven so long and hard, but momentum was going against him, and grudgingly he agreed, that we might as well return. But then the plot thickened after a chance encounter that took place as we drove the car further down the road, looking for a good spot to turn around on the narrow path which was the main street in town.

CHAPTER 3 In which the author jumps in boots and all We barely had time to discuss our plans, now that we would be returning to Mexico City, and had only been driving about two minutes when David spotted a long-haired Mexican hippie, who he recognized as a friend and began honking the horn to attract his attention. David jumped out of the car and ran over to his friend and they hugged and talked animatedly for several minutes. Although I could sense a further delay in our return to comfort and ease in Mexico City, I planned to protest vehemently against staying another minute in this town that time had forgotten. David brought his friend over to the car, whom he introduced as Alejandro. They were all smiles, and obviously very glad to have found one another so far from home. David quickly filled us in as to the conversation he and Alejandro had just entertained. He explained that Alejandro, had disappeared some 18 months earlier and that all his friends had given him up for dead. Even his family had no idea that he had been in Huautla all that time. He also informed him that in the first place, the mushrooms must be consumed at night for the full effect. And secondly, nobody eats those old, dry shriveled up mushrooms, except newcomers who didnt know any better. In addition, Alejandro knew where to get the good ones, freshly picked and potent as could be. Lastly, Alejandro related that we

had just missed the Beatles by ten days. They had come to Huautla for an entire week, and had held a birthday party for Ringo Starr to which all the locals, both Indians and hippies, had been invited. That grabbed my attention in a big way, as at that time the Beatles were considered the movers and shakers in the psychedelic/rock music hurricane that was sweeping the Earth and my admiration for them was more than considerable. But somehow I couldnt imagine the great Beatles bouncing around on the road we had just traveled and I mentioned this doubt, to which Alejandro explained, They flew in by small plane, indicating something that did appear to be an airstrip, carved onto the mountain. That made sense, I thought to myself. Seeing that the others were now into staying longer, and that Alejandro had offered us lodging in his rented thatched hut, and moreover, that the Beatles had come all the way from England to eat mushrooms, I gave in and offered no further opposition to staying another day or so to find some good, fresh mushrooms. We drove the Rambler over to Alejandros place, and he assured us that there would be plenty of fresh mushrooms arriving at dusk. For some reason, I decided to take a walk by myself. I wanted to explore the countryside, but more than anything I wanted to be alone to try and sort my thoughts out. I felt very dark inside. Perhaps, it was the admixture of high expectations, exhaustion from the arduous and treacherous automobile ride, the disappointment and frustration from the experience in the afternoon with the dried, moldy mushrooms, not to mention low blood sugar from having eaten only a bowl of squash soup and a few tortillas in the last twenty-four hours, but, I definitely needed some time alone. I was often given over to bouts of self-pity, an indulgence that would take years to rid myself of, and one that I had not even recognized as a problem at that time in my life. So I went off by myself, wandering on foot paths further and further from town. Depression weighed heavily on my mind, and the depression soon gave way to suicidal thoughts in which I could see no reason to live, no reason to love, no reason for anything. I was glad to be alone, for when these states of total hopelessness would come upon me, I sure didnt like to be around anyone else. Rather, I liked to wallow in my personal version of the abstract blues. I walked on and on, until I noticed it was getting dark and decided it was time to head back to Alejandros place. I arrived back at the hut after dark expecting the worst; no mushrooms, and no food. To my surprise, on the contrary, I found everyone in a festive spirit and not knowing when I might return everybody present had already ingested their mushrooms and were already experiencing the mushrooms effects. I stood in the doorway surveying the situation, and someone told me to come on in, and that there were plenty of mushrooms left, pointing to a huge pile of fungi in the corner of the hut, sitting on top of some banana leaves. I sat down in front of the mushrooms, taking in the sight

before me. There were several pounds of mushrooms, of obviously different varieties and sizes. Then someone remarked, The derrumbes, bluish, bullet-shaped mushrooms are the best. How many does it take? I asked. Six to eight pairs, was the answer, although I dont recall who spoke the answer to my inquiry. Nobody was paying much attention to me, they being already under the effect of the mushrooms. After smelling one or two, I commenced eating mushrooms, saying to myself, Im going to eat a lot more than six to eight pairI want to find out what these mushrooms are all about. I kept eating and eating. Some of the mushrooms had a very strong acrid flavor, and it seemed to affect new taste buds, under the back sides of the tongue almost as if the psilocybin was flowing straight into my brain from the back of my mouth. I figured too large a dose had to be better than not enough. I was still eating voraciously forty-five minutes after having begun my meal and the two pound pile had been reduced to approximately a pound, when the mushrooms hit me. I use the phrase hit me, because thats what it felt like, as though someone had snuck up behind me and hit my head with a hammer. Having been seated in the semi lotus position on the dirt floor, my head hit the ground, as I was swallowing the last mushroom that I would be consuming. I tried to raise my head back up, but this was impossible, so I gave up attempting to move as it was totally futile anyway. The first thing I noticed was an incredible heightening of my awareness. I could hear the crickets chirping outside the hut and felt as though my entire being was pulsating with their song. The vision began almost immediately after this surge in my level of awareness. Although my eyes were closed, I saw legions of electric-blue mushrooms marching as though from deep in outer space. They proceeded to march or rather dance, keeping beat with the crickets, first far away, and then moving closer and closer to my head, until they danced right through my forehead and then out the back side. This is incredible, my rational mind thought, as though severed from the visual process that was taking place. Speech was out of the question. This vision continued for five to ten minutes or so, as the trance became heavier and heavier until, suddenly I felt that the air surrounding my body was solid. This first vision was now replaced with the horrific vision of my absolutely motionless and obviously dead body already lying in a coffin in a still uncovered grave, and standing around the hole in the ground were my friends and other onlookers. My girlfriend was crying and saying John is dead........... so young....he should have believed...but now it is too late. I am most definitely dead, my rational mind continued to inform me, adding that I must have eaten a lethal dose in my over zealousness to penetrate the mushroom secret. It was way too late for feeling the fear of dying my death was now already after the fact. Oh no!! Im dead at twenty

years old. Those Indians poisoned me with those toadstools. Im finished.. adis its all over now, and other similar phrases coursed through my mind. The amazing thing was that I felt absolutely no fear or terror that one would normally associate with such an event. I totally accepted my fate with the resolve of one who should have known better while realizing the immensity of the loss (my life!!!) It then occurred to me that while my body was clearly lifeless, laying there with arms folded below me, my spirit was still very much alive, and thus I realized that there was or could be life after death, which implied that God and likewise Heaven must in fact exist and I was no longer interested in the solemn and boring funeral below me. I wanted to go to Heaven, to meet the Creator of the Universe. I made a brief prayer, internally, asking God for Mercy on my Soul for my having been so stupid and having valued so little my earthly existence. I added that, despite my stupidity and early death, I very much wanted to go to Heaven and I entertained virtually no other thoughts in my mind. As soon as those thoughts were formed in my mind, my spirit merged with the smoke in the campfire that had been burning quietly in another corner of the hut, and like the smoke, I began to pass upward through the thatched roof. A moment later I was hovering above the hut. The stars shone brightly, and my spirit began to move slowly at first and then faster and faster and higher and higher into the sky. Soon, the entire town of Huautla could be seen below, and yet I kept rising faster and faster. As I continued rising into the night sky, the curve of the earth came into view, and not too long afterwards, the earth was only a ball in the heavens. I passed by the moon, and for a time both the earth and the moon were the same size. Other planets came into view, but I could not tell them by name. I could see the sun, but its light was not blinding, even if it were brighter than the much darker planets in view. I seemed to be pulling away from the sun, and the entire solar system. Then, I saw the whole giant spiraling disk that I knew to be our own Milky Way Galaxy, but after this marvelous view, even the Milky Way Galaxy began to diminish in size as I continued on my journey, traveling now at what had to be the speed of light squared. I saw countless other galaxies, some shaped like spiral disks, others like spinning tops only with pointed tops and bottoms. After what seemed like a huge interval of time, and after having passed countless galaxies, nebulae and other cosmic bodies too numerous to mention, I came to the very limits of the Universe, for there were no more starry worlds to see. There seemed to be some thin membrane holding the Universe within it. And just as miraculously as the rest of my journey, I penetrated through the membrane, now revealing to me, a wondrous world far more beautiful and glorious than all the sights I had just seen, and believe me, this had already been substantial. What I saw can best be described as a pulsating, turquoise blue, sea of energy. I was

just one drop of water, and I merged with the Whole, the One, the Alpha-Omega, and The Almighty Creator of Everything. I knew that this was where everything from all times and places had come from, and to which all would eventually return. The physical Universe could be still seen, sitting in the middle of this turquoise sea, and it appeared as an egg, in shape and color, and I realized that all the galaxies, stars, and planets were inside the egg, much like the yolk of an egg must sit within the clear part. I was still aware of the Cosmic Egg, from which I had emerged, but the turquoise sea of energy was all around it and reached out infinitely and in all directions, although, in truth, there did not appear to be further directions. I felt as though I were being washed in the purest, cleanest orgasmic energy field, and that this was God himself, and that I had become part of Him. I had no sense of being separate from the rest of the sea, or of having my own individuality, and I forgot that I ever was separate, or that I had ever lived on Earth, or that in fact I had ever been anywhere else at all. I didnt even remember that at one time I had been a person, and I certainly didnt care. The peace and joy that I felt was more than sufficient unto itself. There was absolutely no sense of Time whatsoever, rather, a feeling that this was the state of Immortality and Timelessness; Eternity. I have no idea how long, in terms of earthly hours I stayed in this place that I can only define in my heart and mind as Heaven, or Heavenly Bliss, for while there, I was in Eternity, beyond all conception of Time. But at some point, I was pushed back into the white egg which held all the galaxies and solar systems, virtually all of creation inside, and again became subject to Time and Space. Somehow I was informed, that I had to remember all that I had seen and that my mission, would be to communicate what I had seen to others. I began the long journey back. but back to where? I couldnt remember who or what I was, let alone where I had come from. I didnt have the slightest idea where I was going, or even why. I once again passed countless galaxies, star systems and other sights. But I was totally unable to figure out who or what I was or where I was going to or had come from. This I found somewhat troubling to me and was the first serious concern I had had on this entire journey. Then somehow the word Earth came into my mind. It was the first concrete thought I had had since leaving the cosmic egg, what seemed like eons earlier. Earth, yes, somehow that sounded familiar, but how and why? By this time, I must have entered into the sphere of our solar system, but it was not recognizable to me. Then suddenly, it came to me. Earth, yes, people live on earth, maybe I was a person? But who could I have been or where would I find myself? Then I thought of Mexico. Yes, Mexico, the spiritual capital of the Earth. Perhaps I was from Mexico or had been in Mexico? Then it hit me. Huautla de Jimenez, spiritual capital of Mexico.

I must have been in Huautla and had eaten the sacred mushrooms, and my name was John Richard Asbury. At the very instant, that I pronounced my name, I came back into my body, which was now some 50 to 60 meters outside the hut, where my journey had begun. It was around 1 oclock in the afternoon, of the next day. I had been gone for some 17 hours. The sun was shining brightly, and I was laying face down kissing and even licking the ground I lay upon. Mother Earth, I love you. Oh, God thank you!!!! were the only words that came to my lips. I lay there for some ten minutes, in gracious reverie, and then staggered to my feet, face covered in mud, and made my way over to the thatched hut in which my companions were just waking up from the night before. My girlfriend said, John, what the heck happened to you? Man, you were gone!! Totally out there!! Dude we gave you up for dead! You wouldnt believe it, was all I could manage to say. I was so awestruck that I could hardly talk to anyone, let alone relate my adventure. I did find out soon enough that the others had only eaten the recommended dose of six mushrooms, and that all had had a wonderful time, but no one had left their body, had an astral voyage or any of the incredible experiences I had had. When I eventually got to the point where I could talk with some coherence, most everybody just kind of shrugged their shoulders and said something like, Yeah, man, you had a heavy trip, and left it at that. But I would never be able to leave it at that, not for the rest of my life for better or worse. I wanted the whole world to know about the magic mushrooms. My entire world-view had been turned upside down and inside out. I saw the Indians as the Guardians of the Planet, and the white man as the destroyer of all that was good and sacred. I finally understood the reason for the pyramids, and the great civilizations of the Mayas, Aztecs, Zapotecs, Olmecs and Toltecs. There was so much more to discover. I felt reborn, rejuvenated and eager to spread the news of my discoveries. Unfortunately, I would find out soon enough, that my revelations would have no relevance to a world moving in the opposite direction, and in fact would cause me great suffering in the future. Although I didnt care if we ever returned to Mexico City, we did in fact return on Easter Sunday, but there is no doubt that a part of me has always remained outside the Cosmic Egg, and has been the cause of my eventually finding the Path of the Warrior.

CHAPTER 4 IN WHICH THE AUTHOR DISCOVERS THE NEED OF A TEACHER

Upon returning to Mexico City, I remained very excited about my recent experience, although with time and with my failure to successfully communicate my revelations to anyone else, my enthusiasm eventually began to wane. This was accelerated by two further unsuccessful trips to Huautla, both times in which I brought friends and relatives to Huautla, with promises of incredible visions which never materialized. In the first instance, I drove my brothers, brother-in-law, (I had married the girl who had been my companion on my first journey to Huautla), and my wife in a Volkswagen van. Eager to turn everyone on to the experience, I foolishly purchased some mushrooms, that a sly Indian woman was selling about fifteen kilometers before reaching Huautla. I eagerly bought the mushrooms, and everyone ate their dose as I continued driving the van to Huautla. The mushrooms not only were not the magic ones, but turned out to be quite poisonous, that is not enough to kill one, but enough to wish that one were dead what with all the vomiting and dry heaving, and they were definitely not what I had promised everyone. By the time we reached town, everyone, myself included, was retching violently until we were just dry heaving. We spent the night in the only hotel in town, with diarrhea and vomiting confining us to our rooms. Since we had arrived at night, no one had even had a chance to see some of the beautiful scenery. When I suggested the next day that we look for some good mushrooms, the protest against any more mushroom ventures was so great that I quickly dropped the idea and we returned immediately to the city. My brother-in-law was particularly convinced that I was a complete lunatic and made no effort to hide this opinion. Several months later I brought my wife and two more friends. We traveled by bus, which was even more uncomfortable than by car. We arrived at the Puente de Fierro, about eight kilometers below Huautla, and found a cabin to rent for the evening. In the middle of the night, the cabin caught fire, and we barely made it out with our belongings in tact before the fire consumed the entire building. We did find some magic mushrooms the next morning, ate them, but the effects were so mild, that everyone basically thought that I was prone to great exaggeration, at best, or an outright liar, at worst. Nobody came close to leaving their body or anything of the like. A few months later, I made one final attempt to seek again the beatific visions that I found the first time, and traveled with one friend and my wife. There were no mushrooms at all available this time, for they were out of season. Just outside of Huautla, I hit a rock, damaging the oil pump, and twenty minutes or so later, the engine froze up completely and the car had to be transported all the way to San Antonio, Texas (over 1500 miles) in order to be repaired. I gave up on Huautla, and just in time, for the Mexican police and army moved in and threw all non-locals out of the area and furthermore,

blockaded the road so that no more would arrive. Most of the unfortunate hippies had their heads shaved, in an attempt to scare off others. This policy was in effect for some five or six years. Meanwhile, back in Mexico City, my life began to deteriorate rapidly. I was soon taking ever drug in sight. School had lost all relevance, and I dropped out, about the time that I began using opium and its stronger derivatives. Within weeks, I forgot about the mushrooms, forgot about school, and in the end forgot about my self. Even Mexico no longer interested me, and I returned to the mid-west from which I had come two years earlier. By now I was using heroin three to four times a day. My depression and suicidal moods had made a comeback in a big way. I was called up for the draft to fight in Vietnam, but I failed the physical exam due to my obvious drug addiction. When I inherited a sum of money on my twenty-first birthday, I immediately packed up my few belongings and with my wife, headed for England to register as an addict and hopefully receive free dope from the British government. But a week before I had arrived, the program was terminated, and no new addicts were being signed on. I made a brief foray into drug smuggling from India and Africa into Great Britain, but I was no professional, and soon I found myself in an English prison, withdrawing from a severe heroin habit, with no friends, money or prospects of the same. After about six months, I was deported back to the United States, and deciding that there had to be something better in life than narcotics, I voluntarily entered a drug rehabilitation program which was modeled after the Synanon approach, where ex-addicts themselves run the entire operation and a year later I was cured of my desire for drugs or drink. I returned home, and opened my own drug rehabilitation center there, as the drug abuse problem was spreading like a plague across the nation and world and I achieved something of celebrity like status being the first local ex-heroin addict who had come back to save others. Nonetheless, heroin had destroyed my marriage, and would take many years to put it all behind me. It was around this time, in 1971 that I discovered the writings of Carlos Castaneda, or rather the Teachings of Don Juan Mateus. Here, finally, was someone who had found a teaching and a teacher in Mexico. Castaneda seemed to explain and explore many of the things that I had wondered about and needed to assimilate for myself. I was fascinated with every aspect of Castanedas revelations, and I found it easy to imagine myself in his shoes, for after all, the landscapes and descriptions he portrayed were already a part of my experience. Each new work seemed to beckon me more loudly to return again to magic Mexico. At least I knew for sure that my own intuition was correct. That something really big, indeed, a whole and complete codified set of knowledge did still exist in Mexico and Don Juan, via Carlos Castaneda, confirmed my suppositions, which had formerly only been

vaguely half-formed ideas in my mind. The net effect of the Castaneda works on my spirit was nothing short of like being hit by slowly unfolding bolt of lightening. I quit working as a drug-counselor as I felt I had paid my dues helping others and I decided to take my small savings and head once again to Mexico in search of Don Juan, or if not so lucky as to find him, then someone similar to him. I knew that there had to be more than one sorcerer in all of Mexico, it was a large country after all. But the task, in the field, was not at all as easy as it had sounded in my living room, sitting in an easy chair, armed with my books, hopes and high expectations. I traveled all over in Oaxaca, Yucatan, Guerrero and Chiapas. Often times, I would pick the last village found on any road on a map, travel to it by bus, truck or whatever, and then set out on foot on the little trails leading farther into the bush. When Id come across a little settlement, I would point blank ask anyone I would meet just where I might find a brujo. Although, Don Juan refers to himself as a brujo, meaning man of knowledge, this word more often means witch or spellmaker in much of the Mexican countryside. Usually this question provoked fear and even terror in the Indians who could barely speak any Spanish, and generally they would run off to warn their friends and family to stay away from the weird and evil bearded gringo. After a few months of failure at this approach, I realized that actually finding a man of knowledge was definitely a lot harder than just reading a book about the same. I ventured into Guatemala and joined some fellow searchers living in a small village on the shores of the beautiful Lake Atitln, which is surrounded by several impressive volcanoes. I learned many things, eating Indian foods, planting gardens, and living without money while reading more material that I hoped would further me on the path. Somehow the lake in those days, attracted many so called seekers of wisdom and nearly everyone who came around was an enthusiastic reader of Castaneda and likewise, everyone had their own opinions as to the best way to make contact with a real teacher. Heated discussions would break out at any time of the night or day. But mostly, one could summarize the Atitln scene in the early seventies as a case of the blind leading the blinder. However, it was at Lake Atitln that I met my first sorcerer. He was a 75 year old Arab man name Guayo, born in Bethlehem, Palestine and who as an infant had immigrated to Guatemala with his parents. Occasionally, Guayo would make the rounds to the small community of which I had just recently become a member. Often his visits would consist of him entering the house with a kind and silent smile, and then he would proceed to stand on his head for an hour or two, and then just get up and leave with the same self-assured smile, never uttering a word. He was quite mysterious and lived in a home only accessible by boat and he did not welcome visitors, to say the least. His blue green eyes were intense and seemed to have the capacity to penetrate right through one, as though he knew

even more about one than one knew about oneself. It was not a pleasant feeling, his penetrating eyes coursing through ones mind. He did not engage in small talk and seemed to hold most everyone in contempt who did indulge in the same. Rumors about him were rampant in the Mayan villages around the lake. Witchcraft being the chief religion of the area, despite the presence of at least one Catholic Church in every town, many of the local Indians claimed that Guayo was a terribly evil sorcerer who liked to steal little children and carry them back to his home to eat them. Although nothing could have been further from the truth, such were the fears that this man engendered in the local Indians, nor was he very popular with the hippies and other New Agers that either visited or stayed around the lake. I probably never would have had occasion to visit Guayos house if not for a shortage of marijuana in the region. In fact, pot was in such short supply in Guatemala in those days, that on the rare occasion when a joint made its appearance, every five or six weeks, we would stand in a circle to smoke the herb which in itself is not all that unusual, but we not only passed the joint around (in one direction), we also passed the exhaled smoke around in the opposite direction, mouth to mouth. In this way eight or nine people could receive the effects of the weed from one rather small joint. Probably the low tolerance had something to do with the effectiveness of this method. At any rate, Guayo was known to have a stash of great pot at his place, and it had been months since we had seen or even tasted a pin-sized joint. I volunteered with two other fellows to see if Guayo would be disposed to selling us a minuscule amount. He was certainly not a pot seller, but we hoped that he would take pity on our group. The rumors about him didnt scare me in the least, I knew he was not evil, in fact I thought he was a very benevolent person, even if he did create a sense of mystery mixed with curiosity and mild fear in me. Guayos house was located outside of the Mayan village of Santiago Atitln, which was about ten miles from San Lucas Tolimn, where we lived. Three of us set out at about eight in the morning hoping to catch a truck or other vehicle headed that way. Nothing passed us but barefoot Mayan Indians on foot going in both directions. We arrived at the village of Santiago and we were tired and thirsty. We searched the market area up and down looking for a vendor of freshly made carrot juice, which was something of a specialty drink that the hippies revered for its healthful properties. The people that normally sold juices were not to be found that day. We drank a soda-sized bottle of spring water each, and finally turned our attention to the task of renting a dugout canoe to make the trip across the lake to Guayos house. After another hour or so, we had finally secured a boat and paddles and we got under way.

Lake Atitln is a large, crystal clear lake with three volcanoes rising from the edge of the water. Half-way across the lake to Guayos place, the three volcanoes could be seen in all their majesty and wonder. I could imagine the thousands and thousands of Indians who must have beheld the same scene and feelings of awe viewing the peaks throughout the centuries, far into the distant past. That the Mayan Indians of the present era had been reduced to poverty and hard times by the government of Guatemala and earlier by the Spaniards, didnt seem to faze me. I still saw them as a proud and graceful people, trying to hang on to their old ways, customs and language. The arrival of the hippies in Guatemala had only been the most recent of many invaders since the time of the conquest in the sixteenth century. Suddenly, a strong wind whipped up and the normally placid lake began tossing and turning the canoe around much like a raging river tossing round a small twig. I forgot about the ancient Mayas and turned my attention to matters at hand. We were too far out to turn back, and in fact, Guayos house could barely be seen at the base of the tallest volcano directly across the lake. The wind got stronger, the waves larger, and one of the fellows who was accompanying me claimed that such freak storms had caused the drowning of countless victims over the years and was the main reason why few people ventured very far from the shoreline in the dugout canoes. How reassuring, I thought to myself. We paddled furiously on towards Guayos house, hoping that he would be there and that he would allow us shelter from the storm. As we got within shouting distance of his home, the old man came down to the dock, waving us on. At least hes here! I commented. By now the water was so rough that we had a great deal of difficulty merely tying our boat to the dock and disembarking from the dugout canoe. But once we were out of the canoe, standing on the dock, Guayo said, Anyone for some carrot juice? I just now made some up. The three of us looked at one another dumbfounded as to how this fellow had known we would be coming and moreover that we would be in want of some carrot juice. It was either very coincidental, or more verification of his powers, but no one said a thing except, that wed really appreciate some juice. We went into his lovely house which was nothing like I had expected. The home was solidly built of stone, the rooms large and furnished like a home in the city with many modern conveniences and an electrical generator which powered the lights, refrigerator, and modern kitchen. I dont know what I had expected, but a home like that in such a remote location was surely an anomaly. We revealed the nature of our visit and Guayo said he did have a bit of herb and that he would roll one to smoke and give us two joints to bring back to the others. It was far too scarce to sell any, he added. He rolled a joint and we smoked it the normal way, that is, without also passing the exhaled smoke

around the room. The herb was good, strong and tasty. One of my companions began to comment on the good taste and Guayo quickly told him in no mincing of words, to shut up and let the herb do the talking. My shocked friend did as he was told. A little while later my two companions went to lay down in two of the guest rooms. The lake was far too rough to contemplate returning, and seeing that darkness was fast arriving, we were going to have to spend the night at the old mans house, a prospect that none of us actually had imagined or desired, but which fate had ordained. Once I was alone with the Guayo, he began to loosen up noticeably. We discussed various topics, such as elements of sorcery, healing and spiritual attainments when he abruptly left the room, and came back shortly thereafter with a pipe and a jar of what he explained was smoke, consisting of a mix of dried powdered mushrooms and other unnamed psychoactive plants. He lit several candles, and turned off the generator, so that just the sound of the wind and storm outside could be heard. We began smoking the mixture and almost immediately I felt a greatly expanded awareness, and I sensed that Guayo was no ordinary being in any way, shape or manner. His eyes were like diamonds of light and they burned like a laser beam into my mind. He knew everything I was thinking even that I knew that he knew what I was thinking. It was a terribly disconcerting feeling. But what was most terrifying of all, was that whenever he touched his earlobe with his finger and thumb, there would be instantaneously a huge clap of thunder. The first and second time that I witnessed these phenomena, I marked it off to coincidence. But then it happened ten or more times it couldnt be a coincidence. Either he was so in tune with the storm raging outside as to feel the thunder bursts coming, or he was somehow causing them to happen. I was amazed, terrified and awestruck all at the same time. I wondered if he had been responsible for the storm on the lake in the first place. I now paid the most complete attention I could muster to every word, movement or facial expression that this incredible man expressed. He told me that the reason people were held back from truly attaining even the slightest amount of their potential was due to fear and that furthermore, I was personally so full of fear, that there was little room for anything else. He also informed me that I had a terrible weakness for women and that this too must be overcome. I knew he was telling me the truth about myself, but I had not the slightest idea what to do about my problem. Guayo explained that I was in very great need of a teacher, and moreover that my teacher could not be found in Central America or even Mexico. He recommended that I return to the United States, to my own home town to seek what I needed. That was certainly a disappointment, for someone who for the last eighteen months had been searching high and low for Don Juan or at least someone similar to him from one corner of Mesoamerica to the next. Guayo told me that I had special city problems, and that I could not learn anything in Mexico or Guatemala

until my city problems were cleared up. He explained that really I was running from the city.....that I had been unable to fit in. Further, he added, I was clearly in danger if I continued to stay much longer in Guatemala and that if I traveled further south, I was likely to die altogether. His words were not welcome news to my ears and in fact they went counter to the very direction I had been headed both physically and spiritually for some time. Nonetheless, as Guayo and I talked late into the night, and the lightening, thunder and winds raged outside, I listened intently to his advice and information, only a bit of which I have related here. As much as I might not have liked all the things he said, in my heart I knew that he was right. I had looked everywhere for a teacher, someone like Castanedas Don Juan, and wherever he was, he wasnt likely to reveal himself to me. And Guayo was right about my city problems, even if I wasnt exactly sure what he meant by that phrase. As for the part about the women, I knew he had really hit the nail on the head. The presence of an attractive woman was able to rock my gyroscope completely off course. How could I ever rectify such a situation? This was definitely a central part of my city problems, as Guayo called them. At about five in the morning, our conversation came to a close. I rested for a few hours, and then the storm abated. My companions were anxious to get away from Guayos hideaway, and after I arose, we jumped into our dugout canoe, said brief goodbyes and returned home. Reluctantly, I took Guayos advice to heart and a week or so later, I hitch-hiked to the Midwestern United Stated to join a spiritual commune in the countryside. The commune was a more or less typical hippie style affair, where the inhabitants grew nearly all their own food, more or less practiced a form of Zen Buddhism and struggled to attain spiritual enlightenment. Nudity and home-made clothing were part of the lifestyle, as was the home delivery of babies. There were some 25 adults and 13 children, mostly babies that were born right on the farm. The commune was laid back and the days were fun and wholesome, working in the gardens, and making candles which was the economic livelihood of the community. In the evenings, we would often eat banquet style vegetarian dinners, smoke home-grown pot, play musical instruments and entertain philosophical discussions that sometimes became passionately heavy and dealt with the proper way to be. Everyone, upon joining the commune, took a vow of poverty and in reality the commune was an experiment in pure communism. However, for many of the same reasons that communism didnt work in Russia it didnt work at the candle commune either. A few hard workers carried the weight of many lazy others. There was no boss, no strict ideology, and in truth we were basically a bunch of hippies trying to hold on to the hippie lifestyle which was swiftly passing away into another new age. It was just at this time that four unarmed college students at Kent State

University in Ohio were shot down in a peaceful protest against theVietnam War. This was the official end of the hippy movement. And at about this time I discovered the writings and teachings of two Russian teachers who had brought a system of thought, incredibly similar to the teachings of Don Juan, to the Western world. These Teachers were P.D. Ouspensky and his Teacher, George I. Gurdjieff. Although many of the terminologies were indeed different, the basic concepts were the same. Man, according to Gurdjieff, was asleep to his potentials, asleep to his purpose, and unable to do anything. Don Juan explained the same concept saying that ordinary man, with his awareness constantly eaten up by the flier was unable to not-do. There were many parallels, but both teachings were adamant about the need to focus attention and for that, a teacher was needed to help free the seeker from the self-imposed prison in which we all live, work, participate in wars, play, procreate and eventually die. Moreover, both systems of thought required an intense discipline designed to free a man or woman from their ego/prison. By oneself, nothing at all was possible. In fact, the highest truth which a-would-be candidate for self-evolution is capable of realizing is just this: nobody can advance one iota without the help of a Man (or Woman) of Knowledge. It can be no other way, for if it could, it would, and people would wake up of their own accord, and a glance in any direction is enough to see this is definitely NOT happening. This (waking up all by one's self), has been the unfortunate dream of the could-havebeen/would-have-been self taught social misfits throughout the ages. It really cant be any other way, or the entire fabric of the Universe would disintegrate. Finally, both the teaching of Don Juan and the system of Gurdjieff form a complete picture of Man and his place in the Universe and both teachings offer the possibility of a further development of Man/Woman on an individual level, after a long and difficult period of apprenticeship lasting years to a lifetime. Meanwhile, after a time, the commune split into two groups, those who agreed completely with the Gurdjieff/Don Juan concepts, and those who didnt. Although we had over 1000 acres of land at our disposal, and three residences, the split began to widen and soon there was not enough room for such differences. Where months earlier, relative harmony had prevailed, dissension became the rule. To complicate matters, the Gurdjieff/Castaneda faction began consuming meat, which was tantamount to a declaration of war, in a vegetarian community. I became an active member of the carnivore section of the commune and our first meat dish in years was a venison roast which blew all of us away in a very positive way. At about this time, a new comer arrived on the scene. Her name was Sherri, and she was a vivacious lady, with an infectious laugh, who had been involved peripherally with a teacher of the

Gurdjieff ideas. I became especially infatuated with this very attractive and self-confident woman and moreover with the fact that she also had first-hand knowledge of the existence of a real teacher and living exponent of the Gurdjieff system, a certain Mr. Ed Moss. Some parts of me became interested in joining just this school. But even after I realized this necessity in my mind, it took another agonizing two more years to bring about the desired end; to be a real student with a real teacher. And the reasons for the two year delay were precisely those which Guayo had proclaimed, at Lake Atitln in Guatemala. Basically, I was full of fears both known and unknown, and in particular, the fear of being exposed to the world at large, as being a total nobody, seemed high on the list. Meanwhile, skirt chasing could always derail any serious interest that might by chance arise in me of achieving my full potential as a man, as a possible sorcerer, or really, as being anything useful at all. Of course both Don Juan and Mr. Gurdjieff maintain that if nothing else, as consumers, we do serve Nature in becoming compost, but my spirit craved for more. The actual first encounter with Sherri, was nothing less than a peak experience. One evening I was on my way to the candle factory to make a batch of candles. Someone gave me a hit of LSD on the way over there, and by the time I arrived, I was tripping quite vividly. As chance would have it, Sherri was making candles that night as well. When I came inside the small factory, with room for only two candle makers, I thought my heart would jump out of my chest as I saw the beautiful lady working beside me. We said absolutely nothing, for honestly, as much as I liked beautiful women, I was totally afraid of them and had no idea how to talk with them. So there I was madly in love, scared to death and tripping my brains out. We worked in silence for several hours and then we were both about done with our work, and I decided the only solution to my dilemma was to give her a big hug, which is just what I did. She turned around and gave me kiss like none I had ever experienced in all my life. Then she invited me over to her room. We spent the night and I did not ever want to leave her side.

CHAPTER FIVE: IN WHICH THE AUTHOR DISCOVERS HIS TEACHER My infatuation continued to grow for Sherri, whose sister, I later discovered, was a full time student of Mr. Ed Moss, who as it turned out, was a jazz pianist beyond compare amongst many of his other specialties. Sherri herself had spent some time on the scene, as Mr. Moss and his students

referred to being a participant of his school. At that time, I thought I was in love with this unusual lady, but in truth, as I would later learn, the ordinary man or woman is incapable of real love, for the ordinary man is asleep, and I was very much asleep, even as I stumbled towards the path of the warrior. Notwithstanding, our romance was hot and passionate, and Sherri breathed new energy into my spirit. I asked her hundreds of questions about Mr. Moss, whom she simply referred to as Ed, questions about his methods, his powers and what life might be like under his tutelage. She described many of the happenings on the scene, and her descriptions of Ed and his absolute power in any given situation, developed a strong sense of admiration mixed with wariness merging with paranoia that evolved simultaneously inside me, and this internal conflict continued for the longest period of time. Meanwhile, Sherri enjoyed a good time. She was the typical party girl, with no thoughts of tomorrow, and she loved to smoke lots of pot, and to drink Scotch whiskey straight, with or without a chaser. I had had my first alcohol problem as a tender young teen of but thirteen years, but as alcohol was not big with the hippies, drinking had sort of slipped into my past. But drinking was a big thing in Sherris life, and as our lives merged, I took on this newly acquired habit with total ease. Sherri and I became a driving force in the business side of the Candle Commune. We deftly turned a non-profit, survivalist oriented candle factory into a profit orientated, capitalist operation, where individuals were paid for the amount of candles they made or sold. Soon the commune took a great leap forward as the hopeless communist methodology gave way to innovative capitalistic ways. After successfully implementing this change of orientation in the running of the finances of the commune, Sherri and I soon became the leaders of the candle sales division. Lacking a vehicle, we would hitchhike, often times several hundred miles, armed with boxes of beautiful candles, returning with pockets full of cash. The new infusion of cash created the affordability of liquor, which could not be grown like pot, and had never been a part of commune life, nor my prior travels in Mexico or Guatemala. It was on one such candle selling mission, that Sherri and I ran into the remarkable figure of Ed Moss. We were hitch-hiking right in the middle of the city with several boxes of unsold candles, when Ed pulled up to us, having recognized Sherri, and invited us for a ride. Although Ed was quite friendly and generally disarming, he was nevertheless a man supremely in control of himself and his immediate surroundings. Control emanated from Ed Moss like brilliance from a flawless diamond. He invited us to come by his home later in the afternoon for a taste of Martell cognac. I had never even heard of cognac at that time. In his car, which was a huge older model Cadillac limousine in immaculate shape, he talked about new projects that he was working on. One was the acquisition and construction of a new jazz club, about which he spoke quite animatedly. The conversation eventually turned to the commune where we lived, and the problems we were facing in the widening

rift between the adherents of the Gurdjieff ideas and those opposed to these doctrines. Ed boldly suggested that all those interested in the ideas, should just up and leave and join his own group en mass. I thought that it was a great idea, though I did not take him too seriously but only said that I would bring it up at the farm. He dropped us off and we sold the remainder of our candles before the appointed hour to return to Mr. Moss place for cognac and more conversation. We arrived at Eds house at the scheduled time, and made a phone call from a nearby phone booth, which served as his doorbell. A few seconds later, Ed appeared at the door. The building was very unique. To begin with, it was built in the shape of a triangle, as the building was situated at a five cornered intersection and occupied the place between two of these streets. The house was also unusual in that it was made out of rounded cobblestone, unlike any building anywhere in the area. The entire neighborhood had fallen into years of neglect as those who had lived on the edge of the bustling downtown area had moved to the newly constructed suburbs. The Point, as Ed referred to his house, had at one time been the home and office of a wealthy and very eccentric dentist. Ed opened the door and we stepped inside the foyer, which was pitch dark. Then he pulled back a curtain to reveal an oak paneled staircase that was dimly lit with delicate chandeliers. Once we reached the top of the staircase, we turned a corner to enter the living room. Persian carpets were everywhere, some even lying on the sofa and chairs. There was not a single ray of light entering the abode from the outside, as all the windows were fashioned of stained glass. All the lamps in the room were also fashioned with stained glass shades, some extremely ornate in design, and since the building itself was shaped like a triangle, so were most of the rooms inside. Even though I probably entered that building a thousand times, once becoming a member of the scene, yet I dont think I ever failed to feel the mystique that the combination of Persian carpets, stained glass, and heavy wooden paneled walls lent to the place. Ed often wore capes in those days and his place definitely reminded me of a bat cave, especially once he revealed a wooden wall panel which when pressed led to a secret passageway between the walls. This in turn led to a garage on another street where he could disappear without anyone having any knowledge of his exit. It was and remains one of the most amazing places I have ever visited. Once up the stairs, Ed produced a small pipe and we smoked some hashish, and then his current first lady arrived, an extraordinarily beautiful young girl, who took my breath away, had a ring in her nose, (long before piercing was the current fashion) and carried a bottle of cognac in her arm. Ed introduced us, and his lady prepared four drinks, we said cheers and began to imbibe the wonderful French brandy. I had never tasted such a magnificent flavor in my life. I decided upon my first tiny sip, that I would never drink whiskey of any kind again. The French were truly masters at wine and

spirits. Somehow I mustered up the courage to ask Ed how one actually went about joining his scene and he explained that the normal method was to be sponsored by someone who was already on the scene. At that moment, I would have liked to join his group on the spot, but three things led me to hesitate. To begin with, aside from the students already forming his group, Ed Moss was not a very popular person in town, having a reputation similar to Guayos at the lake in Guatemala. Oh, nobody thought that Ed Moss ate babies or anything that weird, rather he was seen as a user of people, who took advantage of all his students and gave little in return. He was also said to be rude, arrogant, conceited, self-centered and self-serving, and other equally derogatory things. These stories did not bother me personally, but I knew that I would be unable to convince any members of the commune from defecting from the farm to the city scene, as Mr. Moss had suggested earlier in the day. So that would mean I would have to find a sponsor, and that was surely an unknown, and therefore an unsettling proposition. Secondly, and probably of greater bearing was the fact that Sherri had been a former part-time student of Eds and I was uncertain as to what their relationship was or had been and what it might mean to me. I liked Sherri too much to share her affections with anyone else, even with a man like Ed Moss, especially with a man like Ed Moss. Finally, I understood that Mr. Moss was the sole controller of the cash flow of his scene, and since his students worked for no financial remuneration, he in effect controlled their cash flow as well. This frightened me almost as much as the prospect of losing my lady. The fact that I had but ten dollars to my name was inconsequential. At least they were my ten dollars. I really did not like the thought of one individual having that kind of power over me, neither emotionally nor economically. At the commune, I was broke, no doubt, but so was everyone else. We were all in the same boat. I could see that Eds scene was not the same at all. His economic system was something more akin to a fiefdom with all funds funneled to and distributed by the high priest or teacher. So, while I was considering what it might be like to study with this most unusual man, another part of me was also formulating a plan to get as far away from his influence as possible. Before we departed that day, Ed invited us to help him build some stained glass lampshades which he intended to install in the new club which was to open in the coming months. I reluctantly agreed to this proposition, which was to take place a week or so later. As much as I admired and even envied this man, he literally scared the hell out of me and the fear side of me definitely outweighed the budding apprentice/warrior side. The day eventually came to work on the lamps, and I awoke with a sense of impending doom, and racked my brain for any possible excuse to somehow avoid the engagement to which we had agreed. I tried several feeble arguments to dissuade Sherri from going to the city, but she was adamant. You

dont break your word with Ed Moss, no matter what, was her reply. So we hitched into town and made our way to Eds crib, as he referred to his home, and it was a bright fall morning. Ed greeted us, just a bit brusquely, as one who was very busy and had many things going on, in sharp contrast to the friendly and more congenial fellow of the first encounter. Well, heres the problem, was the phrase he used to explain the task at hand, which I found a very interesting concept for some reason. He outlined the exact procedures of our job, which consisted in applying a very thin metallic foil to each of the many pieces of stained glass, and then he disappeared for several hours. When he returned, he asked Sherri to come along with him for a little while. I wasnt ready for real work on myself, for discipline, for anything that involved real change and this became instantly and intensely clear to me in their absence. I still wanted to change things on my own terms, which essentially meant not at all! In that moment, in the absence of Ed Moss and Sherri, I decided that I was going to convince Sherri to leave for Central America with me, and get as far away from Ed Moss and his threatening influence as was physically possible. Soon after Ed and Sherri returned, I suddenly remembered a good reason why we had to go back right away to the commune, thanked Ed for the stained glass lesson and rushed Sherri out the door. She knew that I was jealous, and mentioned it with a snicker, but I vehemently denied it being so. Jealousy, she had already informed me, was definitely a no-no on Eds scene and was considered a sign of personal weakness and unsuitability for a true student. I didnt care about my unsuitability. The main thing that mattered to me was holding on to this vivacious, fun-loving and very foxy lady. Guayos words would haunt me in the back of my mind, but clearly the fearful parts of my being were in the majority. That my personality was made up of many contradictory Is, each with its own agenda, I had learned in reading various books about the Gurdjieff ideas. However, I found reading books about self-consciousness a lot easier to take than actually doing the Work of becoming self-conscious. Internally, I was filled with conflicts, but somehow, I imagined things being safer in the far off jungles of Central America, than near the powerful and intimidating Ed Moss. To hell with Guayos advice, and Mr. Ed Moss too, was my final conclusion at that wobbly point in my lame and feeble existence. I would attempt to be a warrior, but on my own path and on my own terms. At least thats what the lazy, fearful, jealous, and generally negative Is that unfortunately held grasp of my being wanted..that is no change and no growth of Being. Sherri was easy enough to convince, and soon I was able to talk another couple into aiding and abetting my desire to flee into the wilds of Central America, rather than join a school that would actually give me what I wanted and moreover, needed. To Wake Up. Sherri was pregnant, and the

plan was to have the baby outside the country as an aid to someday emigrating from the United States. This would ensure staying outside Eds sphere of influence as long as necessary! I took a temporary job working on a river barge for six weeks and saved up enough cash to travel south. We left for Central America in February of 1974 and somehow I didnt exactly think that I was running away, but that is precisely what I was doing. We arrived in San Jose, Costa Rica about a month later. There we heard of some land which some hippies had purchased and which they were about to abandon to anyone who was there to inherit it. We headed directly to the rain forest near the border with Panama, and miraculously not only found the farm, but arrived an hour or so before the owners were leaving. They turned over their extensive supplies of food, medicine and tools to us, glad to have found someone who would pick up where they were leaving off. The farm had no buildings, but there was a huge army tent, two acres of mature chocolate trees, an acre of bananas and an acre of plantains. There were also a few avocado, orange, lemon, grapefruit, and breadfruit trees all of which were bearing fruit. The other 50 acres or so was mostly raw jungle. This was real jungle, with monkeys, parrots and other beautiful and strange animals visiting us from time to time. A few miles up the road, was a small town where basic food supplies could be purchased or bartered for dried chocolate beans, which we harvested every week. Life was not easy on the edge of the jungle, but I really enjoyed it nonetheless. In addition, we discovered that a cow pasture on the other side of the dirt road that served as a thoroughfare from the coast into the jungle was home to countless numbers of magic mushrooms. They were there for the taking, since the locals knew nothing of their properties or usefulness. Even so, the other couple with whom we had traveled from the beginning, left after a few months. Then Sherri had a fall one afternoon, resulting in a miscarriage of the child she had been carrying. Things went downhill from that point on. Sherri wasnt much fun in the jungle, as she thrived on having lots of people around, and lots of liquor flowing. She complained daily and finally even I couldnt see the beauty and value of living in the rain forest under such adverse conditions. She went to San Jose, the capital, and returned two weeks later, after deciding to give the relationship and the jungle another try. I was very glad to see her when she returned. But things were definitely difficult, in terms of making ends meet. We ate rice and beans every day, along with innumerable bananas, plantains and other fruits that the farm yielded gladly. Who knows how long we might have struggled along there, if one day I had not eaten magic mushrooms, picked across the road. I had a particularly strong vision and the mushrooms told me that I was in immediate danger of death and that I should return at once to where I had come from. I took the warning to heart, and we left that evening. We went to the farm of some friends down on the coast

for a few days, and then hitch-hiked all the way to the commune back in the mid-western USA. The commune was being disbanded, the land having been bought by the state to make a park. We moved into the city with the Gurdjieff faction where we rented a large house in a pretty neighborhood. Somehow, I still didnt have my priorities straight. I hadnt learned much from my last two visits to Central America. I had read an awful lot of books, so I suppose, the action of all that reading was taking some effect on my mind, if ever so slowly, but I clung on to the folly that I could wake-up without Ed or any other teacher. I took a job refueling airplanes at a small nearby airfield, and Sherri worked in a bakery. She was soon pregnant again, and we decided to make one last attempt to make it in Costa Rica. Our friends there, on the coast, had offered to let us stay and help manage their place which was a lot more exciting than the jungle. After all, they had a beautiful beach, good gardens, more fruit trees, plenty of fresh fish, and even horses to ride. As soon as we had saved a thousand dollars we headed off for the Caribbean coast of Costa Rica, this time traveling by plane. We arrived almost a year after our first trip and this time Sherri had the baby successfully in the little beach house where we stayed. I delivered my daughter, even though I knew next to nothing about such a thing. The birthing was a very joyous occasion for me, in fact probably one of the most joyous moments of my life, and as dawn was breaking I took my little baby daughter, named Jesse, after Jesse James, down to the ocean to wash off the blood and other delivery juices. I carried my little daughter everywhere I went, in a child carrying backpack, and we were both very content. Sherri on the other hand, was not too keen on motherhood. She had already tired of being a parent even before we ever had a child, and this was because she had practically raised all her little brothers and sisters in her mothers constant absence. Again I ate some magic mushrooms, and again the mushrooms told me to go back and give it up resign yourself to studying with Ed Moss regardless of any objections you may entertain. Sherri was glad to go back. She was excited to join with Eds group. She really thrived on good jazz music, and Moss music was the best. I no longer cared about anything except being the best possible student that I could be. Money, women, none of it mattered if one was to live asleep forever! I wanted to Wake Up more than anything else, and I didnt care what price I had to pay. As soon as we reached San Jose, we called Mr. Ed Moss, and I asked him if we could work for him, that I had given up on my way.

CHAPTER SIX In which the author crosses a line drawn in the sand

The first thing Mr. Moss said in response was, Look, nobody works for me. Everybody here works for themselves and its very important that you understand that, thats the only way it can work. He certainly didnt sound excited, as somehow I had hoped he might. like to work for myself with you. How soon can you get here? he wanted to know. Were leaving today, hitch-hiking, however long it takes. Well be there as soon as we can! I tried to sound convincing, after so many false starts. Well, move right along, because we can use you right away, were adding a new porch to the Club, and need every hand available. OK, well hurry up and see you soon, I confirmed. Yeah, see you soon, Ed replied and hung up the phone. And from that magic moment, something changed inside me forever. It was something subtle, but it was also something substantial. I felt as if I had been given a boost of power and that nothing, but nothing, could stop me in my pursuit. We left San Jose and made the trip to the Ed Moss scene in 17 days, hitch-hiking with a 6 month old baby and two guitars, a saxophone and many other bundles which represented everything we owned. As I look back now, it seems incredible that one could hitch-hike through Nicaragua, El Salvador, and Guatemala with a baby and no money. But this was still a year or so before the largely U.S. orchestrated wars in these countries would make such a trip virtually impossible. People were still friendly, rich or poor, and we were treated magnificently everywhere we went. Nonetheless, my focus was no longer in Central America and Mexico, but rather on the new life I would enter as Eds newest student. I was glad when we arrived in early November. There being no immediate space in any of the official residences on the scene, we stayed in the home of the former Gurdjieff students of the now defunct candle commune who were living in the city. It was not an ideal situation, but was tolerable while we waited for an opening on the scene. The day we arrived, Mr. Moss treated us very cordially and invited us to a late dinner at the coffee house, where he again displayed his congenial host side and brought us up to date with all the projects that were in progress. After a lovely meal that went on for hours and ended around three in the morning, he drove us to our temporary dwelling and we agreed to show up for work early the next afternoon. The next day however, I awoke with a terrible toothache. The tooth had been bothering me for months, but being down in the jungle for so long, I had neglected to do anything about it. I made a dental appointment and was told that the only time available was the precise hour I had agreed to start OK, I replied, Id

work at the club. I took the appointment, as I wanted the tooth problem solved once and for all. Naturally, this caused me to arrive an hour and a half late and when I did get there, Ed was rather distant and not at all in the accommodating mood that I had seen him in the night before. Curtly he asked, Dental bullshit? I flushed crimson, and stammered, Yeah, I had to take care of a bad tooth Im very sorry for being late. I was told to work with Jimmy and Arthur in what appeared to be a carpentry operation. We were using old fashioned wooden clamps, to hold pieces of wood sections together for what would eventually be very pretty table tops, although the end result was beyond my vision at the time. I was extremely nervous, being late and for many other reasons, and chief of these was the fact that I felt the strong presence of what I would come to know as the group mind of the Ed Moss scene. They shared a degree of telepathy and I could feel the whole group of them inside my feeble brain en mass!!! Thus, on my first attempt to use the clamp, I over tightened it and destroyed the clamp in the process. Now I was really shook up. I wished I were a little ant so that I could crawl in a hole somewhere, out of everyones view and I was actually trembling so profusely that I was incapable of doing any work whatsoever. Fortunately, one of the fellows, Arthur, took pity on my predicament, and took me outside, for a moment and told me to relax and just do the best that I could and leave it at that. There is no way you can wake up in one day, he counseled. Just observe your feelings, thoughts and body and do the best you can thats what were all doing. Our task is no harder or easier than yours or anyone elses. His words were very soothing and I went back in and felt a lot more like one of the team. It was the first time that I had experienced Eds ability to shock me, and Arthur had brought me around to the point where I was useful to the group again. We worked continuously until midnight, while in the meantime, the jazz club was open in the next room, with Ed Moss playing extraordinarily on the piano as the leader and driving force behind his jazz trio. The club was full of well-heeled patrons. The layout of the club was very Victorian, with massive stained glass windows and lamps, wood paneling in the dining area, and a sleek copper clad bar where patrons could socialize in between sets, as conversation was banned during musical performances. Little cards on every table informed customers of the special no talking rule during live music. The female staff members, all beautiful, intelligent and dedicated students of Mr. Moss, served up drinks, espresso coffee concoctions and cooked gourmet steaks, burgers and lobster tails on the grill in the back room. These ladies were an attraction to the club in their own right, and although it took quite some months to be considered a regular scene-person, by them, I inwardly treasured every word and movement emanating from them and looked at them with the greatest of respect. They all became either sisters

or lovers or both and it was through the ladies that Don Eduardo passed on many of his more intimate teachings. For the next two weeks, I began to learn some basic woodworking concepts as, Jimmy, Ed's official carpenter, taught me in the capacity of his assistant table maker. Jimmy was my own size physically and almost identical in age. He was 100% Irish, second generation, and was very proud of it and he taught me a myriad of things, from carpentry, to women, to loyalty, and he had a huge sense of humor which was never far from his call. Jimmy sported a very long goatee beard, and his long brown hair he kept in a pony tail as did Ed and most of the male students. He was fun to work with, even if he did seem to drink excessively. In fact, on our first occasion to work alone he explained quite frankly, Im an alcoholicit is in my blood, but its OK! I soon realized that working on the scene was almost the opposite of any kind of job I had ever had. Tardiness was tolerated, as was the use of alcohol and hashish. Far more important to Ed Moss was the quality of work produced, and he required absolute perfection in this respect. As was Eds impeccable music, every aspect of the Tonal, from food preparation, to interior decorating, personal appearance, dealings with the public or general maintenance on the various buildings and vehicles, was expected to exceed expectations. With the completion of the beautiful table tops, I was next placed under Arthurs watchful eye, as I learned the art of electrical installation. He taught me wiring techniques, general electrical theory and practical application as well. I was really surprised at how much Arthur knew about so many things and furthermore, that he was quite willing to teach his skills to me. Arthur liked to smoke imported cigarettes with a long wooden cigarette holder. His mind was able to capture any idea that Ed would conceive, from making a wall, building a walk-in refrigerator, or designing and installing anything from a commercial kitchen, bathroom or a heating/air conditioning system custom made for any location. His mind was totally organized and he seemed to always know where to start any project and how to procure all necessary materials and tools that would be needed. He maintained a pickup truck with almost every conceivable tool to fix or install anything, and what he didnt have or didnt know, he knew how to get and find out. He was a mover and a shaker, and commanded the respect of all Eds students, as he was definitely Eds right hand man. He liked good food and music, and also had a great sense of humor, an important tool in any sorcerers tool bag. Much later, I realized that by teaching me the various electrical, plumbing and basic restaurant maintenance arts, Arthur had the ulterior motive of freeing himself of these same tasks. By making me proficient in this field, Ed would later rely on me for all such tasks. But as a newcomer I was oblivious to such motives.

Several months later, I looked at the porch which was being opened to business. I saw the five stained glass lamps that hung magnificently over the exquisite table tops. That my blood and sweat was in them gave me a great sense of pride and feeling of accomplishment. I had learned more practical knowledge in two months on the scene than in the prior ten years of my life, in which I had supposedly been educated. I was really thankful to be a part of this incredible group of hard-working, serious minded and fun-loving apprentices. And it wasnt long before I didnt mind being the lowest student on the totem pole. At least I was on the totem pole! Little by little, I got to know the various men and women who made up what Ed referred to as the staff. Meanwhile, Ed himself was almost totally inaccessible to me. Any attempts that I made at small talk or conversation with him were totally ignored. For one thing, I knew so little about any of the projects, that he had no reason to relate to me about them, and I soon found out that his teaching style was such that the older students pretty much taught the newer ones. The truth was, Ed Moss just had neither the time nor inclination to take people by the hand. We were expected to have read all the available literature on Gurdjieff and his ideas, but discussions on these topics were only held one-on-one in private. It was a closed or secret school, that is, no attempt to recruit new students or to even allow outsiders to understand the true nature of the scene was encouraged or made. Ed maintained that far more could be accomplished with a handful of truly dedicated people, than any large group such as most gurus attempted to teach. After the porch was completed, I continued working under Jimmy refinishing several pianos from Eds collection, which was constantly changing, as new ones were acquired and refinished, and finished ones would be sold. This was time consuming and highly demanding work, especially to create a look that was equal to or surpassing the original factory finish. In the meantime, Arthur had purchased a building which though it needed considerable work, was at least habitable, and he invited us to move in with him. Finally, Sherri and I had official scene residence, which allowed more flexibility in our schedule and the ability to be on the scene 24 hours a day, which was an essential element to progress. Under Arthurs careful tutelage, I learned the basics and advanced techniques in home renovation, working in the early afternoon remodeling his house, and in the evenings working with Jimmy at the piano refinishing shop just down the street from the jazz club. I really found myself yearning to spend more time around Ed himself, but the only times that we actually had occasion to speak, were during the brief moments he would come and inspect progress on a piano. It was truly amazing how in those brief five or ten minute intervals, he was able to energize my spirit, renew my hopes and keeping me on track for yet another day. It was as though his very presence was able to infuse one with his own enthusiasm for life, art and work. I had never worked so hard and

long for anyone or anything, and especially not for myself. This was perhaps the greatest of miracles about Eds scene that he was able to bring forth massive and concentrated effort from his students for his various projects, which none had ever been able to do even for themselves. Before joining the scene, every phase of my life had been an easy shuffle from one event to the next. School and jobs that I had held in the past had been so easy, that the most difficult aspect of them had been to keep my attendance up and interest in the matter at hand. With Eds various projects, on the other hand, I was learning to be enthusiastic about doing things, about creating things. That the end result of all my efforts was for Ed and his projects, made absolutely no difference whatsoever to me. I saw where the myth that Ed Moss used people had originated. But there was no substance to it. He was able to call forth creative forces from within, which would have remained dormant forever without his intervention. None of us received wages for our efforts, and while there was occasional grumbling about this fact, it amounted to nothing more than stress release for the most part. We were getting paid in something indefinable, something infinitely greater than money, and something that money could not buy. Ed Moss fed us and either directly housed and clothed us, or the senior members of the scene did the same in his place. Every day was exciting, novel and filled with astonishing discoveries, if not about physical techniques of working, then about the psychological development which was the reason we were all there. As I was undergoing this accelerated inner and outer learning process, my relationship with Sherri was deteriorating almost at the same pace. By the time I had totally reconditioned our bedroom in Arthurs house, we were fighting like cats and dogs. No day seemed to pass without a squabble. Sherri felt burdened with our little daughter, whom we both adored, and to make matters worse, she became pregnant again. This caused her great consternation, as she prided herself on her attractive and sexy figure. Nonetheless, we were occupied with our normal and multitude of duties which left little energy for seriously coming to terms with one another. It was during this period that Ed announced his plans to open an exclusive gourmet restaurant. Being an avid food connoisseur, and complaining of his inability to get a first class dinner in a city noted for its many restaurants, Ed began to turn his attentions to this arena. He first introduced the idea in the general conversations that would take place in the early morning hours after the jazz club closed. By discussing an idea such as this one with many individuals, his idea began to take a definite shape in his mind, from which would later flow the final plan. Then one day while I was running errands with Arthur, Ed called us and told us to meet him at the club as he had several buildings he wanted to look at for possibilities for a site of the new restaurant which he had been talking about for months. In fact, he had talked for such a long time about the project that I was wondering if thats all

it was, just talk. Now we were going to actually take the first step of locating a place. I was exuberant to be included on this important mission, even if it were true that I was only included because I happened to be with Arthur on that particular day. We first checked out an older restaurant located in the downtown area. To me it was an ideal place to launch the new project. There was nearby parking, a vast potential clientle due to the proximity of thousands of businesses in the area, and the restaurant was large enough to do a great business. Furthermore, the kitchen was already in total working order, with exhaust fans, walk-in refrigeration, good plumbing and stoves. I was extremely enthusiastic about this option, and was not bashful in expressing my opinion. Arthur was enthusiastic as well, but much less so. He knew that Ed would take little that we said into consideration, and so his comments were limited to technical details. Next, we visited the other site Ed wanted to look at. This one was located close to the club and the coffee house, and not that far from Eds residence, the Point. The building we looked at was located in a rather rundown part of town on the edge of the university area. There were no parking facilities whatsoever. The building itself was not and had never been a restaurant, although it did house a dilapidated bar that was still in operation. There was no kitchen, no walk-in, and the possibilities of a dining area were limited to perhaps 100 seats. I did not hide my lack of enthusiasm for this site. Arthur, on the other hand, merely provided the technical advice that Ed needed in order to make an informed decision on the choice of possible sites. I continued to express my reservations about the second site, but Ed only seemed more enthusiastic about the possibilities the old rundown bar held. A week later, Ed announced he had chosen the old bar, with no parking, immense reconstruction necessary and no ready clientle available. What could Ed be thinking? I wondered to myself. I would eventually learn that Ed Moss was a man impossible to predict and unswerving in his ability to produce sparkling diamonds from a stone in the rough. A month later we took possession of the building, and closed the old business down for two weeks, while we did a quick clean up, that consisted mostly of painting the place black, installing the trademark stained glass lamps, that signaled all of Eds various businesses, and we re-opened the bar to business. Ed announced that we would not commence on the restaurant project for another few months. I suppose that, since I had been the most vocal dissenter of acquiring the building, I was chosen to run the new business. I was the manager, bar-tender, janitor, maintenance man and as soon as the rush of headiness over being placed in charge of one of the scenes official operations wore off, I felt like Id in some way been put out to pasture.

The former bar, I came to realize, had been a combination hangout for gay hillbillies and wannabe motorcycle gang members, and for some time this clientle remained to patronize the new management. Within a months time, however, they moved on to greener pastures. Being only a few doors down the street from Eds coffee house, where no liquor was available, many of the coffeehouse staff and patrons would drop in, if only for a few minutes to keep me from dying of boredom, and to get a shot of booze. In fact, looking back in retrospect, Ed was studying me while he was busy rounding up the funds necessary to shut down the bar and do the total renovation necessary for opening a first class eatery joint, as he referred to the new project. Ed wanted to see how trustworthy I was with money, responsibility, and reliability. This task, that is being manager of a floozy bar, I passed without much trouble, as the finances were very simple and only once did the nightly take exceed $100. Nonetheless, I was thoroughly delighted when Ed announced the closure of the bar, and the new project began the following day. We began by gutting the entire first floor of the building. I could not help thinking about the downtown site that seemed to make so much more sense, business wise. I kept asking myself how one can make a beautiful restaurant out of such a rotten old bar? But I was still relatively a newcomer. This was Eds science. The other students were as confident as Ed of the outcome. What he could do with an old bar, he was doing with people as well. In many ways, the old funky bar was a mirror image of my own being. With the proper restoring, something fine could be made of it. But it was only after we were five months into the project that I finally was able to catch a glimpse of what would be the finest restaurant in the entire Midwest. The transformation was nothing short of incredible. The work load was enormous, and more than once Ed himself pitched in to lend a sense of camaraderie to our occasionally lagging spirits. I was fast becoming an accomplished electrician, as I totally rewired the place, assembled old chandeliers, and devised ways of installing lights in the dining area, bathrooms, hallways and kitchen areas. Next, I moved on to plumbing, where again Arthur walked me through the basics, and then let me carry on, while he was building a walk-in refrigerator in the basement. The work seemed to never cease. Meanwhile, Ed was working on various recipes for what he had now stated was going to be a Northern Italian accent on the new bistro. His food, wine and conversation kept us inspired, and we were able to work fourteen or more hours a day, and Jimmy and I literally worked, slept and ate at the new location. My relationship with Sherri deteriorated to the point that I had no interest in going home anyway. I had never been so involved in a project in my entire life and had never been so enthusiastic about working. Each day was a new

mystery to be solved, new things to be created and accomplished. We also worked refinishing antique beveled glass mirrors, which were later hung on the walls. It was now becoming clear to me, that the way to get close to Ed was to be of importance to the accomplishment of his visionary project(s). Although it took many months, eventually, the place began to take shape. And then one day, just as a butterfly emerges from a cocoon after months of unseen growth, a jewel of a restaurant emerged from the dust and ruin of a scraggly dive bar. The winter of 76-77 was the most severe I can remember in decades. Temperatures remained well below zero for months at a time. Snow was piled high. And on such a snowy January morning, Sherri gave birth to my son, Gaspar. I missed the birthing by a half hour. I had been asleep on a bench at the club, dead to the world when her call came. The phone rang 25 times or more before I was shaken from my sleep. There was a blizzard, with snow blinding ones vision, and the roads were a mess. When I finally arrived, little Gaspar had already arrived. My absence at this event was the last straw and relations were severed once and for all. It was the dead of winter, and we were tentatively scheduled to open in two more weeks, but the dining area was impossible to heat, for every time the front door opened, huge gusts of cold wind would blow in. Ed decided to build an alcove entranceway, to provide a barrier from the weather. Our crew was exhausted. Months of fourteen hour days with no rest, days off or diversion had taken their effect. Talk as much as he would, Ed could not inspire us for this one last act. So, Ed screamed out, Screw it, Ill do it myself! Seeing this musician, artist, chef, connoisseur of all things fine and wonderful, pitch in with such fury, was an inspiration in itself. I joined in as did another fellow good with wood and the three of us built the most beautiful entranceway I had ever seen and in 36 hours non-stop! This was the grand finale of what was truly a massive effort. Every member of the scene had contributed to the effort. Some of the ladies had sewn together gorgeous velvet curtains. The list of achievements was unending. Everybody had their heart and soul in the transformation and everyone had grown behind it. But a room, no matter how enchanting cannot make a great restaurant. That requires not only ambiance but service and great cuisine. Ed announced that he himself would be the head chef. That insured the great cuisine angle, but what about service? He held a meeting for prospective waiters and waitresses, and gave them all a meal which was indicative of what cuisine his restaurant would feature. Some of the candidates were former members of the scene, others had been on the periphery and still others were totally ignorant of the concepts that bound all of us together. Jimmy and I were doing cleanup work in the room, while this meeting was held. All the prospective service people were smartly dressed and eager to negotiate

terms for employment, while Jimmy and I looked on in our dirty blue jeans, wondering what our next project would be and only minimally interested in the meeting at hand. After the meal, Ed described the nature of the new restaurant, the cuisine, the classical music that would be played exclusively, and what he expected of the service personnel. At that point, one of the prospects brought up the money question. How much will we be paid by the hour? he wanted to know. My people dont work by the hour, never have and never will, was Eds unhesitating and crushing reply. Are you saying that we wont be getting any hourly wage? they grumbled, shaking their heads incredulously. Hell, youll make plenty of money in tips, and besides, if you cant get someone to work for nothing, you sure as hell cant get them to work for money either! Ed rebuked them sharply. One by one, the prospective service people got up and left, grumbling and shaking their heads, saying that he would never find a staff. Soon, only Jimmy and I remained in the room with el Maestro. We both wondered what Ed was going to do. All the rest of the staff was busy running the coffeehouse, jazz club and health food store. There was nobody left to wait tables. So at that point, Ed turned to us and said with a wolfish gin on his face, I guess you fellows will be the waiters. I didnt want any females on the serving floor anyway. Jimmy and I were amazed and perplexed. Since this was an order from our teacher, we could not refuse, and yet the idea of serving food with a background of classical music, wearing suits and polished shoes, was not our inclination, to say the least. Nonetheless, we reluctantly agreed to give it our best effort. If the physical work on the restaurant had been a transformation on our being, the next phase as waiters was even more so. Ed explained that he wanted us to report to work two hours before opening every day to assist the food preparation in the kitchen, so that we would be intimately familiar with the dishes, and their ingredients. Furthermore, there was to be no written menu. The waiters would recite the dishes to the customers. And to keep our minds extra sharp, no paper or pencil was to be seen in the dining room. All orders were to be taken mentally and only written down later at the waiters station. And this was all the more difficult given that we smoked a huge bowl of Lebanese red hashish right before opening every evening. This last concept insured that the job would not get boring, if there had been any doubts in the first place. Jimmy and I were given separate apartments on the second floor of the building, and a few days later, we opened for business. The only good news in all this, seemed to be that we would be closed on Sundays and Mondays, and so at least there would be a moment of rest, which we had not experienced for so many months.

CHAPTER SEVEN Further development Once the physical part of the restaurant was finished, I had a few moments for amorous activities, and soon forged a new relationship with a young lady named Kim, a reliable student who lived across the street from the jazz club. Kim was tall and thin, and was a total love making machine. We made love in phone booths, driving down the highway, wherever we happened to be and the weirder the place the more Kim seemed to like it. Kim was also a great friend of Eds newest first lady at that time, Katie, and as the new restaurant began to take the shape of a viable business, Ed, Katie, Kim and myself began to meet at 2:30 to 3:00 in the morning in the privacy of Eds home, the Point. Ed and Katie would turn out new recipes that the maestro was constantly improvising in anticipation of the next culinary marvel to later be featured as a specialty of the evening, at Mozarts, the name Ed had chosen for the restaurant. Finally, I had the long desired access to Ed, as I was now a proven and valuable ally to the scene. We would discuss topics on any range of subjects from psychology and philosophy to details of the newly emerging restaurant, food, wine, music and art just to name a few. Together we formed an inner circle that was not only uplifting and creative but regenerative. I was able to spend much more time with Ed, to see how the man actually existed on a moment to moment basis. I realized that he had as many sides as a multi-faceted diamond, each revealing yet another part of himself and the Truth which he embodied. In addition, Ed began taking me in the afternoons, as his assistant when buying antique furniture and or building materials, not to mention oriental carpets. I learned an immense amount on these forays. His ability to drive a bargain was relentless. Often times he wore me out, just as a bystander with his heavy handed bargaining. But the psychological lessons gathered, at this time were invaluable, to my own understanding of human psychology. Some of the most valuable information gleaned at this time were the contacts in the food service industry, for soon Ed also allowed me to accompany him in supplying all the restaurants needs. More importantly he taught me the ability to choose and find top quality fish, meat and vegetables. As always, he was able to extract the best prices out of vendors, often times causing them to speak badly of him when I would later return alone. Again, I was the unwitting trainee who would later be the manager and buyer of all the goods at the restaurant, but of this future function, I was totally unaware, being content to just accompany the maestro wherever he went.

If all the business locations of the scene were characterized by the presence of stained glass lamps and windows, espresso coffee machines and fine foods, the master and students were also recognizable by an unspoken dress code. Standard for all were the French berets. The women wore them in various colors, from white, pink, baby blue to mustard color, while the men all wore either black, dark brown or dark blue. The men also wore their hair in long pony-tails and sported beards after the fashion of Ed himself. In addition, the Cadillac and especially the limousine, was the car of choice. Ed kept a fleet of old 60s model Caddy limos, many just bought for parts to keep the others running. Thus, from a distance, any male student could be taken for Ed himself. I always felt a certain degree of pride when people would address me as though I were actually Ed. Ed even bought a Cadillac hearse as our pick-up and delivery vehicle for supplies. In truth, Ed cared very little for vehicles at all. The Cadillac routine was just part of his act. And though he was somewhat tight with his money, and decidedly against paying any of the students, cash for any reason, he was generous in other ways. For example, he was constantly buying us clothing, as he visited all the second hand clothing shops, where he had contacts with all the workers to put aside any item made of silk, cashmere, cotton linen, etc. As a result, such items never hit the shelves, and instead were funneled directly to Ed, who bought them all regardless of size or style. As a result, Ed kept us dressed very smartly, as well as himself and as always at bargain prices. Additionally, he would often give us goods on permanent loan. This helped him store his excess carpets, lampshades and other antiques at the student residences, where at least they could be put to good use at the same time as they were being stored. Furthermore, due to an agreement he had made at the local food market, under which he bought an entire fruit and vegetable stand out every Saturday, every member of the scene was given a food box with fresh fruits and veggies. But the greatest gift of all, and that which bound us all together was his knowledge and being, and to which no price tag could be put and any student worth his salt was immensely aware of this fact at every moment . The sexual needs of all were more than taken care of. The ladies had access to Ed himself, although the first lady always had the most of this. The men had the female students, which numbered four to one over the men. There was no doubt in my mind, that once a woman had been with Ed, she was an entirely changed and even supercharged woman. Lovemaking, as with music, interior design and cuisine were arts that Ed had mastered to the fullest extent and through the ladies, the men gained knowledge and direct experience of this wonderful human sacrament. Ed nourished the student on every level. And in return, we gave our best in labor and attentiveness, the only fruits we had to offer. The grand opening of Mozarts was characteristic of the Moss way of doing business. There had been no advertising, there was not even a sign out front, but the word was out nonetheless. The dining

room sparkled and was a marvel to the eye and ear, with Vivaldi, Bach, Mozart and Chopin forming the audio background, the mirrors, sparkling glass and candles forming the visual impressions feeding the senses. Marvelous aromas wafted in from the kitchen. Jimmy and I were dressed in expensive dark suits, with open collars, as was Arthur Q, a great sax and clarinet player in his own right, a musical instrument repairman, long time friend and student of Ed who would preside over the Italian espresso machine, and double as the doorman. Sherri and another lady worked in the kitchen under Eds supervision. Bruce, Kims ex-husband, washed dishes and doubled as bartender. The anticipation of the first customers felt like an electric charge in the very atmosphere. My first table was a foursome, an owner of another restaurant and his wife, a friend and his date, who was a former student from the scene. I worked the table and found it difficult to hide my nervousness. I had never been a waiter, nor had I ever considered that being an excellent waiter required specialized skills as with any other art. The cocktails, appetizers and salads went relatively smoothly. But the entrees were a few minutes behind as Ed was working out some of the kinks in the system. The foursome made another inquiry as to their entrees just as Ed was placing them on the plates. I attempted to carry the four plates at once, which is no great feat for the experienced but, never having practiced, I didnt have it together. First, one plate started to fall. Then I dropped the two in my other hand to try and save the first. Finally, the fourth hit the ground as well. The sound of crashing plates could be heard all the way into the dining area. I was humiliated beyond words. I thought Ed was going to begin a tirade of shouting and even worse embarrassment yet. But he looked into my face, saw that I was already punished enough from my own inner feelings and merely turned to his assistants and said, alright, lets put that order together again, much to my shock and relief. Back in the dining area, the former student who was among the party I was waiting upon, seeing the ashen look on my face, said, Those were our dinners, werent they! to which I admitted they were, and she laughed sarcastically and said, I knew it!. I brought them a round of free drinks, and eventually pulled myself together, and later successfully served the tasty entrees which Ed had made over again. He never brought up the subject again, but I never forgot it. Jimmy, my fellow waiter, friend, neighbor, brother and wood-working instructor, suggested that we eat lunch in the famous four-star restaurant downtown, just to see how other professionals did their job. It was a great suggestion, and the next day we did just that with our respective girlfriends in tow. The food and wine were excellent, but I paid more attention to the maitre d, head waiters and in particular to our waitress, who was an elderly, yet elegant, and exceptionally professional woman. I mentioned to her that we were waiters ourselves, and that she was giving us a grand lesson, to which she replied with an air of seriousness, Being a great waiter or waitress is an art, not a job! You have

to make every customer feel important, like they are the queen of England or the President. I try to never let someone leave the restaurant who doesnt feel much better about themselves after I have waited on them, she told us with a continued stern look on her face. A year later, in a friendly conversation with the owner of that establishment after he had become a loyal patron of ours, I related this conversation to him. He told me that the older woman who had given me that valuable lesson on the art of waiting tables, was a multi-millionaire in her own right, who merely worked at his restaurant as a hobby, arriving to work in a chofer driven Mercedes!. The upshot of it was, that we learned to carry ourselves with an air of importance, professionalism and confidence that would at once comfort and put at ease the wealthy and self-confident customers, and equally so, intimidate the meek and insecure. About a week after our opening, we were unknowingly visited by critics from the large local newspaper, and the following morning edition was a highly favorable review of our new bistro on the front page. That evening when we went to open the doors at 6:00 pm, there was already a long line out front waiting to get in, and from that time on, we generally had plenty of business, especially on the weekends. Rapidly, the name Mozarts became synonymous with the finest in dining experiences. Once Ed had demonstrated the procedures for food preparation along the lines he demanded in the kitchen long enough, Debby, his main assistant, took over as head chef and Sherri became the trusted assistant. But all was not smooth and easy. The pressure to maintain the quality expected of such a first class restaurant was enormous. Ed resumed playing piano at the club, and each evening he would come for a late meal at the new bistro. Often times the staff was exhausted and so he agreed to close the restaurant at 12 midnight, much to everyones relief. However, a week after this rule was implemented, he and his lady arrived for dinner at five minutes past midnight, hungry as bears. Jimmy informed Debby, who had just finished shutting down the kitchen ovens and grill, that Ed was present for his dinner. Debby replied, The kitchen is closed. Its not a customer, its el Maestro, Jimmy told her, with a twinkle of love and respect in his eye. I dont care who the hell it is, the kitchen is closed! Debby replied adamantly. Jimmy reported this discussion to me, and I told him that I would cook for Ed myself, but Debby remained defiant. She was a forceful lady and although she was captain of the kitchen and thus highly respected, she was clearly overstepping her bounds. Jimmy told her to go home for the night, but she threw herself in front of the stove, as if to prevent anyone else from using her kitchen. Jimmy grabbed her arms, and I grabbed her legs and we took her to the back door, even as she struggled, and we deposited her outside. Then we returned to cook and serve Ed his dinner, without disclosing to him the events that

had just transpired. This was a Friday night, and everyone assumed that with a healthy nights sleep, Debby would be ready for the heavy Saturday night crowd that would inevitably follow. But at five oclock, Saturday afternoon when the staff began to assemble, neither Sherri nor Debby could be found. I called Ed on the phone to report their absence and he told me to keep him posted. Everyone else was too busy to wonder where they might be, but by a quarter to six that evening, with the restaurant about to open and every table with multiple reservations throughout the evening, we were without a chef or an assistant. Panic was in the air, and I called Ed and explained the predicament. He and Kate, his new first lady, arrived a few minutes later, and the crisis was averted for the moment. Then, at 1:00 in the morning we received a call from Oklahoma. It was Sherri, drunk as a skunk. She explained that she and Debby were headed for greener pastures in California, and asked me if I had checked my bedroom yet, and then hung up the phone. I went to my apartment upstairs from the restaurant, and there I found my baby daughter sleeping in my bed, with a note attached saying, Here is our daughter, she likes you better than me, so, you can take care of her. Actually, I was glad that she had not taken little Jesse, but I was worried about the fate of my son, Gaspar whom she had taken. No love was lost, as far as I was concerned, as the new relationship with Kimberly was now the big deal in my emotional life. There seemed to be no shortage of beautiful and talented women on the Ed Moss scene and Kimberly was exemplary of manyattractive, wild, semi-disciplined, sensitive and predictably non-predictable. By the time, of Sherri and Debbies rather abrupt departure, my relationship with Kim was such that we were ready to live together. I had been spending almost every night at her place anyway, even if I kept my clothing at my apartment above the restaurant. Now with little Jesse, it seemed appropriate to just move in without any further delay. Kim had a daughter two weeks older than Jesse and she was a good mother, from all I had seen. She was also pregnant, with my child, so she claimed, and thus little Jesse and I moved into Kims little house, across the street from the jazz club. Kate became the new head chef and another lady named Sheila, who was also a jazz drummer, became the assistant chef, and the restaurant continued to function in great form. By now I was the de facto manager, buying all the supplies, overseeing schedules and meeting with representatives of the wine industry who would bring their wares for tasting and approval. Soon our wine list was the most extensive and incredible in town with some 300 French, Italian, Spanish, and Chilean wines. We carried not one American bottle in the extensive listings. When asked about this anomaly by customers, we would bluntly reply, We serve no American food, why bother with their wine? Both Jimmy and myself were written up often in the local newspapers as being the most arrogant and intimidating waiters ever seen in a local restaurant, and soon the service was as famous, if for different

reasons, as the food and restaurant itself. Both the cuisine and the service were subject of countless newspaper critiques. Life proceeded as one glorious day was succeeded by yet another. Ed moved a harpsichord into a corner of the restaurant and occasionally he would play sonatas to the late night diners or desert crowd in between breaks at the jazz club. Shortly after the birth of Kims baby, Sherri returned to town, somewhat chagrined for having betrayed us all. Debby, on the other hand never again showed her face in the city. Then a few weeks after her return, Sherri while visiting some friends from the old candle commune one evening, slipped on some ice very late at night, and fell cracking her skull, with little Gaspar in her arms. The crying of the baby alerted the residents, and rushing outside, they found the unconscious body of Sherri lying in a pool of blood. An ambulance was called, and Sherri was hospitalized, remaining in a coma for several weeks. Thus, Gaspar came to live with Kim, myself and the other kids. We were two adults, with four kids, living in a one bedroom home, and Kim and I decided to find residence more suitable to our needs. Kim discovered a large rundown house a few miles away. All the windows were boarded over, the paint was peeling, the house was on the verge of being condemned but we decided it was perfect for our needs, and a great project to undertake. At this point, I had become gifted with the vision to see what possibilities such a place had, now that I knew the arts of rehabilitation learned at Arthurs house and at the restaurant. Mr. Moss gave his enthusiastic approval as well, and we secured a loan from a benevolent patron of the restaurant. Although the purchase price was absurdly low it was still well beyond our non-savings. We moved in between Christmas and New Years Day at the end of 1977. The house had nice grounds, and in the spring, we planted extensive gardens, one of roses and one of herbs, both of which were to prove invaluable to the restaurant. The roses were used to adorn the tables, and (pinned to) the waiters and the herbs only heightened the culinary qualities of an exceptional kitchen. It was in this new home that I began experimenting with cooking myself, and soon, Kim, the kids and I were eating basically the same great food as was being served in the restaurant, but right in our home. Simultaneously, an enormous inner change was taking place and it was a transformation leading me closer towards the Real I and Individuality that my soul craved. We enjoyed a sumptuous lifestyle, which included wonderful meals, select wines, the absolute best in live jazz music and intense friendship and the epicenter of it all came from none other than Ed Moss himself. All this plus several years of prosperity, relative stability and fun had been the result of crossing that line in the sand. I could never have imagined it so good!! This was the golden era of Moss years as a teacher, and he was at one of his pinnacles of success, as the true Renaissance Man.

There were some interesting anecdotes worth mentioning, in this brief history of the restaurant and the Ed Moss scene of the 1970s. I was told the following story by several of the older students, as this event happened before my arrival on the scene. Ed had an esoteric bookstore, which later became the Golden Triangle Coffee House. One day he announced a ten lesson course on LOVE. The first nine lessons consisted of readings, poetry and discussions about the various aspects of love. Then for the grand finale, the people came in and sat down and the curtain remained closed.....when the mini theater was totally filled, the curtain was drawn and there on a bed in the middle was Ed Moss and a beautiful red headed woman laying completely nude, side by side. For the next hour they made love in every conceivable position and nothing was omitted. Not a word was spoken. After the grand finale, the curtain was closed and that was the end of the course. Mr. Moss had a distinct dislike of perfume or strong colognes and if he were eating or even sitting in the restaurant, he would have us remove any patrons that were guilty of this offense to his olfactory senses. Whoever be the waiter of the offending table, had the thankless and unpleasant task of informing the malodorous patron that they were being asked to leave the premises, and that there would be no charge for the food or beverages that they had consumed. When they inquired why they were being asked to leave, we explained on account of the perfume which is making the owner sick to his stomach along with the admonition not to cause a big scene but to rather leave as though they were finished anyway. Likewise, those patrons that spoke disapprovingly of Mr. Moss while he was eating were immediately ejected from the bistro, again without paying their tab. If they made inquiries, we explained, Boss orders, now get out. One incident stands out in my mind as exemplary of the ends that Mr. Moss would go to prove a point to an unwitting customer, not to mention on the students themselves. It was a late Tuesday evening, and Ed and his woman Kate had begun to cook their own special dinner in the back, and were just sitting down to enjoy some shrimps and white Burgundy wine. I had the door keys in my hand and was only seconds from locking the front door when a man, his wife and two college age sons appeared in the entranceway. I explained that the restaurant was closed for the night and that they should try another evening, somewhat earlier. The man then made the unfortunate remark that he knew that all restaurants have food sitting around in the back, that is leftover, and that he and his family would be willing to have some at an appropriate discount. I explained that this was not such an establishment, and that all meals were prepared per order, which they were, and furthermore, I tried to usher them back out the door, lest Mr. Moss overhear such insults to his kitchen. But the man was insistent, and repeated the same assertion that all restaurants were the same with respect to food sitting around in the back. This time Moss jumped up from his table. Let them in, he spoke in a tone that

all the staff knew from experience belied a false graciousness. We really are closed, he continued in the same vain, but as the owner of this establishment, I will personally prepare you a fabulous meal, if youll be willing to pay me what you think it is worth! That sounds wonderful the man responded winking to his wife and sons, in a conspiratorial manner, and thinking that he had gotten one over on us. I looked at Jimmy and Arthur Q, and all three of us knew we were in for it now. Jimmy shook his head, and said, Oh shit, under his breath. Mr. Moss left his half eaten appetizer and headed for the kitchen, where he donned a chefs apron, rolled up his sleeves and went to work. For two and a half hours, he cooked them one delight after another, giving them the best the restaurant had to offer. Appetizer assortments, soups, the best salads, an assortment of the best entrees, different wines for each course, followed by pastries, cappuccino and espresso and a round of liquors for everyone and all this for a cheapskate looking for a bargain. When the grand parade of culinary delights was finally over, the man asked for his bill, and Mr. Moss had us figure out the actual cost we would have charged any of our patrons. It came to some $250. The man and his wife, who had been praising each new delight that arrived, as the best they had ever tasted, which had been the truth, no doubt, were now indignant at what in their opinions was such an outrageous price. They got up from their table grumbling and the man reluctantly took out a $50 bill, which to him was the ultimate affront to his finances and laid it on the table and turning to his family said, Come on were leaving. Mr. Moss began to follow them to the door, berating them and informing them that the $50 would not even cover the tip. Jimmy and I just hoped they would leave. It was now very late in the evening. But as they headed through the unlocked door, Moss grabbed the Cashmere sport coat of the youngest son, who also happened to be the last one out, and pushed him out the door and locked it all in one swift motion. Jimmy, Art Q and I stood there in disbelief. The man began beating on the door, along with his wife, who threatened to call the police. Moss shouted back that they wouldnt get the coat till they paid the bill in full. Then the lady and her sons left to phone the police. The old man kept pounding on the door and yelling at Mr. Moss. I had seen Mr. Moss play many a strange role to make a point, but nothing prepared me for what followed next. Finally, Moss went out in front of the restaurant without the coat. He got down on all fours and began circling the man and barking and growling like a mad dog. Round and round he went, while the man became rapidly stricken with terror, not knowing what this madman might do next. He kept spinning around, trying to focus on the circling figure of Moss barking and even snapping at him like a rabid dog on all fours. About two minutes before the police arrived, Mr. Moss, who must have smelt them coming, returned through the front door, straightened

his ascot, and put on his dinner jacket, and brought his being into a state of total and perfect composure. Meanwhile, as the police arrived, the old man had totally lost it. He was literally foaming at the mouth and unable to even describe the humiliation he had suffered. He was spitting and sputtering foam on the policemen and on his family as well. The police then, in an attempt to unravel the matter, asked Mr. Moss what seemed to be the matter. In the calmest and most professional manner, he explained that the family before them had just eaten a $250 dinner, and had barely left enough money for a tip, let alone paying the bill. Furthermore, he admitted to having secured the Cashmere coat, until the bill was settled. He showed the police their tab, and the $50 bill they had left. He said he was holding the coat in good faith. The police, siding with the cool and calm Mr. Moss, forced the man to write a check for the full amount of $250, and the $50 bill went to Jimmy and me. Then Moss, having ceremoniously folded the check and having placed it in his pocket, graciously returned the coat, but told them to never show their faces again, as though such an admonition be necessary. While this was one of the most extreme cases, there were countless others, where Mr. Moss asserted and defended his Art. Somehow he actually seemed to enjoy encounters with the local gendarmes, and they inevitably sided with Ed in most disputes. The golden era finally came to an end, nonetheless. The food store was closed and the coffee house was next. This left only the jazz club and the restaurant. Arthur dropped out of the scene, although he continued to do odd refrigeration jobs for the restaurant but on a cash-only basis. One day, I realized that Kims last baby, delivered by Kate and myself was not in fact of my blood, and so we decided to have another, and in 1980 at a birthing party attended by almost all the members still active on the scene, Eliza was born. It was a festive occasion. Not long after this, Kate delivered her own child. However, she left town shortly thereafter. Kim became increasingly disenchanted with the scene in general and with Mr. Moss in particular, and especially so after the departure of her close friend and ally, Kate. This placed me in a difficult situation. We had five kids now, and my time was totally consumed by the restaurant. No progress had ever been made on rehabbing our home, which looked much the same as the day we had purchased it. The walls were crumbling, the windows leaked cold air and the house was impossible to clean. With the kids getting older, Kim had less and less time to offer the scene. The little girls were starting school. We were chronically short of funds, even if we did eat very well. I had developed an ulcer from the pressures, long hours, and heavy work load, not to mention the high consumption of wine, coffee and liquor. And nothing seemed to heal it, as long as I kept up my normal routine. Mr. Moss began to withdraw from all the students, except his newest first lady, Chrissie, and he even began talking of selling the jazz club, which seemed unthinkable to those

of us who felt it to be the very epitome of the scene. I felt caught between two opposing forces, my loyalty to Ed Moss and that of my family, and I was getting squeezed in the middle. Something had to give. CHAPTER 8 In Which Change Was in the Wind By the middle of 1980, the pressure for change was mounting. Mr. Moss announced the sale of the club, which had been the heartbeat of the scene. I was often unable to work due to back pains and the ulcer in my gut. Finally, in the summer of 1981, I decided my time on the scene must come to an end. While I knew that I lacked many aspects of my spiritual development, my years under Mr. Moss had wrought great changes within me and I was a far different man than I had been when I had returned to the states six years earlier to join Moss school. It was time to take my gains and make my own life now. Besides, I was sure that the things I still lacked were not to be found in Moss scene. His teachings would form a strong foundation for further development, and what Ed Moss had taught me was indispensable for any further advancement. Some seven years earlier, Guayo, the old sage from Lake Atitln in Guatemala, had advised me to straighten out my city problems, before I could learn anything of mystical Indian knowledge. My time with Mr. Moss had accomplished at the very least that. Having made all the necessary steps to achieve it, I no longer had to run from the city, not knowing if I could make it there or not. Having come to the city, ignorant and weak in its ways, I had become strong and knowledgeable. Under Moss careful guidance and discipline, I had become proficient in the city arts of food, music and construction, electric and plumbing. And finally, I had gained tremendous insights into the nature of the male-female relationship that had formerly eluded my comprehension. Kim was overjoyed with my decision to leave the scene. She even agreed to accompany me along with the children on a vacation to Mexico. We purchased a second-hand VW camper and with funds borrowed from Kims dad, and we headed south of the border. I suppose Kim and I had vastly divergent ideas about what a vacation was. I was eager to visit Huautla and other Indian villages, whereas Kim wanted to see resorts like Acapulco, and lay on the beach sipping margaritas. We tried to do both. The road to Huautla had not changed one bit from 1968, and in fact our vehicle was so shaken up on the road, that we were forced to spend three weeks in Oaxaca while the motor was rebuilt. There were no mushrooms even available at the time and Kim couldnt tolerate the conditions in Huautla, whereas I would have like to stay forever. Eventually, after the vehicle was repaired, we did make it to Acapulco, and at least for Kim, the entire vacation was not a bust. But our

relationship had definitely formed a crack and might have ended immediately upon our return, if not for her becoming pregnant once again. The van broke down again on the way back to Texas in northern Mexico, and we wound up selling it and hitch-hiking to Brownsville, Texas where we caught a flight back home. We arrived back in the city, penniless, without any vehicle, and I was without work or income. Ed Moss lent us the Cadillac hearse, and in return, I delivered the vegetables and fruits to the restaurant every Saturday, and I began a small produce business right out of my home with the goods that the restaurant could not use. At least we had food on the table. But things remained tense between Kim and me. She wanted money and a man who would bring home respectable income. I could not see working a job for anyone, and was really at a loss as to how to rectify the situation. I was patiently waiting for some direction in which to go and then out-of the sky fell a gift from the Gods, in the form of a mason jar filled with Psilocybin cubensis mushroom mycelia.......I cloned the first jar and made 12 more from it......I could envision mushrooms off into infinity. I grew them in mason jars, on brown rice, following the footsteps of other West coast mycophiles before me, most notably Terrence and Dennis McKenna and Paul Stammets.. What started off first as a hobby, slowly evolved into a business and soon blossomed into a major enterprise. Using basically equipment that was on hand anyway, I grew several cases of jars of mushrooms. Then with the proceeds of the sales of these, I purchased many more cases of empty jars, which enabled much larger quantities to be grown. With the sales of these new cases, the business began to get organized and moved from an amateur hobby into a full blown operation. Cash began to flow into the house like rain in a storm. I converted a room in the attic into my factory. After exhausting all local stores of their supplies of new mason jars, I began ordering 1000 case lots direct from the jar manufacturer. I purchased the largest pressure cookers available so that I could make over 100 jars a day, versus the ten to fifteen I had made in the initial stages of the operation. But no matter how many jars of mushrooms I grew, I could never keep up with the demand. I taught several friends, mostly former students of Mr. Moss, how the process worked, and set them up with pressure cookers, jars and rice. Within six months, the enterprise was rolling along like a small corporation. There was so much cash around, that I hired a full time crew of five to help me rehab our house, and hired a lady full time just to wash old mason jars, fill them with rice and cook them so that I could later grow mushrooms in them. I discovered that annual rye grass seed was a far superior medium than the brown rice and less than a fourth the cost, and soon I was purchasing grass seed by the ton from local landscaping distributors.

As the money poured in, Kim and I seemed to have smoothed over the rough spots in our relationship, but in truth it was only a cosmetic fix. Nonetheless, I was as busy as I had been during the arduous years on the scene, and content to let family affairs work themselves out. At one point, there was a crew working inside doing walls and woodwork, and a second crew, sandblasting the painted brick exterior, a third crew taking measurements to replace all the windows and a fourth making estimates for rebuilding to original the slate roof and box gutters. The latter crew also agreed to install huge windows in the roof, to make it easier to grow things in the attic. And the business just rolled on and on. I had stained glass windows made to fill the vacant spaces where once the same had existed. I bought a large farm down south where I envisioned our family moving to within a relatively short time. Our home began to take on the appearance of a fully restored Victorian home, and soon we added gorgeous oriental carpets and antique furniture as finishing touches. Every evening was yet another celebration of the days achievements, and often times banquets were held as Kim and I would host magnificent meals. Mr. Moss remained a close friend and I made the herb garden available to his needs at the restaurant. Unfortunately, there was little or no time to actually use the mushrooms for their intended purpose. Neither myself, nor virtually any of the customers who bought them by the shopping bag full, were using them for spiritual enlightenment. Perhaps that would explain how this express train to financial success came to a crashing end. One day the local police came and raided the house looking for marijuana. I did have a small patch growing in the back yard, but then they discovered the mushroom factory, and soon I was in the news again. The great mushroom factory came to a close, and I was sentenced to fourteen months in prison. It was a time for much personal reflection and soul searching. A month after my arrest, Kim delivered another baby girl named Gabriela, and although things went relatively well until the time of my actual imprisonment the following year, the new situation was more than Kim could support on any level. About five months into my sentence, she withdrew emotionally and psychologically from our relationship. The whiff of money being gone from her man, she decided to end our roller-coaster relationship. Shortly after my release from prison, Mr. Moss announced the famed restaurant was being put up for sale. All the students had left except for Arthur Q, and Jimmy and Mr. Moss wanted out of public life, teaching and the pressures that both entailed. I attempted to get some of the former students together to buy the place, as equal owners, and to run it much the same as before, with some changes in the service and advertising angles, which hopefully would bring back the business that the bistro had formerly enjoyed. I mentioned this to Kims younger brother, who was engaged to one of the

wealthiest ladies in the city, and he was most interested. In fact he wanted to be the sole owner, and his fiance had the cash to put the deal together. Moss gave me permission to broker the sale, while he was out of town, and by the time he returned, it was a done deal. Mr. Moss was out, I was the manager once again, and now I worked for a young kid who knew nothing of art, cuisine, or even business, despite having married into enormous wealth. I continued working for Kims younger brother for about eight to nine months, when suddenly I could play the charade no longer. Rather than improve things on the home front, working for Kims younger brother had only seemed to exacerbate an already delicate situation, and one day when I came home from work, Kim had moved out taking her four daughters to her moms place. My two kids born of Sherri were visiting their mom for a month down in Florida. When they returned to find their step-mom and half-sisters gone, a few weeks later they were emotionally devastated. I had reached one of those crossroads in life, from which I was destined to find new ground, and move on towards my goal of spiritual development. I needed to get on the new track and do it quickly and profoundly. I turned to the mushrooms for consultation and planned for several weeks as to where, when and how I would ingest them to maximize their effect and thereby get back on the road of the warrior, that I had all but abandoned just trying to survive in the city and provide for my family. All during the period of growing and selling mushrooms, I had eaten them from time to time, but had received almost no benefits from them, due to the frivolous manner in which I had taken them. I was determined to never make such a mistake again. I decided that I would eat them alone, at night, and that I would fast for four days to purify my body and spirit. I chose the summer solstice of 1985 as the time for this event. Don Juan said that there were certain days or times of the year that were more profitable for such endeavors than other times were. Definitely, the summer solstice was a special time of the year. Finally, I needed a special location. I had read in various books that there was a place in Adams County, Ohio called Serpent Mound. Built around 800 BC by the Adena Indians, it was definitely a sacred ceremonial site, and I connected the serpent effigy with the cult of Quetzalcoatl that had been so prominent in the ancient Mexican cultures. I was sure that some connection existed and I aimed to discover what it might be if I could. I made a preliminary trip by car to the place, two weeks before the solstice in order to familiarize myself with the monument and determine how best to achieve my goal of celebrating the solstice there, without invoking the wrath of state officials who guarded the park surrounding the Serpent Mound. I drove to Serpent Mound, appearing like any tourist, walked through the park, ventured into the little museum, and climbed the tower built next to the serpent for viewing purposes. Serpent Mound is just what the name suggests; a mound some four to five meters high and six meters wide,

fashioned in the shape of a snake, with its tail coiled and its mouth open, and about to eat an egg. The structure is so huge, that standing next to it, gives one no indication whatsoever as to what it could be. Thus a tower was erected which makes viewing of the entire monument possible and identifiable. From the tip of the tail to the mouth it runs some 360 meters, so this structure is truly immense and must have been an important undertaking for the Indians who constructed it more than 2000 years earlier. The day I went there for the preliminary investigation, was a weekday and there were only a handful of tourists. It was a sunny June afternoon, and I leisurely strolled through the park, and walked the entire length of the serpent itself. I climbed the tower for the overview and spent about an hour in the museum, reading literature and browsing. I learned that archaeologists had determined that the serpent had symbolized the Creator of the Universe, and that the egg, which the serpent was about to swallow was a representation of the entire Universe. So, this monument then, was an architectural painting of God, swallowing or consuming his own Creation. An interesting theory, I mused. I intuitively recognized links to the God called Quetzalcoatl, who had been central to the ancient Mexican cultures of the Olmecs, Toltecs, Mayas and lesser degree, the Aztecs. That the American Indians had erected this mound, at much the same time period as the building of the Quetzalcoatl pyramids in Mexico, could have been no coincidence in my thinking, and there was evidence in the museum, that I was not alone in my assumptions. After several hours, I left the site, convinced that my choice for location was the best possible one in the Midwestern US, and that the summer solstice was indeed the best time for my ceremony. I needed only to prepare myself, and if anything was possible to be gained, I would find it that night. In the weeks leading to the summer solstice, I read and pondered over the latest three Carlos Castaneda books that had recently been published, as an aid to orientate myself into the proper frame of mind. I prayed each evening for guidance on my upcoming ceremony. Then on June 18, four days before the solstice, I began to fast, which was made far more difficult, for being still involved with the restaurant. Nonetheless, I was single minded in my goal, and even the aroma of gourmet food could not deter me. On the appointed evening, June 22, 1985, I drove up to Serpent Mound, but instead of driving into the park, I drove down an old farm road that went to within a quarter mile of the park area. I found a nice spot to park my VW van, and eyed the mountain that I would be climbing at sunset, about an hour later. I meditated and prayed for about a half hour, and then took out my bag of mushrooms, containing about a quarter pound of fresh San Isidro, (Psilocybe cubensis) mushrooms. They were fresh and potent and equal to about ten doses of psilocybin. Just as the sun was setting, I proceeded to eat them until none remained. I locked the van and headed toward the hill upon which lay the great

Serpent Mound. It took me about 45 minutes to climb up to the park area, and by the time I had reached the top, I could feel the mushrooms beginning to take effect. It was going to be a heavy experience, I could already tell. From the edge of the woods, I noticed that a guard still remained taking a last look to make sure all the tourists were gone. I ducked back into the woods, to avoid being spotted by the guard, and I began feeling tremendous rushes of energy. I wondered if maybe I had eaten a few too many of the mushrooms, but then, there was nothing to be done about it if I had! Finally, the guard appeared to be leaving, as he was walking towards the museum and parking area. I came again to the edge of the clearing, but I encountered a wall of energy which I could not cross. It seemed as if some force were preventing me from going any further, try as I might. Then I realized that I had not bothered to ask permission of the spirits guarding the monument. How could I have been so foolish?, I wondered. I pulled back a few meters from the clearing and got down on my knees, placing my head to the ground in the Muslim prayer position. I took a deep breath and began the following prayer: Great Ones who guard this sacred site, I am but an insignificant being, a mere speck of dust in comparison with You Great Ones, and the Divine Ones who built this monument so many years ago. I ask Your permission to enter this sacred place. I come to learn, to know and to talk with the Great Ones. I ask for strength and power to see what there is to be seen, to know what can be known and I come in the spirit of peace and good will, and not as a common tourist to merely gawk and talk about what might have been and to take pictures only to show others. I am here because I know there is something truly great and Wonderful here and I beg Your Gracious permission to enter these sacred grounds. I remained in this kneeling and head down position waiting for some response from above. I suppose I must have waited some 15 minutes or so, and in fact I felt as though I were in the womb of my mother, so quiet did my spirit become. Then all of a sudden, I heard the sound of a foot stomp only some 12 inches from my head. My eyes had been closed all this time, and now I was terrified that the guard from the park had spotted me and had returned to arrest me. Nonetheless, I opened my eyes and raised my head ever so slightly, expecting the sight of a man in front of me. I was even more shocked at what I did see. There in front of me was a squirrel, kneeling in the exact position that I myself was in, and looking me straight in the eye, with the very same look on his face that I had on mine. We stared at one another for a minute or so, and then with out uttering a sound, the squirrel began to talk to me.

I am your animal spirit. You and I are one. Your Indian name is Kneeling Squirrel. You are in fact an Indian, only that your skin is white. The Great Spirits who guard this sacred place could not admit you, in your present state of mind, if you were not an Indian, if your intentions were not sincere. But in order to enter here, you must have an Indian name, and know of your animal spirit, which is why I have appeared to you at this time. You may enter the sacred area, for the Great Ones have heard your cry and have taken pity upon you. You and I will always be one, and in fact, always have been, even if you were unaware or did not care about this fact. You cannot, however, enter this sacred place in the clothing of a white man. Remove your shoes and all your clothing, and then proceed to the Egg in the Serpents mouth and you will find what you are looking for and what for so many years has eluded you. And with that the squirrel scampered off. I was astonished, and yet enlivened at the same time, and began to shed my clothing as my squirrel spirit had commanded. How natural, I thought to myself. Of course, they werent going to let a white tourist into a sacred place like this. I walked quietly and stealthily through the woods, now naked and barefoot, despite the presence of many rattlers and copperheads in the woods around me. I was not afraid of them, and knew that I was one with all the animals, even the mosquitoes who buzzed nearby, but declined to bite my flesh. I made my way through the woods to the clearing once again, right where the mouth of the snake was poised to swallow the egg. Then, events took an even more bizarre turn. I heard a car horn blowing in the direction of where I had left the VW. What is going on now? I thought to myself. The car kept honking and honking. I was frozen in terror. I was naked, and now I couldnt even find my way back to my clothes. A minute later, I heard a voice on a megaphone saying, This is the State Police.....If you dont come out right now, were gonna tow your car away. They honked two or three more times and repeated the warning on the megaphone. I couldnt have come out if Id wanted to. Stark naked, and so high on mushrooms, that I was passing through one layer of reality after another, I held my ground, and my heart throbbed like an Indian drum, with a deafening roar in my ears. I let myself slip into some other time zone, in which I was being relentlessly pursued by vicious white Indian killers. Most of my people had been killed off, and now I myself was under pursuit, and this was not a joke, but a matter of life and death. Then I heard the sound of two vehicles starting up their motors and a few minutes later, I heard them drive away with my van in tow. I was glad they were gone, and didnt give a hoot as to how I would return home, or ever see my vehicle again. I had more important matters to attend to inside the clearing within the Egg. It was now pitch dark, although the stars were visible everywhere. The crickets and other night insects formed a unified rhythmic pulsing sound. With great trepidation and anticipation, I climbed

onto the Egg, which was some five meters in width and a meter and a half in height. I held my arms to the sky, to beckon the spirits to come to me. What followed next, was the most incredible and astonishing event I had witnessed since that first mushroom voyage nearly twenty years earlier in Huautla de Jimenez, Mexico. CHAPTER 9 In Which the Author gets an ear full and an eye-full I stood there on the center of the Egg, my naked body absolutely still, arms outstretched to the Heavens. I announced to the spirits, I am Kneeling Squirrel and I have come to ask for an audience with the spirits responsible for this construction. My mind and heart were focused and in perfect harmony as I beckoned the spirits to come to my aid. Not knowing what I was to expect in the way of response from the spirits, in truth, a small part of me wondered if all this were just an exercise in futility. I wondered if maybe I were just a crazy old hippie, following an absurd dream, but then, the conversation with the squirrel had certainly been real enough, I reasoned. Then all of a sudden, about 100 feet in the open sky in front of me, forms began to take shape. What first appeared seemed to be something akin to a tribal council except that all the participants were beings that mostly resembled the old gods of Mexico, as depicted in ancient hieroglyphics I had seen in museums and libraries. There was the god of rain, the corn god, the goddess of love, the goddess of fertility; in fact there were some fifteen to twenty of them. Each was dressed in a unique headdress and costume, often with other animals or creatures growing out or forming part of their face, head or chest. At first I stood there in shock and amazement, though I felt no fear whatsoever. After all, I had called them to me, what was there to fear in their timely answer? My mind was definitely split into two sides, which I intuitively deduced as being what Carlos Castaneda referred to as the nagual and the tonal. The nagual was capable of sensing, interpreting and communicating with the spirit world, with those things unseen and unknown by the normal senses. It was outside the normal bounds and constraints of Time and Space, and was obviously of a far higher and all encompassing dimension, than the more rational and limited tonal. The tonal or rational side of my mind, being that which thinks in logical ways based on inputs from the senses of sight, hearing, touch and the accumulation of life experiences that enter into the thinking processes. For perhaps the first time in all my life, I was conscious of these two minds existing simultaneously, side by side, and I was able to shift from one to the other as seemed appropriate. I would have been thrilled to death if this had been the sole achievement of the experience, but that was hardly the case.

Somehow, using the telepathic capacity of the nagual, I communicated that I was thankful that they had consented to appear before me and that I had a particular question to ask of them, that had been tugging at the edges of my tonal mind for over fifteen years. Then I asked them, If in fact Quetzalcoatl would be returning to Earth on August 16, 1987, as had been predicted by the Mayan calendar as well as numerous Mayan and even Native American myths. I wanted to know if there was any truth in the legend or not. There was much talking amongst the gods/spirits, and even some joking and laughter, the meaning of which was lost to me. I repeated my question and even wanted specific instructions as to where he would appear, but to my questions there was only much laughter from the Gods. I began to feel hopeless again. However, eventually, one of them spoke into my mind, the following: Yes, Quetzalcoatl is coming, just as the myths have always maintained, for everything that will happen, has already happened in Eternity. Thats how such prophecies are made. A mortal who catches a glimpse of the Big Picture in Eternity, can see events which will appear to be in the Future, but which in fact are only part of the Eternal now. Is he coming at the Tule tree in Oaxaca, as so many have been led to believe? I questioned further. Again there was much discussion amongst the gods, and more joking and laughter as well. Apparently they were enjoying themselves every bit as much as I was. The answer came in the same manner as the first one, directly into my nagual mind. The truth is that it is of little importance where He arrives. The problem, for Us, is that we have been looking for a candidate to play the part. Again there was laughter, and what I took to be lots of sarcasm being directed at myself. Nonetheless for me, this was far from a laughing matter. It seemed at the time, like the most serious event of my life, discounting of course my first flight into what had surely been the fullest penetration of the nagual during my initial mushroom experience in Huautla. So I posed my next question, This being so, what can I do to assist this great event? I could sire a child, or provide any material aid like money or a place to stay. In fact, I continued, I would do virtually anything the gods/spirits might need or request of me to help this truly great even take place. Then followed more laughter and joking about amongst the spirits. They were obviously enjoying themselves at my expense. The voice that spoke within me continued, Well the truth is, like we were saying, were needing a candidate

Ill do anything. Ill father a child just tell me when and where. Really I want to help! I stammered in response. This time there were howls of laughter. What could be so funny about my questions? I wondered with the tonal side of my mind. We thought you would be our candidate, the voice bellowed within me again, amidst even further laughter. Nothing could have shocked me more than such news. Something just isnt making sense here, I was sure. I can assure all of You, that You must not know me well, for I am a most common person. I have made almost nothing but errors in my short life. There is nothing whatsoever special about me, surely there are hundreds of better candidates around the world, even in the United States. I stammered and protested. The fact is, we have decided on you for some time now, and there is no getting out of it, the voice boomed within me, and the laughter amongst them had subsided for the moment. I really think there is some mistake here, I continued to protest. My tonal mind tried to reconcile the absurdity of their allegations. Maybe I had misunderstood something, or perhaps they had not understood the exact nature of my question. For a moment, I retreated to the tonal and tried to imagine what it might mean to be the Quetzalcoatl. What responsibilities would such a role require? I imagined huge crowds of people flocking around, and parades and many other silly circumstances that in no way appealed to my sense of anonymity, as my tonal mind struggled to grasp these concepts so far beyond its understanding. This game was definitely not for me. One last time, I offered the same words, I really think theres been a mistake here. I will gladly sire and raise a child or help in any other way that I am capable, but what you are asking is really beyond anything I can conceive. Im simply not the one you are looking for, I repeated in my most convincing voice. You will see, the voice of the god/spirit once again spoke inside me. And before We depart, there is something else. You must leave the city at once. You need to live as deeply in the countryside as possible. Find a huge forest and go live there until you hear more from us. Everything will work out youll get the picture soon enough. And then, as suddenly as the vision had appeared, it dissolved and I was left staring into the dark night sky, which was now beginning to cloud over, making things darker than ever. I lingered around the egg for awhile trying to make some sense of all that had just transpired. But the vision was over with. There wasnt going to be any further dialogue at this point. I was left now with the task of finding my clothes in the pitch dark woods, and then somehow I had to walk a very great distance with the hope of recovering my vehicle at some point or at least getting home.

I made my way through the extremely dark woods, as though I had infrared vision, and low and behold, I came upon the spot where what seemed like eons earlier I had discarded my shoes and other clothing. As I began to dress, a slight rain began to fall, but being so hot and sweaty the rain was a welcome refresher. Then I made my way right through the middle of the park, and began walking in the general direction from which I had come in my van, earlier in the day. I walked and walked, past an occasional farm or crossroads, still very much under the effect of the mushrooms, yet much more centered in the tonal than the nagual and its mysteries. I was not really too concerned about my immediate fate. I knew that I would get home somehow, no matter what. I was actually far more preoccupied with my shocking experience back on the egg at Serpent Mound, and all the ramifications of the evenings events. My mouth became very dry for not having eaten for days, and having sweated so profusely during the peak experience back at the Mound. I located an abandoned farm house, which had a leaky gutter, and stood with mouth open to catch a few sips of fresh rain water. I was temporarily relieved of the cotton mouth, and continued on my hike. By around 4:00 am, I had walked some 15 miles, without having seen a living soul. But eventually I came to a small town that I had passed earlier in the day. At the very entrance to the town, I noticed a junk yard full of mostly wrecked or rusted old cars. There on the edge of the lot was a VW van that looked remarkably similar to my own. I went over and checked it out a little more closely. Sure enough, there it was! To find my van, some 15 miles from Serpent Mound at 4:00 in the morning was almost as amazing as much of the rest of the evenings events. I opened the locked door of the van, with a key stashed in my pocket, started up the motor, and drove away. What a night! There hadnt been a dull moment. As I drove home, I began to ponder over the history of Quetzalcoatl as far as I knew. There were various legends and historical data to consider. Quetzalcoatl had definitely been a human being living early in the dawning of the great Toltec civilization which was forerunner to both the Aztecs and Mayas, who appeared and flourished much later. Though he was reported to have been a man, he was said to have had many Divine qualities, and was considered a God by many, much the same as Christ is viewed by many people since His life and death almost 2000 years ago. Some legends held that, it was Quetzalcoatl who had introduced the cultivation of corn, and who had invented the tortilla, the complex end result of the corn crop which later became the staple food for all of Mexico and much of what is now Central America. (In reality the cultivation of corn took several thousand years of selective engineering.)

Endowed with Divine knowledge, he was also thought of as the father of ancient Mexican architecture, the inventor of the Sun Calendar, as well as the originator of both the highly developed written numerical and hieroglyphic notation systems. The former is noted for being the first known mathematical system to make use of the zero, and the latter was used to describe for all posterity, events of their past, the ancient present and the coming future, as well as to codify religious and other moral laws. Also, the glyph writing system, which was later richly developed by both the Aztecs and Mayas, was also attributed to this incredible being. The Mayas referred to Quetzalcoatl as Kukulcn. Most of these claims of course are impossible to have been accomplished by any one individual and so lend credence to the concept of a Quetzalcoatl Consciousness, or a line of teaching with a general name of the Quetzalcoatl Way. The very name Quetzalcoatl is derived from two Nahuatl words. Quetzal is the name of the most distinguished, beautiful and rarest bird found in Guatemala and southern Mexico and whose tail feathers were so highly prized that they became the ultimate currency, each one being worth over 100 ounces of gold. In fact, when the Spaniards invaded in the sixteenth century, the Mexican Indians were stunned to see the conquistadors cast aside the precious hordes of quetzal feathers, in favor of the lesser valued gold caches. The second part of the name comes from the Nahuatl word coatl, meaning serpent or snake. The snake was also greatly venerated by most indigenous peoples and especially the Mexicans. Thus, Quetzalcoatl was in effect the Feathered or Plumed Serpent, combining the wisdom, stealth, potency and nearness to Mother Earth of the serpent, with the beauty, freedom, rarity and highness, (closeness to Heaven) of the quetzal bird. As such, the concept bridged the highest and the lowest in the animal kingdom which the Mexicans and most native people considered to be a reflection of the spirit worlds. In addition, there were legends stating that Quetzalcoatl, as a god was reputed to have originated from the planet Venus, which was known to the early Indians as the Star of the Dawn, hence lending to him the secondary name of the Lord of the Dawn. As a man, he was a builder of magnificent temples, a scholar who taught reading and writing and a priest/king who preached love and peace and many of the same principles as did Jesus of Nazareth. Quetzalcoatl, the man, was said to have departed abruptly by sea to the East, but not without leaving a stern warning to all the Mexican peoples. This was, in brief, that they should always worship and practice the principles of love and good neighborliness which he had striven so long to impress on his subjects. Furthermore, he warned that if the people ever deviated from His teachings, and especially should they take to following Tezcatlipoca, the god of war and human sacrifice, as a way of life and worship, that he, Quetzalcoatl, would personally return and inflict ruin, calamity and destruction on his subjects. Tezcatlipoca was

said to in some way be an evil twin of Quetzalcoatls whose name translates to Smoking Mirror. Quetzalcoatl even predicted the day and year in which this return would occur, which was a day in the complicated calendar that repeated itself only once every 520 years or so. As the Aztecs gained power over nearly all the tribes in Mexico, precisely by disobeying Quetzalcoatls commands and wishes, it is not surprising that their supreme leader, Montezuma was most worried when this magical, once in a millennium day approached during his reign as sovereign over nearly all of Mexico. Nor is it surprising that he would send spies and lookouts to the gulf coast of what is now the state of Vera Cruz, in order to report immediately to the emperor should any sign of the gods arrival be noted. To make matters worse, there had been a comet and an eclipse, two disastrous omens in the Aztec way of viewing the cosmos in the year previous to 1519. Thus when the Spanish conquistador Hernando Cortes showed up on precisely the day predicted centuries earlier by Quetzalcoatl upon his departure, he was able to conquer the numerically superior Aztec armies, almost by force of the legend alone. In addition, Cortes fit Quetzalcoatls physical description definitively, having white skin and a thick black beard as described in the ancient legends. In my own mind, Cortes was Quetzalcoatl, even if this fact was never fully understood by the conquistador himself. That he came at the indicated point in time, defeated the warmongering Aztecs; and ended the practice of human sacrifice was proof enough for me. The gods have strange methods, by which they work their wondrous ways. Furthermore, the legend did not end in 1519 with Quetzalcoatls arrival in Mexico. In fact the Mayan sun Calendar runs to the date of December 21, 2012 in our own time calculations. It was said, in the same calendar, that on August 16, 1987, Quetzalcoatl would again return to the Earth, this time to restore the Indians to their former peaceful and glorious dominance of the Americas. The process was predicted to be difficult and a time of much destruction, sickness and death, but all would be accomplished and peace would reign by the year 2012, for all those who had survived the troubled years between his arrival and the time of peace. It was a strange prophecy, no doubt, but then wasnt the arrival of Cortes in 1519 every bit as far-fetched, given the fact that the Mexican Indians had never seen nor heard of the white man? I speculated that an extraterrestrial landing was just as unlikely, yet still a possible scenario. And at any rate, I only had two more years to wait, as August 16, 1987 was not that far away. All these things were swimming in my head. I also thought about Serpent Mound. Built by the Aeden (pronounced Eden) Indians, and located in Adams County, I could not fail to notice the biblical connections to the serpent in the Garden of Eden. By the time my van reached the house, I had definitely made up my mind about leaving town. I called my boss and gave him the customary two

weeks notice of my intention to leave the restaurant. I knew that it would close forever once I left, but I didnt give a hoot anyway. My kids were visiting their mom again in Florida for the summer, and the following weekend, I drove to a close friends house in the Eastern Kentucky badlands, deep in Appalachia in search of a place to rent. He took me to the perfect place. Located about 25 minutes down a narrow dirt road, it was way back in a holler, (the hillbilly term for the small and narrow valley carved out by a stream), in the Daniel Boone National Forest. The closest neighbor was a mile away in one direction and almost three miles away in the other. The house wasnt much, a small hillbilly home, but it had a great water well and a bonus natural gas well to heat the home for free. The rent was absurdly low, and my new landlord agreed to drive to my city house and help move my furniture and other belongings to the new location with his truck. Ten days later I was moved in, and I was very glad to be out of the city and in the woods where I felt much more myself in any case. CHAPTER TEN A time of Many Changes I spent the first month getting situated to my new surroundings. The mountainous region of southeastern Kentucky is so different from the rest of the United States that I almost felt like I had moved to a new country altogether. The people speak a dialect of the English language that I could barely understand and they had their own customs and protocol which differed sharply from both city and country ways in the rest of the United States. Mountain people are deeply distrustful of outsiders who are commonly referred to as flatlanders, and this being so, it was difficult to develop relationships of any depth with my new neighbors. Even the lay of the land was disorientating with all the mountains, ravines and the twisting and turning roads which made one change directions every few hundred feet. So, I naturally began to focus on my household and immediate grounds, organizing the small and cramped house as best I could, changing the light fixtures over to the stained glass lamps acquired over the years in the life I had left behind. I arranged the kitchen/dining area to my liking and installed a gas clothing dryer to take advantage of the free natural gas. I made a wood chopping block to fit over the washing machine and so the kitchen doubled as a laundry room as well. There being no suitable place for my oriental carpets, I stored them with a friend in the city. With my kids still in Florida visiting their mom, I had several weeks of total peace and calm in which to acclimate myself to the new environment with no real chores or responsibilities, and in the evenings, like most locals, I

would take to settin out on the porch, listening to the night birds and incessant music of the insect world. I played my saxophone, enjoying innovative rhythms as the sound would echo back off the huge mountain in front of the house. I took short hikes into the woods and generally enjoyed a much needed vacation all to myself. While most of the folks were friendly enough on the surface, I only had one real friend, the one who had helped me locate the house in the first place. Nonetheless, I was definitely not lonely. There is a vast difference in being alone and being lonely. The truth was I was in love with my new found solitude after years in the crowded and congested city. Finally, my son and daughter arrived by plane from Florida, and at the airport, I broke the news to them that we had moved to the forest in Kentucky. They were shocked and dismayed at first. The transition was far more difficult for them, as hillbilly kids seemed to be even more resentful of the flatlanders than their adult counterparts and the local kids made lots of jokes about their accent which the hill people called proper tawk, derisively. Even so, my son soon saw the beauty and fun which the enormous forest offered and he adapted much more quickly than his older sister. Once she had developed a few friendships at school, though, her spirits picked up and she resigned herself to our new life in the middle of the national forest. I purchased a horse and spent the mornings riding on trails and old logging roads and soon became familiar with the forest and mountains that surrounded our tiny home on all sides. By fall, I began turning my attention to making the acre of cleared land directly behind the house into a gardening area. The location was ideal, or so it appeared, even if the thick growth of weeds and briers were well over my head. With a Mexican machete, I cut the weeds down to where one could walk about and survey the site. I tried to sink a shovel into the dirt to get an idea of the soil quality, but much to my surprise, if there were any soil at all, it would still be weeks before I could actually get to it. Apparently, for several decades prior to my arrival, family after family of hillbillies had used the back yard as their private dump, and over the years, the garbage had become compacted and almost solidified. It was nearly three feet thick or more in most areas, and since it was all mashed together, it was a very difficult task to break it loose for removal. My friend and other locals, said to fergit it, but I was not deterred in the least bit. Moreover, I had plenty of time to work at it and so for the next two months, I dug, raked, and piled the old garbage into stacks that could be trucked out. I paid a neighbor a six-pack of beer for each pile that he hauled away, though I had to do the loading myself. In many ways, I felt like an amateur archaeologist, as I could nearly touch and feel the lives of those who had lived their existence before at this very house, as my hands and eyes examined each item with a sort of morbid curiosity. They had seemed to subsist almost exclusively on canned foods

and soda pop. My neighbor hauled seven overflowing truckloads of garbage out of the back yard before I finally reached the dirt beneath. Next, I cleaned out a neighbors horse barn for which I received four truckloads of manure which I spread over the former dump area and let it sit for the winter. The garden was almost an obsession for me, as I saw that with little way of earning income in such a remote area, growing our own food would be a key to survival in the new surroundings. I purchased subscriptions to various gardening magazines like Mother Earth News, Organic Gardening and others and then purchased heirloom seeds through the mail, from small family run firms that advertised in the same magazines. By the time March came, I could hardly wait to get started. As the planting got under way, I coaxed and coerced the kids to give a hand. We planted potatoes, culinary and medicinal herbs, radishes, carrots, peppers, tomatoes, beans, lettuce varieties and lots of exotic vegetables unknown to the area. Potatoes were the staple mountain food and we were able to plant enough for daily usage for the entire year. Then, a newly acquired friend helped me build a chicken house and I sent away for baby chickens, ducks and turkeys. Soon we had a thriving little mini-farm. In an issue of Mother Earth, I noticed an advertisement for a Native American publication from Arizona and I sent off for a subscription. After receiving my first issue, which I found very thought provoking and stimulating, I wondered if somehow or another, I might find someone connected with the newsletter from Arizona, who could explain at least to some measure, the strange occurrence I had experienced at Serpent Mound, a year earlier. I had never discussed that evening with anyone, fearing that I would be taken for a lunatic or worse, as had been the case in Mexico some twenty years earlier after my cosmic experience in Huautla. So, I wrote a letter asking what the experience might mean and if there were someone who could point me in the right direction for further research. I explained in my letter that, as odd as it may sound, I feel like an Indian trapped in a white mans body, and I have never felt at home in the white mans world, which was totally true with the one exception being my eight years spent with Mr. Moss on the scene. I received a letter a few weeks later from a man whose name was Man With Ravens. His explanation was that I had in fact been an Indian in a past life, but that it had been necessary for me to learn of the white mans ways, and for this reason I had been born as I was. He also maintained that being an Indian was no longer purely a matter of bloodline, but rather, depended as much or more on ones attitude and practice of lifestyle. He added that he personally knew many full-blooded Indians, who were for all intent and purpose really just white folks, and that some whites were more like real Indians, due to their attitude towards life and the Great Spirit, although this was by no means a cut and

dry issue. He said it had to do with the heart and spirit of the individual. Man With Ravens also said that August 16, 1987, was an important date for him, and that as with many Native Americans, he considered it a day of tremendous spiritual importance. His letter was at once comforting and uplifting and I continued to correspond with him for about a year and a half. One of the most important things that he told me that became deeply embedded in my mind was that, To be a man, in the fullest sense and meaning of the word, one must be responsible for every thought, word, and action, and that one must balance the wonder of existence with the terror if it. He also recommended various books including the entire Carlos Castaneda series, most of which I had already read, but which I nonetheless reread, along with such titles as Black Elk Speaks, and Jonathon Livingston Seagull, amongst others. When I wrote the first letter I signed it, Kneeling Squirrel. But Man With Raven said my new name was Standing Squirrel and that I needed to stand up, and look at the world around me, but from the Indian point of view. He added that soon I would perceive the world in an entirely different manner from that which I had become accustomed. I liked the new name he had given me and I followed his advice to the letter. I began preparing for August 16, 1987, even though it was still well over a year away. At least now I was in touch with one other person who took the event as seriously as I did. And there were five equinox/solstice days left on which I planned to hold mushroom ceremonies, as further preparation for the date forecast centuries earlier as the likely return of Quetzalcoatl. I made a small mushroom laboratory in the other building on my property but only grew a sufficient amount of magic mushrooms for personal usage, not for commercial purposes. Beginning with the night at Serpent Mound, I never again took the magic mushrooms in any but the most sacred ways. Really, it is the only way worth using them at all, the only way in which one can obtain tangible, positive results. I have often regretted all the times I had eaten mushrooms in a frivolous manner with no planning ahead, and no intent or purpose, and which had invariably resulted in a nowhere trip with no spiritual development, or worse, actually resulting in spiritual backsliding. In addition, I was usually alone in the ceremonies held in the national forest prior to the night of the Harmonic Convergence, as the evening of August 16-17 was being called by the media, due to an incredible planetary alignment occurring that evening. By being alone, I was able to let my consciousness flow and not have to contend with someone elses energy patterns. I could concentrate solely on myself, which was something I badly needed to learn. Prior to each equinox/solstice ceremony, I fasted for three days and prayed, meditated and read intensely, although in truth I was reading every day during the three month intervals between ceremonies as well.

Along with the fasting, I also followed a special procedure in consuming the mushrooms themselves. I would only eat them at night, following the Mazatec tradition of Huautla, and I prayed and blessed the mushrooms with copal incense and actually spoke to the mushrooms, asking them to teach me more of the sacred ways and to reveal more of the Truth of the Universe to me. To use the mushrooms for anything other than to gain spiritual knowledge and power is truly a sacrilege. I had learned the hard way, and I had paid the price for my indiscretion in more ways than my fourteen months imprisonment. The first such evening, which was the Spring equinox of 1986, I followed the procedure I had formulated and even asked for the guidance of Man With Ravens, although not by mail, but rather through prayer just prior to and during the experience. My goal for the first mushroom ceremony in the national forest was to locate various power spots, places where there seems to be a considerably greater degree of energy present with which to perceive the nagual. After ingesting the mushrooms, I walked out of the house and followed a trail which eventually led to the top of the mountain behind our home. The night was pitch-black and the mountain air was cool as the leaves had yet to form on the trees from their winter sleep. Three out of the four power spots that I located that night were within a stones throw from a natural gas well. (The region was loaded with pockets of natural gas!) I could not fail to notice this coincidence and wondered what the relationship between physical and psychic energy might be. I found these places by walking very slowly over the trail, trying to be sensitive to and cognizant of the subtle thought patterns that flowed into my nagual mind with each step. I spent about an hour at each spot, allowing myself to become quiet and concentrating on improving my capacity to focus and remember myself. I was able to perceive all nature as one gigantic entity, living in perfect harmony with itself. I was able to communicate with the trees, clouds, rocks, even the very ground itself, not to mention the various wild animals living in the area and particularly the birds. I especially enjoyed communicating with the whippoorwill and night owl and learned to whistle the whippoorwills call. Sometimes they would come to within 10 meters of my presence and we would talk back and forth for thirty minutes or so. After about five or six hours, I returned to the little clapboard wooden house, having completed a huge loop on the trail and approaching our house from the rear. The children were now sound asleep, as was the dog on the porch, which awakened to greet me very enthusiastically on my return from this and subsequent ceremonies as well. Each ceremony thereafter, would re-validate the knowledge I was acquiring and each time I would always walk the same trail and stop at the same power spots I had discovered the evening of the Spring equinox of 1986.

On one occasion, I invited both my son and daughter to join me, but only my son accepted my proposal. He was rather young at the time. I reasoned that if he could make it through a three day fast, he could hold his own on the mushrooms as well. Later I discovered that mushroom healers, or curanderos as they are known in Spanish, routinely give the magic mushrooms to children if they seem inclined to display shamanistic tendencies or high intelligence. His first words when we had reached a power spot at the top of the mountain were, Dad! The sky is filled with Indians! I see them everywhere all around us! Dad, I didnt understand why you always took the mushrooms I didnt understand anything before.. I thought you were kind of crazy before now I see why they call them magic mushrooms because they really are magic!! Ill eat them with you anytime you want to from now on! That night I discovered his Indian name which came to me in the following manner. We were standing beneath a huge pine tree which was growing at a 45 angle, higher up on the mountain. I wondered what my sons spirit name was, and the tree immediately spoke to me. I am his Indian spirit. His name is Leaning Pine, with these words a swift wind blew up, as if to confirm what the tree had spoken. I explained to Gus what the tree had spoken and took to calling him Pino, Spanish for pine, whenever the two of us were alone. That night we smoked cigarettes, danced, entered the trance state, shouted into the night sky and had a great time, to say the least. In the morning, Gus built a rest station at a strategic place on the trail for future mushroom ceremonies, and he often would go there in daytime just to hang out away from his sister and friends. Gus took the mushrooms very seriously and never once discussed them with friends. In the meantime, the garden began producing things to eat, and our diet improved immensely, with the fresh eggs from the chickens, ducks, and turkeys, and every day new vegetables appearing on the dinner table. To earn money, I tried a variety of different enterprises. I wrote articles for the local newspaper about gardening and cooking, and soon many locals were coming by to see and admire my locally famous garden. I sold excess herbs to restaurants back in the city. But in fact, these projects did little in the way of providing income. So, out of desperation, I sold an occasional pound of marijuana for a friend, herb that was grown in the remote mountains, and for which I earned enough money to pay the rent and most expenses for a month from each pound sold. I saw the marijuana business as my only hope, economically speaking, and I grew a small crop myself in the spring of 1987, which brought in more cash than I had seen in five or six years, but wasnt anything really spectacular. However, it was fun, peaceful and clean work, and I could devote lots of time to my regular garden, chickens, household chores, and reading. 1987 proved to be a great year in many ways. I was making a few friends and we had a constant supply of fresh squirrel, rabbit, venison and groundhog to eat, all donated or sold for pennies by

friends and acquaintances in the area. The garden and chickens and wild game were producing 85% of our diet. I was becoming very familiar with the area, and began thinking of myself as a hill person, and like my kids, was subtlety picking up the mountain accent. I was concerned that my children had no woman around the house, and I had to admit, that they were not the only ones missing the feminine touch. But 1987 seemed to be a good year for about everything. I had joined a pen pal club that I had found out about in prison. Mostly as a frolic, I had joined the club, and for $52.00 for a one year's subscription, each month I was sent some 250 names with small accompanying photos and very short biographies. These were women of varying backgrounds all residing in Honduras and desiring an American friendship, or more often marriage, and a way out of Honduras. Each month when the list would arrive I glanced at the photos and scanned the bylines and then quickly threw the list in the trash. However, in February of 1987 when the last list arrived, accompanied by a renewal request for a further $52.00, I decided that since I wasnt going to waste any more cash on such a silly idea, I should at least send one letter out, in order to get something for my investment. And so I picked the prettiest and youngest lady on the page and wrote her a brief letter explaining that I lived in the national forest, had two lovely children, was neither rich nor poor, and wondered if the lady to whom I was writing was interested in such a scene, and if she knew how to make corn tortillas. Much to my surprise, three weeks later I received a return letter and we began corresponding. I really didnt expect much to come of such an inauspicious beginning, but continued to write for months. In May, I began dating Sheila, a vivacious lady, hard worker, very attractive, and a good chef and musician as well. On my forays to the city to sell pot, we would go out for dinner, or prepare a meal at her place. I begged her to come and visit my scene in the forest and was sure she would love it there. We hit it off nicely, and I knew that we could make a good team, despite her objections to leaving her job, apartment and other ties to the city and occasional attempts to renew her relationship with her ex. Finally, she visited me on my home turf for a weekend. We played music, cooked some great meals and generally had a great time. And she and my kids got on like naturals. I really wanted her to move in and pressured her to make a choice between being a city girl or a country warrior. But try as I might, she could not be persuaded to give up her job or apartment in the city, even though I knew she was really torn between the two options. None-the-less, as the evening of the Harmonic Convergence approached, I began to concentrate all my efforts into the great ceremony I had planned and awaited for so long. I felt strong physically and psychologically. I was deeply in tune with myself and my surroundings, and I had plenty of

mushrooms ready for the ceremony, and for better or worse invited a friend, the only one I had made in prison, and who had recently been released, to participate with me in the mushroom ceremony of the Harmonic Convergence.

CHAPTER ELEVEN The Harmonic Convergence On the evening of the 12th of August, I prepared a wonderful meal out of fresh squirrels. I served my children and myself, a delicious stew, sauted freshly picked garden vegetables, and a lovely salad featuring an excellent Dijon vinaigrette dressing, a trick which Mr. Moss had taught me years earlier. The meal was sumptuous and was accompanied by my last remaining bottle of vintage LafiteRothschilde red Bordeaux wine. We all enjoyed the meal and I felt good about beginning my fast in the morning which would continue for the next four days. I intuitively sensed that eating the food from ones own area was one of the keys to being in harmony with the life force of a given area. On the afternoon of the 15th, my friend David arrived, accompanied by his two sons and another couple said to be interested in the Harmonic Convergence. I had mixed feelings about bringing along so many extra people on this most sacred of events, but decided to go along with the flow, convinced that nothing could change what was to be anyway. I cooked them a nice meal, and recommended that they refrain from eating the next day as we would be consuming the mushrooms on the night of the 16th. David and the wife of his friend took my advice seriously, while the other fellow, shrugged off such warnings. I really had reservations about bringing this fellow along, but in the end, trusted the mushrooms themselves to take care of the situation. David, his friends and children were fascinated with the forest and mini-farm and explored and hiked around while I continued to fast, did light gardening and household chores and when all had gone to bed, meditated and prayed before sleep invaded me. I awoke early on the 16th, highly charged with energy and devoted myself to preparing breakfast for the children and in trying to prepare my guests for what I believed to be a most spectacular evening. It was obvious to me that my guests did not share my inner convictions, but this was to be expected of folks who had not been preparing for many years for this night. Davids friend I found particularly repugnant, as he ignored my admonitions regarding fasting, even for the one day, and continued to feed his face right up to 6 oclock in the evening, only two hours before the ceremony was to begin. He was a very materialistic person, and the last type of fellow I would have invited to

such a sacred event, but nonetheless, I could do noting about him, and left him to his own fate, knowing in my heart, that nothing could change the inevitable. He had arrived in a fancy RV and from time to time he would drive to town, and buy snacks and junk food, which I had never allowed in my house. At around dinner time, I prepared a meal for the children and by eight oclock, had all the kids settled down in their rooms, and I then assembled the adults to begin the ceremony. I lit the copal incense that soon engulfed the entire room where the mushrooms were to be consumed. I smoked the mushrooms with the incense and said prayers to the Eternal Father, to the ancient Gods, to the spirit of the forest and to Man With Ravens, my spirit guide who I had never met in person, but with whom I had become dependent upon for direction and guidance. Then I gave each person their portion of mushrooms and we began to ingest them. I was excited, but that excitement was tempered by the weakness of body, due to the four day fast, and the uncertainty as to what might actually occur, especially in light of the presence of David and his friends all of whom were wild cards. The net result was that I resigned myself to the fact that whatever was to be, was certainly beyond my grasp or control, and that I would have to play it by ear, as Moss would have said. I had asked in prayer that the Eternal Father give me strength and show to each of my comrades that which would be of benefit to each in his own way. As soon as the mushrooms were consumed, I led our group of four out the front door, and began the walk now familiar to me, up the roads and trails leading to the top of the mountain. The night was warm, and I began to sweat rather profusely. By the time we had reached the first of my already well delineated power spots, the power of the mushrooms was alive in us all. Davids friends face looked bad as we paused in the moonlight, and he began vomiting profusely. When he had stopped, he said that he wanted to go no further, and wanted us all to go back to the house with him. I told him if he wanted to go back that was fine with me, but that I was going on ahead as planned. I smoked a cigarette and this fellow, who was really having a bad time of things, suddenly took off back down the trail and we later found out that he had run all the way to his RV and locked himself inside where he spent the entire evening, apparently quaking with fear. That was fine with me, and just what he deserved, I reckoned. David, the sick mans wife, named Jane, and I proceeded on to the strongest power spot, the one where I planned to spend most of the evening, located at the top of the mountain. Arriving at this spot, we drank in the beauty of the evening. The full moon was up, and its brightness obscured most of the stars, but not the planets Venus, Mars, Jupiter and Saturn which appeared like pearls in a perfect line overhead. The scene was breathtaking, and now that the most objectionable of my guests had removed himself from our presence, I was confident that all would be well. After smoking a cigarette, inhaling deeply to the

four directions, I inscribed a circle some five or six meters in diameter in the dirt and began walking ever so slowly and with full awareness of my body in a clockwise motion, in an effort to focus more energy on the spot. David, who seemed somewhat skeptical of whatever I was trying to accomplish, walked the same circle in a counterclockwise manner with a light but devilish grin on his face. This did not faze me in the least, and in fact I now considered David to represent, in our drama, the forces against the arrival of Quetzalcoatl, although I felt absolutely no ill feeling towards my friend, who was merely taking his role, as I was taking mine. Jane, on the other hand, who had never experienced magic mushrooms, was so thrilled by her altered consciousness, that she just held her place, seated on the ground a few meters away and admired the sky, and the antics of David and myself. Then I sat down for a moment and smoked another cigarette, and in my mind gave further thanks to God, for being there, for having provided the mushrooms, and for the wonder of the night. The tobacco, which normally I did not use, except on mushroom ceremonies, tasted celestial and seemed to augment the effects of the mushrooms considerably. I rubbed my hands into the still warm earth and just felt extraordinarily fortunate, to be where I was, just who I was and wondering what would come next. I was unsure as to what I should do next, but once the cigarette was finished, I stood up, and walked the circle seven more times, again with acute consciousness in the very movement of the muscles in my body. Soon I felt a force building up right on the circumference of the circle, and even if I leaned into the inside of it, my feet somehow remained on the edge. When the force had been generated sufficiently, I stopped and turned my attention to the planets which now hung in the sky like diamonds on a string in the blackness above. Venus was the brightest, and knowing from the legends that this was the home of Quetzalcoatl, I began to focus solely on the second planet from the sun, to the exclusion of all the other heavenly bodies, and everything else as well. I held my arms up towards Venus with palms open as though to beckon and welcome the speedy arrival of whomever or whatever might be coming to Earth. I began to chant in Spanish in my mind, Yo le estoy esperando, Quetzalcoatl. Le ofresco mi cuerpo, mi mente, mi corazon. si busque Vd. un lugar para vivir bien. Yo le estoy esperando, siempre le he esperado. Vaya donde Vd. sabe mejor, pero yo le ofresco todo lo que yo soy. Translated into English, I am waiting for you Quetzalcoatl, I am waiting. I offer you my body, my mind, my heart if you are looking for a place to live well. Go where you know best, but I offer you everything that I am. I continued to concentrate my external vision and attention on the planet Venus to the exclusion of everything else, including my comrades focusing and focusing with every ounce of my force. I continued my internal chant, with the same wording. At first nothing out of the ordinary happened, but I was not deterred in the least. My chant slowly changed to the phrase, Yo soy Ardilla Parada

Yo soy el Quetzalcoatl., meaning in English, I am Standing Squirrel, I am the Quetzalcoatl. I continued to hold fast to my position, with my arms extended upward to the sky unflinchingly, while my mind admitted no thoughts whatsoever. Such mental concentration on a chant or phrase is a most difficult task, but my preparations had been long and proved fruitful. And although my arms were beginning to ache from the strain, as noted by my tonal mind, I was easily able to block out such sensations by continuing to focus my eyes on Venus and my mind on the chant. Then suddenly, at what I later determined must have been the precise moment of the total Harmonic Convergence, the point in time at which the planetary alignment reached its peak moment of perfection, I noticed what seemed like sparks of light all around Venus. Soon what had begun as mere sparks began to appear more like a firework display of infinitesimal beauty featuring the colors of green and white. As my concentration grew even stronger, now with the emotional cognition that the vision for which I had waited and prepared for so long was about to manifest, the intensity of the light show before my eyes grew grander and more spectacular. The excitement in my tonal continued to mount, while the nagual side remained calm, almost as though all of this was to be expected, neither more nor less. I was now looking into a total void, with only the planet Venus, now magnified to the size of the moon and seemingly close enough to touch, being the only object in my awareness. Then, by some strange manner, a pipeline, or a tube of sorts began to manifest itself, connecting this glorious, shimmering, celestial body directly to my forehead. I could feel tremendous waves or pulses of energy, as thought I were a vessel being filled to capacity by this stream of green and white heavenly light energy. David and Jane were oblivious to me and they were of no concern to me at all for the moment. My tonal now began trying to assemble a rational explanation to what was taking place, and it decided that most likely, this same event was being viewed simultaneously by sorcerers and medicine men all over the planet. But the nagual side was not interested in such speculations every bit of its energy was being consumed in maintaining contact with this dynamic energy being transmitted across space from the planet Venus to the point on my forehead. Finally, the transmission came to an end. I felt like a giant computer which had been filled with information and programs, of such an immense quantity that I could not even begin to retrieve the material. But it was in there, that much I was sure of. It had taken the form of a cosmic fax, using light that appeared as brilliantly shining diamonds and emeralds, instead of sounds. When the right moment or moments arrived, the knowledge gained in this cosmic fax transmission would be there, I reasoned. Upon breaking contact, I looked towards my friends. David was somewhere in the nearby woods, having found a spot that had held his attraction during this time. Jane was still seated on the ground,

marveling at her first psychedelic experience, and looking at her hands and some pebbles lying beside her. I concluded immediately, that both Jane and David had been somehow instrumental in the transmission I had received, perhaps forming some sort of grounding effect providing the necessary energies to make it all possible, and yet neither of them had been witness to the incredible visionaryexperience that had just occurred to me. Everything had happened, just as it was supposed to happen. I looked into the sky, and incredibly enough, I saw literally hundreds of small clouds, moving across the sky. What was so astounding, about them, was that each cloud was colored black and shaped like a raven, and they seemed to be sailing en masse across the sky. Man With Ravens was here as well, I thought. Then as if to punctuate this statement, a giant black cloud, immense in size passed right in front of the moon, and it too was shaped just like a raven. While my tonal side stood incredulously in awe, the nagual side took this in stride with the other miraculous events that had just transpired. Tears of joy streamed from my eyes as I internally thanked the Eternal Father and Man With Ravens for having helped shape my doubtlessly strange destiny. After the giant raven passed the moon, I sat down next to Jane, smiled and silently smoked a cigarette and soon David joined us. They had each had a magnificent experience in their own way, and so we slowly continued to walk the giant loop that would eventually bring us back to the house below. We laughed, sang and told anecdotes of life and of the wonders of the magic mushrooms. My head was filled with light and everywhere I looked I saw jewels.. on the ground, on the trees, in the sky everything was studded in brilliant jewels of every color imaginable. We arrived to the rear of the house, as the sun was rising, giving birth to a spectacular sunrise. The dog began barking as we made our approach, and Janes husband emerged from his van, visibly shaken. Apparently he had not had a very good time. I was basically unconcerned about him as whatever had happened to this fellow, had surely served him right. As the day unfolded, we made a celebratory breakfast and then slept for two or three hours while the children played and made forts in the woods. At around noon, somewhat refreshed for the rest, I still felt the power of the mushrooms and of the experience the night before and felt a great confidence about my own future and that of the world. Shortly after noon, the phone rang and it was my pen pal, Mayra calling from Honduras. We had never spoken on the phone, our relationship consisting only of exchanged letters and photos. Our conversation was light and mirthful and she said her mother had finally given her permission to marry if the marriage were to take place at the church in her hometown. I told her we should wait a few more months, as I still was holding out hope for Sheila, and at any rate, I could not very well leave my cash crops unattended for more than a day or two. We closed the conversation on a happy note and agreed to continue calling once a month.

The next morning, David and his friends and children returned to their respective homes, and life settled down somewhat into a normal pace. I continued to care for my different gardens and animals and kept quiet about the strange night of the Harmonic Convergence. I read later in a news magazine that several thousand people had gathered around the giant Tule tree in Oaxaca, all hoping that Quetzalcoatl would arrive that night. I too had considered the Tule sight a likely spot for Quetzalcoatls return, prior to my Sacred Mound experience. But I had been told to go to the national forest, not the Tule tree out side of Oaxaca City. On the fall Equinox I again celebrated the occasion in the now customary fashion, and I noticed I was far more secure in attaining the nagual, and when I entered the state where I saw jewels in and upon everything, I decided that this was a definite state of mind which I named the Garden of Eden. I would return again and again in subsequent sessions to this state of perfection and unmitigated peace and wonder, and later was able to bring others into this state as well. I knew for certain that I had become a sorcerer, perhaps not yet a very powerful or wizened one, but the long, hard road of the apprentice was now giving way to some understanding and wisdom. The fruits of my hopes and dreams were very slowly becoming reality. It is to be noted, however, that understanding and wisdom are relative terms, and as one grows so should ones understanding, and resultant wisdom.

CHAPTER TWELVE In which the author is Run out of Dodge My harvest that year was a good one, and I was able to purchase many long needed items for the house, kids and myself including a new car, an old but serviceable pickup truck, a motorcycle for my son and a four-wheeler for my daughter. My business had widened somewhat, and for the first time since entering prison five years earlier, getting money was no longer a nagging concern, rather hiding it became the problem. My children were doing quite well and had come to love the mountains almost as much as I did. The garden was producing plenty of succulent fresh vegetables, and we had a newly purchased freezer, stuffed full with venison, which we were eating twice a week. My two daughters from my earlier marriage with Kim, came down to visit for weekends and occasionally for a week or so during holidays. Sheila also visited several times and I had high hopes that she would soon leave the city and join me to live the free life in the national forest.

Nonetheless, by November, I had finally come to the conclusion that Sheila could not bring herself to leave her job, apartment and other commitments in the city. I was chagrined, but not defeated. I had kept in regular touch with Mayra, my pen pal lover, and as I desperately needed someone in the house during my increasingly frequent travels away from home, I opted to try the inconceivable marry someone totally unknown someone whos only credentials were that she was a non-American, Mayan Indian who spoke Spanish, and knew how to make tortillas, and who was young enough to be molded into my lifestyle or so I hoped. I consulted the horoscopes, and December 4, 1987 was considered the only day for months to bring about a successful and lasting union. So, Mayra and I agreed to that date and I made plans to travel to Honduras on December 2, thus giving me two days to assess the situation, and back out if it seemed I was making too grave an error. I landed in the capital, Tegucigalpa, in the afternoon, and Mayras brother was there waiting for me. I rented a car and drove the three hour ride to Siguatepeque, to meet my bride for the first time. She was as pretty as her pictures had indicated and rather shy, and I decided to go ahead with the marriage, even if I could hardly believe I was doing such an unimaginable thing. The first bad sign and portent of more to come was that the wedding could not be accomplished until the 6th instead of the more favorably, astrologically speaking, date of the 4th. But there were other more ominous signs. On the morning of our church wedding, (in Honduras as in many Latin countries one must be first married by a judge or lawyer, and only then can a church wedding be performed), I awoke from my hotel, and took a stroll through town. I looked in the sky, and I saw literally thousands of black vultures circling over my head. It gave me a cold shiver that went to the marrow of my bones. I tried to dismiss this dark omen as a coincidence, but it was difficult to shake. Then, I spent over an hour and a half searching for a perfect yellow rose to put in my lapel, for the ceremony. After much finagling I finally obtained the rose I wanted and felt sure would be the most appropriate for the occasion. But Mayras mother insisted that I wear instead a plastic flower that was considered the norm in her area. Her mom ripped the yellow rose from my lapel and threw it to the ground in contempt. I was very upset about the plastic flower and a part of me was ready to back out of the whole affair. But it was too late. I had already paid bribes amounting to over a thousand dollars to the judge, and church officials to allow the wedding to go forth on such short notice. I had bought dresses for Mayra and her sisters and mother and had paid for a band for the reception which all told had cost another thousand dollars. I was in too deep. In the church, when the I dos were said, I began crying like a baby. Some of the onlookers thought they were tears of joy streaming down my face. It took me over

an hour to stop the crying and pull myself together. But they were not tears of joy, but rather tears of forboding. Next there was the reception. Held in Mayras mothers restaurant, all the friends and neighbors of the family were present. I couldnt believe that I had gone through with such a wild scheme. Mayra got drunk, for the first time in her life and when the reception was nearly over, her mother delivered the passed out bride into my arms, like a sack of potatoes, with the admonition, Ella es su problema ahora, or in English, Shes your problem now! I drove her to the hotel, and sat in a corner pondering the series of events leading up to this comic/tragedy. In the morning, we awoke, and left town for our honeymoon. Mayras mother had not allowed her to take one stitch of clothing, and so the first stop was to buy her a small wardrobe. She had never bought any clothes new in her life, and I was forced to decide what to buy and what would look good on her. After a few days, we went to the American consulate to apply for her visa, only to find that this would take some six months to attain. Even with the aid of a Honduran law firm that specialized in getting visas from the Americans, we were unable to alter the time frame for Mayras visa. I returned to Siguatepeque, left Mayra with her mother and sadly returned to Kentucky, with no bride, and several thousand dollars poorer. It would not be until sometime in June that Mayras visa would be approved. Christmas came and went, as did New Years and a week later, I was still considering my strange predicament when Sheila arrived in a step van with all her belongings and her little daughter. She was finally ready to live in the country. I couldnt believe the strange trick fate had just played on me. I explained to Sheila that she was late, that I had just been married and that in the words of Thomas Hardy, We were undone!. I told Sheila that she could live in the other building on my property where I grew my mushrooms, but that it wouldnt be right for us to sleep together, since I had married in a church, and took the vows seriously. She accepted my predicament, and we cooked a great meal, drank some wine and smoked some pot, and soon Mayra and Honduras were far from my mind. So Sheila moved in, with the understanding that in June, she would have to move to the other building 30 feet from my house. We hit it off terrifically. We played music, worked the gardens, celebrated the passing of the seasons with marvelous mushroom ceremonies and for me, I could not remember 6 more happy months in all my life. Sheila was a warrior, and seemingly, was the perfect mate and as the time approached when Mayras visa was to be issued, I wondered how she could be integrated into our special scene. The Immigration Department informed me that the visa would be forthcoming in July, which gave us the opportunity to celebrate the summer solstice without hindrance. Sheila had now become my

faithful and willing assistant in our ceremonies and we invited two local friends to join us for the solstice ceremony. We all fasted and followed the prescribed rituals and it was a great experience for all. At one point, one of the local fellows asked me what I planned to do with my new wife when she arrived, and I remarked that she would fit in well to our scene providing fresh corn tortillas, to which immediately an owl in a nearby tree began to hoot in what I perceived to be a very sarcastic laugh. Apparently, the spirits of the forest didnt agree with my assessment and they seemed to have a better line on the truth then I did, as later events would soon play out. In July, I went back to Honduras, this time accompanied by my kids, while Sheila stayed at the homestead watching the gardens, and caring for the animals. We traveled extensively throughout the Central American republic, as I wanted to get a reading on how my kids would take to yet another woman in the household. We visited the Bay Islands in the Caribbean and then went to visit the extensive Mayan ruins in Copn, one of the most important of all the ancient Mayan cities. About a half hour before we arrived at the ruins, we passed a cow pasture and my son and I hopped out of the car to investigate the possibility of finding some wild magic mushrooms. Within ten minutes, we had found enough for all of us, (this time Panaeoliis tropicalis), but my daughter declined to try them once again. Having not planned for this excursion into the magical world, and having no incense to burn, Mayra, Gus and I ate the mushrooms and we continued driving on to Copn. By the time we bought our entry tickets at the gateway to the site, and had just begun to enter the site, the power of the mushrooms was beginning to take effect. Mayra began laughing hysterically, and I asked my daughter Jesse to look after her. Meanwhile, Gus and I climbed the pyramids and drank in the beauty and wonder of the place. We tried to avoid the other tourists and spent most of the time reading a stele. Eventually, as the effect began to wear off, we headed for town and decided to eat a meal in a local restaurant. Mayra thought she would never come down and further was convinced that everyone could see that she was totally crazy, which was how she described herself. We went to our hotel to rest. The matter of the visa finally being resolved, we returned home, to find that Sheila had moved her things to the building next door and she made every effort to accommodate Mayra, but to no avail. Sheila had been studying Spanish for six months in an effort to help build communication with my new bride, but language not-with-standing, Mayra did not like the presence of my great friend and fellow warrior, Sheila. There was just nothing that could be done to accommodate her. My old friend David, who was now a frequent visitor moved in and as he and Sheila hit it off well, I hoped this would help Mayra feel more secure in her new surroundings. But now our little household was full to overflowing, as Mayras brother had arrived, illegally, to seek a new life in the US. It was time to

move, and I found a place in a nearby county that was equally remote in the forest and agreeable to my needs. I turned the mini-farm over to Sheila and David who were quite happy together. Naturally, my kids were reluctant to move, having finally established themselves in our little community, but they adapted much more quickly the second time, as they now spoke the language and were familiar with mountain ways. There was a marvelous cave located near our new home site which was ideal for the mushroom ceremonies and soon, I was celebrating the changing of the seasons in the cave which proved to be every bit as suitable as the mountain top two counties away. By this time, I was comfortable with bringing others along on the ceremonies, and in the cave many sessions were held. But my relationship with Mayra, which had been ill-starred from the beginning, did not improve. I took her on several trips abroad, once to visit friends in Italy and another time to Costa Rica. But Mayra was filled with jealousy and after a time, I felt the best thing was to send her home to mama, which I finally did. She was gone five weeks, and I called her on the phone, to see how she was making out. In the background, I heard my baby daughter Alicia, whom Sheila had helped me deliver in the first forest home, screaming terribly in the background and I was concerned that my baby was having a bad time of things and decided to bring them home. Mayras time away had done her some good, but after several months, things began to deteriorate again, so I sent her home for a second visit to mom. She was gone for a month and I decided that the best shot was to get her an apartment in Houston, enroll her in a school where she could learn English and learn a career as a beautician. She definitely wasnt ready for the mushroom scene that was really central to my life and in fact was keeping me from making any advances myself. Before she left for Texas, an incredible event took place. I was driving in the mountains on one of my many journeys around the state, when I chanced upon a large red-tailed Hawk, standing on the side of the road. I stopped my car, expecting the hawk to fly away, but he had been injured and was unable to fly at all. I approached the hawk on foot and told him in gentle words, Dont be afraid, I am here to help you. I am going to pick you up by your claws and take you to someone who can repair your injured wing. I gently and slowly reached down to his powerful talons, and picked him up just like a chicken, and put him in a box in the trunk of my car. In the next town, I located a veterinarian who examined him and said that he had been shot in the wing and that there was a governmental center for helping wild animals such as this one and gave me their phone number and address. When I arrived at my house, I called the number and they told me they would take him in, but that I would have to keep him for two weeks before they could pick him up. They told me that I should force feed him fresh meat and recommended chicken livers. I followed their instructions and

became quite friendly with my new guest. As his stay at my house overlapped the Fall Equinox, I held a ceremony in the cave and returned home still very much under the power of the mushrooms. As soon as I entered the house, the hawks eyes pulled me like a magnet and I approached him, and sat down in front of him. Our eyes locked and once again I felt as though a channel had been opened to the mysterious world of spirit. We communicated for several hours through eye telepathy and then he told me that I should go sleep with my wife and that I would conceive a child with her that would have the spirit of the hawk. I said good-bye and proceeded to follow his instructions. Mayra was surprised at my renewed attentions, and at the moment of climax, I saw four hawk heads, each turned in a different direction, all burning their eyes into my spirit. Mayra conceived that evening and thus when I took her to Texas, she was pregnant again. Since I was traveling often back and forth from Houston, we decided to each keep our daughter Alicia for two weeks, and then switch so as to provide a less confusing family life for the young toddler. Mayra seemed to take well to her Texas home, and she was surrounded by other Spanish speaking folk who were sympathetic to her situation and were helpful to accommodating her into her new home. I felt great relief that she was secure and I was now free from the burden our continued relationship under one roof had become. Nonetheless, I was not making the progress I desired with the mushrooms, even if my business world had become highly successful and materially all needs were met. Who knows where it might have ended had not the FBI thrown a wet towel on my marijuana business. The fact that I had undertaken a statewide campaign to run a pro-legalization-of-marijuana candidate for Governor in 1991, the now deceased, and may God bless, Gatewood Galbraith, had surely provoked the wrath of the local FBI. Even though we lost the primary campaign for governor, the feds were enraged that someone was so bold to propose the unthinkable......legalizing the very dangerous cannabis plant. They arrived at 6 am one morning and found 10 pounds of packaged pot in the front floorboard of my old dilapidated pickup truck. The FBI paid my bond and I was home that afternoon as the feds expected me to work for them from then on. But I decided that I would flee to Mexico, rather than go to prison again or rat out my friends and associates, which was out of the question. My daughter Jesse had already moved in with her boyfriend and I sent Alicia to stay with her. Gus, my boy, went to another friends house, and the same night, a close friend and his girlfriend came by and picked me up in their truck. After packing only the barest of necessities, we headed off into the night for Houston. The following evening we picked up my wife, Mayra and informed her of developments, and after packing her essentials, we drove off for the Mexican border arriving the next afternoon. Later the FBI set the house on fire in revenge.

CHAPTER 13 In which the author returns to Huautla The day before we crossed into Mexico, we paused on a bluff overlooking the Rio Grande River. Two hundred feet or so below the bluff were Mexican women doing their wash, by hand in the Rio Grande, and children laughing and playing nearby the rivers edge. A stray cow and a donkey ambled along leisurely in search of a clump of grass. In the distance, the lone highway south lost itself in the northern Mexican desert. Sitting by myself perched on top of a giant boulder, I pondered my fate as I looked across the vast northern Mexican plains that sprawled out before me. I wondered how many other fugitives from the United States had sat in that very same spot, like Billy the Kid and countless others. And yet my crime had been so insignificant. In another time and place, nobody would have bothered about 10 pounds of cannabis sativa, and no one would have even cared. At the same time, I felt the irony that I was looking to Mexico as the land of freedom, and yet how many Mexicans had considered the United States to be just that? Then my mind turned to other things. I pondered over my inability to progress any further with the mushroom ceremonies and knew that I was still missing some inexplicable something without which would forever impede my progress. I thought about my wife Mayra, and how she had rarely been receptive to the magic the mushrooms offered, with the one exception being the birthing of Alicia. On that occasion, she had drunk two glasses of peyote tea, and one glass of mushroom tea and she had gone into a deep trance, chanting phrases in an unknown and ancient sounding Indian tongue, which I had tape recorded and later played back to her in a normal state of mind. In her normal state, she could not identify the language or its content, but the fact that this ancient tongue had emerged from the depths of her Indian heritage did indicate that somewhere inside of her was promise and perhaps some secrets that would later reveal themselves, given the proper development. On that occasion, she had mentioned, while still in her trance, that she had entered a world of beautiful colored birds, flowers, snakes and butterflies. She continued to marvel over the beauty of the land to which her mind had been transported, and seemed totally unaware of the birthing contractions or the fact that she was in a room with Sheila and myself. And then she had cried out, I see an Indian man. Now I see a great white bird coming right at me. Its right in my head! And as soon as she had pronounced these words, Alicia was born, and a moment or two later, the trance was over. So there was promise and potential,

surely in Mayra, but I had been unable to tap into her hereditary psychic roots. As my eyes continued to gaze out at the Mexican desert, I made my decision. I stood up and returned to our pickup truck and announced our destination Huautla de Jimenez, the land of Maria Sabina and the magic mushrooms. If there were anyone on this Earth who could further unravel the mushroom mysteries then that person must reside in or around Huautla and I would go there, and sooner or later our paths would cross. Of that much, I was certain. Back in Kentucky, my life had become soft with the acquisitions of wealth and luxury. I had begun to lose contact with the very Earth that I considered sacred and essential to spiritual development. Soon, all that would change. Standing alongside our truck, I looked over my shoulder back north into Texas. There was not a great deal of difference in the landscape of the extreme southern edge of Texas and the semi-desert of Tamaulipas, one of the northern border states in Mexico which terminated at the Rio Grande river. But this was only a physical similarity. Underneath the similar exteriors, there was a world of difference, in culture, religion, and in economic power. How strange it seemed. How many thousands, even millions of Mexicans and Central Americans had sat on the other side of this same river pondering their future in the North, just as I was now pondering mine in the South? Back in the truck, we made some last minute purchases and the following morning, we drove across the waterway that divided the two nations, and immediately I sensed that same feeling of being in my own element, just as I had felt almost twenty-five years earlier when I had gone to the University in Mexico City. And it was a relief to know that the US law would no longer be pursuing me, and in fact once our papers had been issued at the Mexican border outpost, we were never again asked for documents anywhere. We left the dusty border town shortly after nightfall, and drove to Monterrey. Bypassing that city, we headed southwest for the Pacific coast. I had in mind to at least show my hillbilly friends from the mountains of Kentucky what the Pacific Ocean was like, before turning inland, back to the mountains once again. And so, we traveled to Manzanilla and followed the Pacific coastline down past the coastal resorts of Zihuatanejo, then Acapulco, Puerto Escondido, and only then turning inward to head for the state capital of Oaxaca. Climbing the mountains from the coastal lowlands, the weather cooled and my spirit warmed. We spent an hour or two in the capital city of Oaxaca, and then headed for the northeastern corner of the state arriving at Teotitln around 9 oclock in the evening. Although the old Mosquito Hotel looked about the same as it had for decades, the town had changed considerably in twenty-five years. The roads were no longer rock strewn and rutted, now paved and easy to negotiate. We filled the tanks with gasoline, from a normal gas station, and to my

surprise, even the road to Huautla was now paved. Forty minutes after departing Teotitln, we had raised our altitude high into the Mazatec Sierra, in what had taken more than three hours on my previous journeys to the magic city. We stopped the vehicle for a last glimpse at Teotitln some ten miles below, a mere twinkling of a few lights in the distance. My companions, each of them exhausted from days of traveling, slept peacefully wile I drove through clouds of mist, forcing me to drive once again at a snails pace over the now smooth, but nevertheless, treacherous road. With visibility only several meters in any direction, to travel any faster would be foolhardy especially knowing that around each turn, lay a chasm several thousand feet deep and certain death to anyone who strayed from the road surface. Soon enough, the twinkling lights of Huautla could be seen in the distance, and in another 45 minutes, I was making my way over the old and still unpaved narrow streets of the Mazatec capital. There now being two hotels, I made my choice based on the fact that the truck was already parked in front of one, as there didnt appear to be a great difference in the two. We checked in and slept soundly in the small and inhospitable little rooms to which we had been assigned. Everyone was too tired to think about the future, glad only that the month long traveling was at last over.

PART TWO CHAPTER 14 Seeking clues on a Trail Grown Cold It was June of 1991, and I awoke to a sunshiny day, to a Huautla quite changed since 1968, but still with remnants of the past peeking out from every corner. The Mazatec language could still be heard every where and outside of town, little Spanish was understood or used. The people by and large were friendly, but there was also a new element I had not noticed on my earlier visits. And this new element manifested itself, albeit in a small segment of the population, in contempt for outsiders, with unspoken looks of anger, hatred and ill will. I had experienced much the same being new in the Kentucky Appalachian badlands, so I was not put off or put out by such bad vibes.

I had two primary concerns. First was to set up a living situation for myself, my pregnant wife and present or future companions. And just as important was to locate a shaman who could be trusted and who would be willing to help me integrate into such a truly foreign environment and also be equally willing to teach me the elements of shamanism that I desired to possess. As I walked down the muddy, puddle strewn streets of the 1991 Huautla, I became rapidly convinced that neither of my goals would be able to be accomplished in Huautla itself. The town was already too contaminated for me to live in. Too much noise, trash, bad vibes and close quarters for a fellow used to the wilds of the Daniel Boone National forest, like me. I gazed upwards at the cerros, (mountain tops), surrounding the town and noted the lack of population around them, unaware that a much colder ecosystem went with them and was the main reason few folks lived near there. Maria Sabina had lived near the Cerro de Adoracion, the sacred Mazatec Peak visited by many locals and foreigners alike for prayer and ritual. So Maria Sabinas old homestead seemed like a logical starting point, despite her having passed away in November of 1986, and I had no other clue to go on anyways. All along the way up the 4 km. trail to her old home, folks were offering me magic mushrooms, and sleeping quarters that somehow seemed just too rustic even for a Spartan like me and I had no use for mushrooms without a shaman, so I politely refused all such offers. Finally we reached the Maria Sabina complex, still a 45 minute hike from the top of the cerro. There, I encountered a few drunks, one a man who identified himself as Filogonio, and claimed to be the grandson of Maria Sabina and the inheritor of her wisdom and mushroom rituals. Although this was the man I was looking for, he seemed like many drunks in the Sierra, nothing special. He said he had what we were looking for and we agreed upon a mushroom ceremony or velada, as they are called in Spanish. As part of the deal, he agreed not to consume any alcohol the day of or the day before the ceremony, and also promised to find some good mushrooms. I was not super enthusiastic about the situation, to be honest, but it was a beginning, which I hoped might at least open some doors. We shook hands and I returned to town, spending the afternoon and next two days looking for land, down by the waterfall some 8 km below Huautla, and giving little thought to the upcoming ceremony. On the evening of the ceremony, a wicked thunderstorm broke out. I drove our well beaten pickup up the muddy track that served as a road, twice nearly sliding off the mountain, so treacherous was the road and especially with the blinding thunderstorm. It reminded me of the beginning of a Frankenstein movie, complete with massive thunder claps, lightning and a sense of eeriness that all of us felt. By the time we arrived at the grandson of Maria Sabina's house, we were an hour late and he had given up on our arrival. But the ceremony did take place and I was extremely impressed by this

mans ability to change the psychedelic scenery as he chanted and chanted his incredible song, always changing and taking us to ever higher states of consciousness. At the end of the ceremony after paying him, I asked if he would be willing to help me find a piece of land suitable for a home and he said it would be no problem. A few days later we moved in to Filogonio's guest house and after purchasing some uninhabited land nearby, we began the long process of clearing a home location, hiring workers and digging a foundation. The house took some 3 months to build, and we moved in after the New Years celebration of 1992. It was made of stone and contained two large rooms and an equally large kitchen. Far enough from Huautla to be out of earshot of all the loudspeakers screaming out their unintelligible messages, and even out of sight of Huautla as well, it was still a far cry from the freedom of the National forest, back in Kentucky, but I reasoned it would have to do. By October, of 1992, I was feeling secure in my new environment. I knew a few folks. I had learned a smattering of Mazatec language. I had built a nice chicken run and we had a pretty flock of laying chickens. Then one morning the FBI arrived, forced me into their vehicle and kidnapped me back to the United States where I was given a three year sentence for my ten pounds of pot. I served my sentence with dignity and when released I immediately returned to Huautla to pick up where I had left off, three years earlier.....and this despite a probation period of three years in which I was not to even leave the county I was in.......but I left anyways. CHAPTER 15 More children and Troubles in Paradise I returned to the stone house high above Huautla in 1995. Prison had been rough as might be expected, but I had weathered the experience and a new woman I had met before the FBI kidnapping, had become pregnant and along with Mayra....had held the homestead together. And of course the hawk spirited son which had been conceived in the Daniel Boone Forest had been born shortly after our initial meeting with the grandson of Maria Sabina.....so there were the two ladies, my older son Gaspar, and the three young ones. But there was everything but Peace. The family of the grandson of Maria Sabina began to resent us and began circulating rumors about us to the neighbors......and soon it became obvious that the friendship had ended....and worse...they seemed hell bent on killing me and/or running us out of town. The first indication was a small celebration of a graduation from preschool that was being held at a neighbors home and to which we had been invited....As with many such affairs, a soup made from goat meat was the main course. At some point during the meal, an unidentified Indian woman came

up to me with another piece of goat meat, and said it was a special piece for me. I thanked her and ate the meat without thinking twice about it. A half hour later I began to feel nauseous and so we decided to walk the short distance to our home. When I got home I began vomiting...and soon I was vomiting almost pure blood, and soon I was shitting blood as well. My body began to tighten up in convulsions. I knew that I had been poisoned. I asked God if this was going to be the end? And I stopped cramping and throwing up. It seemed that I was getting over the worse part. The following night I felt strong enough to eat the mushrooms, to see if I could find out what had happened to me. Shortly after the onset of the mushrooms, I saw the face of the wife of Maria Sabina's grandson. She was smiling an evil grin and she said, Compadre, te voy a matar y quitarte tu casa para nosotros. (Hey compadre, I am going to kill you and take your house for ourselves.) I was shocked but not scared. I simply told her that she was nobody to kill me, that only God himself had such power. I told her to forget it. But now the war had begun. A few days later the same woman got her boys hopped up on firewater and sent them armed with large rocks as they burst into our house to instill terror in our hearts. Fortunately, I had a number of American visitors, some of whom were not only big, but rather liked a good fight....they were not deterred in the least, and finally the drunken boys backed off and went home, after breaking a few windows here and there. But this was not the end of it. The whole family made a ceremony in which the purpose was to kill me. They took a photo they had of me and placed it on the floor. They cursed me, pissed and shit on my photo, poured San Pedro powder, salt and cal on it also. I became ill. I took the mushrooms and saw what they had done. But now the mushrooms were teaching me directly how to fight for my survival. I was able to break the spell. Soon afterward, and still undeterred, the envious family hired other local witches (brujos) to do me in. But again, the mushrooms showed me what they had done and how to counter it. Little by little I was learning how to stay above the witchcraft being directed at me and my family. Now I was learning the real deal with Shamanism, which has little to do with glorious visions....it is a battle of life and death. And many Demons present themselves and must each be dealt with. Only three days after I had returned to Huautla from prison, two witches and the actual blood daughters of Maria Sabina, conspired to run me out of town also. And I later found out this is because they hated Filogonio and perceived me as an ally of him!! In so doing, they caused me to fall and break my leg in four places. I was unable to walk for 30 months without crutches. So I was already weakened when the War with the grandson and his family began. Some 30 months of being on

crutches had slowed me down considerably. I no longer felt so all powerful and confident. A friend told me about a curandero in another village who he believed could help me. I decided to go for it. Don Crecencio lived way above the town of Santa Cruz Juarez. We got to the town as the sun was setting and it took another hour and a half to climb the foot trail, and me on crutches. We had already made contact with the wiseman through his nephew, a bone healer, so he was expecting us. The ceremony was to be conducted not as the grandson of Maria Sabina had done, but rather the actual traditional Mazatec ceremony...which meant no light, no candles, and no leaving your chair for anything. Each of the participants was given an old can to vomit in, piss in or defecate in, if necessary. I was glad that the latter was not necessary. We were packed together like sardines. We were told we could not smoke tobacco either. Soon after the ceremony began, the old man began chanting. It was a rather simple chant and soon we were all chanting along with him, which he seemed to like a lot. Then he stopped the chanting and explained what he had seen. (Neither myself nor my companions ever saw anything....total blackness is all we saw.) He said that the grandson of Maria Sabina had from the beginning used us for money and favors. He said they were crooked people, from jump street and to stay away from them. Then at a certain point, he massaged my broken ankle and did a different chant. It seemed like forever but finally the trip ended around 3 am. He lit a candle and told me to walk across the room. I was afraid to take the first step, and had basically forgotten how to walk normal, after 30 months on crutches. But he kept saying to try it try it. I did, and miraculously, I could walk again. I started skipping around the room like a child. I was jumping up and down with happiness.....I had become to think I would never be able to walk again. I thanked the old wise man who was in his 90's, paid him, and we proceeded to drink a bottle of mezcal (agave liquor) and we all got even higher. It was a wonderful evening and though I had not seen anything at all on the mushrooms, I had definitely been cured. A few months later I ate mushrooms with another Mazatec curandero who lived in our own neighborhood. Again I could see nothing at all, but he saw that the Sabina people were still messing with me and had very evil intentions. He told me to stay clear of them. By leaving the Maria Sabina clan, we had truly entered the reality of the Mazatecs. I was now beginning to use Shamanism, to cure self and family, but soon neighbors began to come to me for help. I was a bit amazed. I had also begun to practice acupuncture, which I had learned during the Moss years so many years earlier. And around this time many foreign students came to stay with me, some of which proved to be great friends and fellow ceremony lovers. In addition I made the acquaintance of a very powerful figure in the local Catholic Church, a priest named Padre Jose Luis. We shared the same disdain for the US government and western madness. And it was his mission to rescue the dying Mazatec

culture. The culture was dying from many things, but probably the most important being the arrival of the satelite TV, the Internet, and the fact that so many Mazatecs had emigrated to other places seeking work, and when they would return, they simply were not the same anymore. Our friendship grew and grew. He began frequenting our home every Saturday evening and we would drink mezcal to the wee hours of the morning. We told him about our difficulties with the Sabina people. He introduced us to a remarkable Mazatec woman, Tamara, extremely knowledgeable about the mushroom use and ceremony. Tamara was very reluctant to share her secrets with outsiders. It was only due to the Padre's constant pressure, that she finally gave in and warmed up to us. Over a period of several years she taught us the way to do a real ceremony, which involves many different elements, apart form the mushrooms. After each ceremony, we would go over the details and she would correct us or give advise. The elements are of tremendous importance in the ceremony. The mushroom is just one of the many elements necessary to achieve results. We were doing many ceremonies a month and the Padre, more than once mentioned that we should write down each trip, who was there, what was consumed, and how the trip went. Out of laziness I declined to follow his admonitions. But after the attack on the Twin towers in 2001, I decided to get serious about writing down commentaries on every trip, and this book, now is one of the greatest treasures I have, since it records hundreds of different trips with different types of people, Indians, foreigners, and city Mexicans. An important principle in mushroom healing ceremonies is payment. One must pay the shaman for his work......and one must pay the spirits who are either malevolent to begin with, or who have been offended by some action the person has done. A simple example, are the duendes, or spirits who own and control every mountain top and every river. The spirits of the river eat their meals between 12 noon and 2:30 pm......according to all the legends, and this is basically common knowledge to most everybody.....If someone swims or bathes in the water during the eating times of the spirits, they will steal the spirit of the bather and he or she will eventually fall very sick and if intervention is not made, they will die. Usually the offended or dark spirits can be paid with a special package. These packages consist of a fresh and fertilized turkey egg, 13 cacao beans, about a spoonful of gound wild tobacco (which is called San Pedro powder, and is used in witchcraft and in healing), a few clippings of guacamaya feathers, and all this is wrapped in a special very light bark from a sacred tree. Finally the entire deal is further wrapped in a banana leaf, and sometimes is buried under the house, or taken to the sacred mountain or river in question. This pays for the misdeed (spoiling the spirits meal at the river for example). Often times, however, the patient is the victim of wrongdoing and black magic coming from a neighbor, relative or enemy. This can be because of a real or imagined event. Envy is the cause of

most spells, but a land dispute, or an opposed marriage can all be reasons to try to harm the victim. Demons are sent to attach themselves to the victim's spirit, causing the person anxiety, accidents, bad relations with others and eventually huge physical and or psychological problems. Turkey, duck and chicken eggs are used to clean the spirit. Each egg offers the spirit of the egg to the Demons and this allows them to leave the victim and return to the underworld appeased. In addition, certain branches are used to clean spirits, but in lieu of these, one can use, fresh basil, and especially holy basil, rosemary and ruda, the latter being considered extremely strong in cleaning abilities. The men who taught me these things, have all pretty much died. Only a very very few remain in some of the distant mountain areas a few hours from Huautla. Huautla itself is barren in my opinion of spiritual Truth, and if they do happen to know something it is from second hand knowledge only. Some healers actually play both sides of the fence. In other words, if you want to kill or make someone sick, they will do this for a fee. If you come to them to get well yourself, they may help one. But this is only temporary help at best. Later they will charge you much more as they strip your spirit of all goodness and happiness, as one would strip the meat and vegetables from a skewer. Even Filogonio who later turned on me and is a 100% murderous witch, told me when I first got here....You cant work for the Devil and the Lord both. Once you go to the dark side, you are forever compromised. Too bad he forgot this one Truth he did teach me. The actual cause of Filogonio losing his healing powers was the fact that I let him sleep with one of my women. He said his wife would not mind, but nothing could have been further from the truth. After she found out about this new relationship, she did everything in her power to bring it to a swift and certain end. The first thing she did was stab her husband, Filogonio, in the heart with a machete. Fortunately the man was wearing a leather coat and while the tip of the machete did draw quite some blood, the leather coat had absorbed most of the blow. Next she placed a bag of San Pedro powder under his pillow, causing him to get weak and vulnerable. Then she cut a lock of his hair and delivered it to a very powerful dark witch who then added more San Pedro powder to the package and then buried it in a cave. His wife was hoping to end his womanizing. A few nights later Filogonio ate mushrooms with a tourist...and in the middle of the night he arrived at out house crawling and moaning....He said he had lost all his powers and was now totally ignorant of what to do....He said that he had eaten mushrooms with a couple and had gotten so scared, that he ran away from his home. We cleaned him with copal and water and he cooled down slowly and finally was able to return home. The next day I had a ceremony and saw what the evil wife had done. I told Filogonio next time I saw him, what I had seen, and told him if he wanted to retrieve his spirit and power, I would accompany

him in such a task. He said, Yeah, some day we'll do that., but that day never came. Over the years he has gotten worse and worse, threatening children and women, and poisoning our finest dogs. In the end he taught me quite a bit about defending oneself against evil, since he was constantly trying something new on me. Nonetheless, at times his evil was so strong that I had to go to other curanderos for help in removing the blackness. I visited several Mazatec wise men in their 90's. Some read corn oracles, and copal, while others read velas (candles) and or copal. All of them confirmed that Filogonio was at the center of all my adversity, but over the years, I've come to accept the situation. Last time we had a problem, which was quite a few years ago, after I was clean, I saw him on the road and told him it would be more efficient to purchase a gun and shoot me in the back. Chapter 15 A few of the ceremonies One of the first trips I did for a non tourist, was for a Nahuatl woman who I will call Brenda to protect her real name. She had a fruit and vegetable business and often passed by our home offering great deals on everything. We became friends and then one day she pointblank asked me to do a ceremony for her and how much I would charge. I said that I wasnt really a professional but that I would do her my best and charged her $20 dollars, ( a very cheap price.) After the trip began, I saw that two women had envied her happiness and wealth and decided to cause her sadness and harm. Her children had abandoned her, the business was not doing well and she was generally quite at unease. I proceeded to remove the harm they had caused her, cleaning her with eggs, prayer and fortifying her spirit in general. She became radiant with health, happiness and the Peace which is available after a successful ceremony. Two weeks later I saw her and she looked like a new person. Her children had come back. Life was going well for her. Meanwhile two distant cousins of Brenda noticed her remarkable improvement, and inquired as to what the remedy had been. She explained that she had been to a gringo curandero in the sierra Mazateca who had straightened her trip out. They told her they needed a ceremony too for their own problems. Brenda agreed to bring them to me for a chat. When they arrived, the women looked very dark (their auras). I wondered if they were evil themselves, or rather suffering a spell someone had done to them. Brenda explained that they wanted to have a ceremony. Both the women spoke Nahuatl as first language, and they were a mother of 45 or so and a daughter of about 22. I explained to Brenda that I would only do a ceremony with them if she were to participate, as I was unfamiliar with the Nahuatl language and wanted someone on my team, besides my faithful partner, who like me was learning all about Shamanism and who joined me for every ceremony riding shotgun. He was a German, and he loved everything we were doing

here, and eventually started growing all kinds of mushrooms on the farm, from oyster mushrooms which we sold in the local market, to many psilocybin varieties (this at the bidding of the municipal Presidente of the time), and eventually medicinal mushrooms like reishi, maitake and a host of others. So we all agreed on doing the trip the following Saturday night. But then come Saturday, the two dark women arrived but without Brenda. They explained that she was sick and had not been able to come along. Very reluctantly I agreed to go ahead with the ceremony, but against my better instincts. Shortly after the ceremony began, the two women began laughing conspiratorially and I felt chills running through me. I noticed that all my prayers were being reversed. Somehow that had put a reverse on me. My prayers were my greatest tool, and now they had messed that up. I realized that these were the very two witches that had made Brenda go down. They were here to seek revenge for having cured her. Their intention was to kill me on the ceremony. I felt horrible. They threw magic rings around our throats making it difficult to make any sounds at all. My partner and I were struggling heavy. About two hours into the trip the younger one spoke in Spanish, Oye don Juan, Y cmo est Vd.? Bin o qu? (She had spoken in a very sarcastic tone, Hey Mr. Juan, How ya doin' now? Good or what?) I replied, that we had just now begun to fight, but in Truth we were not doing well at all. Never once did we light the candle, as I didnt want to look at them or be seen by them either. Finally I told my buddy that I thought I was gonna give up and let them kill me. I couldn't take any more. He said, Well, I am a German you know. I will fight until the very end. We dont give up. So inspired by this admonition, I held on until finally the mushrooms wore off and the morning sky was beginning to turn light. The women seemed to return to their normal selves. They gave us the money that had been agreed upon, (I was surprised about that) and then they asked us how they were? They had been the worse thing I had ever seen, or hoped to see in the future, but I told them a lie, that they were in fifth place, that I had seen four others that were heavier than them. I did not want them to think they were hot stuff. After that we referred to them as the Witches of Eastwick. Another interesting case was a fellow who was staying with the Sabina people. He was an American, but he had been out of the US for a long time. He looked as though his heart was very troubled. We hipped him to the Truth about the Sabina descendants and he took our advice and left them to come over with us. On our first ceremony, I saw that he had been studying with a guru in India. The guru hated and envied the american and charged him exorbitant fees to be in the ashram. Worse, he had stolen most of his spirit. He had meditated and adored this man, who in Truth hated him, and made much money off of him for several years.

We were unable to free him on the first ceremony, although we got a bit of the darkness out. We had a second ceremony, and we were up against it again, and still could not get him free. For the third ceremony, I cleaned the man first with a turkey egg, and then I made a special package with many of the Mazatec elements, San Pedro powder, cocoa beans, guacamaya feathers, along with the turkey egg which I had used to clean the fellow, and I wrapped the whole thing up in a banana leaf and carried it up to the top of the Cerro of Adoration, for that is the dwelling place of the Spirit of the Mountain who is called in Mazateca, El Chikn Nind Tokoxro. I made prayers with the Chikn to read the egg and to help me during the ceremony that we were planning for that evening, and then I returned to the house. We went ahead with the ceremony in the normal fashion but this time when the demon appeared blue, giant and ugly as all get out, I felt much more confidence with the Chikn on my side. I told the demon to get out and leave the Earthly realm. (It is not good to send Demons back to whomever sent them, for then one is doing witchcraft as well!!) The demon told me that he would kill anyone who removed him from the American fellow. Then the Chikn told me that it was the blanket the man always wore and slept under it as well. The guru had filled it with darkness and told him never to go anywhere with out it. I told him to give me the blanket and I ran out and threw it down the road about half a kilometer. We cleaned the man again with more eggs and branches and he was whole again. The guru had forbidden him of ever being with a woman, and it was clear that he very much wanted one. About two weeks later a very beautiful French woman arrived, the two fell in love and rode off into the sunset, later building a ship capable of crossing the ocean and they had a son as well. Many people who come from outside, cannot understand the use of ceramic images of the Virgin Mary and Jesus Christ. However these images act as Icons. It gives the mind and heart something to focus or hook into. And it is the force behind the image that is hooked into. It is nothing short of miraculous. One year a number of Israeli tourists arrived. All had been former soldiers in the Israeli army who were trying to get the war out of their mind. One was a couple in their mid twenties. They came and we made arrangements for the following evening to do a ceremony. They arrived at the appointed hour, and just as we were about to begin everything, they asked me to remove the images of Jesus on the Cross and the most beautiful and Sacred Virgin Mary from my alter. I told them that it would be alright if they wanted to add a Star of David, if it would make them comfortable, but explained that I

would not remove my images for nobody, not even for then president George Bush. They reluctantly agreed, although they did not put a star up on the alter. What was so interesting is that when the mushrooms came on, the woman began exclaiming that she saw this beautiful woman with roses in her hand (She was actually seeing the Virgin Mary in a vision). Meanwhile the man asked me why there were so many crosses he was seeing. I told them that they were seeing what was really going on. They were quite surprised and delighted that God really exists. My own religious view is that there is only one religion. It is the religion of Truth. God the Eternal Father, has sent various sacred Teachers to Earth to help humans from their dilemma. Buddha, Moses, Jesus (and Mary), Mohamed, Confucius, Zoroaster and Krishna, are but the ones we humans know of. How many other Teachers did God send, that no one even remembers? From my first mushroom experience in 1968, I realized that there are no names in Heaven. That even the word God is a limitation for what the Grandfather of the Universe (Father of Father Sky and Mother Earth) is. And so any Soul that reaches that level, must too lose its name. The Alfa-Omega, is a turquoise Sea of Pulsating Orgasmic Force that feeds the Universe and is in turn fed by the Universe. It is a place of Total Oneness. There was a time when my friend Padre Jose Luis was inundated with requests for ceremonies by Padres from other areas and regions. (This occurred shortly after Pope John Paul II came to Mexico and the Padre sent four Mazatec women to clean the pope. After this world televised event, petitions came pouring in from all over Mexico and Latin America). Some times he was unable to attend them all so he would send those he could not attend up to us. On one such occasion, we took on a Priest named Allan, who was from Chiapas. The trip opened very dark and ominous. Like many priests, he seemed to be very hung up about sex. I saw that his hangup or sexual particularity was that he was a heavy masturbator. After every meeting with a woman of any age, he would run back to his room and masturbate. The mushrooms actually told me this in plain English. He seemed basically unphased when I mentioned his weirdness. He also complained that he could see nothing on the trip. I explained that he would never see nothing as long as he was a masturbator. I asked him why he had become a priest in the first place. His response was to be expected. He claimed to have joined the church because they gave him a car to drive, plenty of chicken to eat and gave him clothes and medical coverage. He never once mentioned to serve God, as a reason for being a padre. He wanted very much to have another trip the following day. I told him if he could go 30 days without masturbating once, then I would consider doing another ceremony with him. Since he was temporarily working at the local Church, I saw him several times in the next 30 days. He always

looked away and I knew he was still doing everything the same. Too bad the silly rules of sexual abstinence have such a horrific effect on the priests, (and thus in turn on the population at large!!) This is as far from Christ as one can get! Gurdjieff's father had it right. He said if you want to lose your religion, make friends with a priest We did another ceremony with a Jesuit priest from Brazil.. He had joined a huge ayahuasca club that ate ayahuasca twice a month sometimes with up to a thousand or more participants. He was stock full of demons. Evidently not all the people in the club were good guys. First the padre took him to a Mazatec shaman.....who was so freaked out by what he saw during the ceremony, that he ran out of his house, grabbed a turkey, cut his head off and sprayed the blood all over the Jesuit priest causing the latter to blackout completely. We cleaned him for hours with eggs and leaves and told him to quit the ayahuasca club. Shortly before the Padre was literally forced out of the diocese by orders from Rome (the newGerman Pope!), his most ardent followers wanted to do a huge trip with like 25 people....(against all the rules that they themselves had taught me). Rules like not eating the mushrooms during the days of the Dead (which is what time it was! And not eating mushrooms with large groups, which this definitely was). All the adults in our house were invited and even urged to come. Nobody was interested from our house so to save face I went by myself, to my later chagrin. I brought along the mushrooms, all in individual packages for the 25 participants. I had never met the curandero in charge of the ceremony, and instantly I did not like his vibe but decided to hold tight and see how it would all turn out. Raymundo, the curandero's name, took all the mushrooms out of their individual packages and placed them in a pile on the table. Then he proceeded to grab a pinch and give them to any given participant. Some were given huge doses, others almost nothing. No blessing no prayer. (Very odd I thought?) I only knew four of the people in the room, one of which was the Padre. After the mushrooms were ingested the candle was extinguished and since we were in a cement room with no windows, the darkness was total and complete. The man began a chant that had an awful moaning sound and rhythm. And worse, he wanted the whole group to repeat word for word every phrase he said including the ending of Uh, huh!, after each phrase. He was chanting in Mazatec and I could not understand a word. But I saw that we were going around in circles in a slow descent into the underworld. I didn't like what I saw at all....Finally, the girl sitting next to me, whose face nor name I never knew, started complaining. this guy is taking us around in circles...We are not getting anywhere....I don't even believe he is a curandero! I applauded her words. I agree, I confirmed. Lets hear some prayers to the Virgin Mary...to Jess., I continued. But the whole group turned

against us. They said we were weak and not trying to hold up our part. Finally, I covered my ears, lay on the floor in the fetal position and tried to outlast them. When I heard no more chanting I lit a match only to see the whole group of them having finally fallen asleep. I tried to slip out the door. But someone saw me and admonished me for trying to leave without the curandero's permission. I made a big scene and told them I would scream at the top of my lungs and start swinging my fists and kicking if they did not let me out...That convinced them and I made my way home. As soon as I got to my house, I lit a candle and began cleaning myself with eggs. Then I called my wife down to clean me some more. I felt much better. The next day I saw Magdalena, the head of the Mazatec group of women who had cleaned Pope John Paul II, and whom it had been expected that she would be at the ceremony just described. How come you weren't at the ceremony last night for the Padre?, I inquired. Her response was what I had hoped to hear. I already know that Raymundo is a brujo. I already made that mistake once. So there it was. She knew also. Shortly after that, Padre left town as directed by the Bishop, under orders from Rome. The groups fell apart......the whole town was wounded and in some ways may never recover. A few years later, an Argentine fellow came by and told me he had eaten mushrooms for many years with great results, but that around three or four years ago, everything had come to a halt. No matter how many mushrooms he ate, he never saw or felt any effects. He told me he had been to a curandero named Raymundo. He showed me his photo. It was the same guy. The Argentine fellow asked me to do a ceremony for him. Almost a year later, we did one. I saw that Raymundo had stripped his spirit like taking meat off a skewer. We spent many hours trying to get it back, but some of the Demons that replaced the lost spirit would not budge. They had become almost hopelessly entwined with the original spirit. We planned to do another ceremony as soon as possible. Those demons were among the ugliest and nastiest that I can remember. The Argentine, was complaining that he couldnt see anything. I told him he was lucky and fortunate to be blind to what I was seeing, and after five egg cleanings he could see enough to realize just how heavy the situation was.

CHAPTER 16 A few final thoughts

I have more than once mentioned the elements that come into play on the ceremony. I would like to make a few comments about each one. We tend to think mainly of the magic mushrooms as being the only element of importance in a trip. However it is only one of a number of other equally important elements, and alone can not provide what is necessary for accomplishments. Nonetheless one should only consume one variety of mushrooms per ceremony. Others in the ceremony can eat a different type, but each person should only consume one variety. Otherwise, it is said, the mushrooms become jealous of one another and will fight against each other. The next most important element is the altar. An altar is a table set up on the Eastern wall of a house and is where one places the images of the Saints, and St. Mary and Jesus, the copalero, the candle and the flowers. It is the focus of the ceremony, and remains so even after the lights have been turned out. The corn oracle was often thrown before the ceremony so as to instruct the shaman as to how the ceremony will go, or if it be too dangerous, he will avoid doing it altogether or postpone it until more favorable conditions present themselves. Special grains of corn are chosen, according to the shaman and he will save them in a special pouch for a year. After which he will plant the best ones for similar use in the following year. Although I have witnessed at least a dozen such corn oracles, I could not see a thing in them, even as the old wise men would say Look....here it is!!!! This is the problem!!!, and as such I have never attempted to throw one. Personally I like to use the Chinese I Ching oracle and I consult it before each trip, asking for counsel and how things can be expected to go or if a trip is to be avoided all together. I have used the same coins for some fifteen years. The copal which is essential to any Mazatec ceremony of any kind, is the sap of a certain tree and is identical in every way to the frankincense that is burned in the middle east and was brought to the newborn Christ by one of the three wise men. The old Mazatecs believe that the beautiful and holy scent of the copal, alerts the Gods to the importance of the petition or prayer and thus is very important in seeing results from one's prayer. It is also said to be an insult to the devil and drives him away as well. Raw cacao beans are another element that is often used in ceremonies. Since these chocolate beans were once the basic unit of money for ancient Mesoamerica, they are considered to imbibe power and spiritual money to the partaker. The beans are generally mashed and mixed with a small amount of cold water and are drunk variously at the beginning, middle or end of a ceremony (depending on the shaman and his customs) out of a jcara (cup) which is passed around the room for everyone to partake. The San Pedro powder, or 'nah no in Mazatec, made from grinding green tobacco leaves with minute portions of cal can be used in many ways....for good or evil. Often times children will be seen carrying a small bag around their neck. More times than not it will contain a package of San Pedro meant to shield the bearer from harm. Nonetheless, if one has ever touched a wild or cultivated tobacco plant, one notices

immediately how sticky it is. For this reason, I believe, it is used to make spells stick. Someone only needs to have some of the powder in their mouth, see an innocent victim walk by, and then curse the person and spit in their direction with their saliva reinforced with the San Pedro powder to ensure the spell is on. On ceremonies, it is applied at the elbows or wrists before the effects of the mushroom have begun, while imploring St. Peter and St. Paul to protect the participant from demons that may be flying through the room. (The San Pedro powder is also applied to onlookers who are not eating the mushrooms, with the same objective.) Sometimes it is reapplied in the middle of a ceremony if the mushrooms indicate this can be useful. Once I observed a foolish white woman throwing some San Pedro powder in the copalero (incense burner for copal) and a zillion demons showed up in seconds. (She actually thought she was throwing copal in there but grabbed the wrong bag and was so out of it she didn't notice what she was doing. She had not been asked to help out). It took several hours to get things back in order after that! And the girl really freaked out, took all her clothes off was grinding (gnashing her teeth) and started scratching her fingernails into the cement floor, until they were bleeding. Not fun to watch. Eggs are often used to remove demons and darkness from a person's spirit. The rationale behind this is that the demons want to feed on a being. The demons are actually dumb and robotic. Thus, they will release their hold on a human spirit, in return for giving them the duck, chicken or turkey spirit in the whole egg. A duck egg seems to me to have the most power but turkey is considered the best by some. Chicken eggs also work in lieu of the first two types. All eggs must be fertilized and relatively fresh for to be effective and factory-farm eggs do not work at all. In most cases, the egg is then opened after the cleaning, and the contents are poured out into a half full clear glass of clean water. An experienced shaman can then read the egg and see if he has captured the malevolent spirit he was after. Another key element is the flowers. Flowers should not have been seen previously, (after having been cut), by anyone other than the participants of the ceremony. They should all be white. The flowers represent an offering to the Gods. A candle is lit at the very beginning of the ceremony and is an offering of light. It seems to be much better if it is made with 100% pure bee's wax and sometimes in the middle of a ceremony, a new candle will be given to the patient for to light and ask the Gods for a change in life. The candle is then taken home by the patient and re-lit whenever he/she feels the need for reinforcement to their spirit. Like most of the other elements, candles can be purchased from ladies with their little stands around the Catholic Cathedral in downtown Huautla. However most of the candles in town are now just normal paraffin candles with added brown dye to make them look like they are bee's wax. Every shaman has his own ceremony. Each one uses the elements with which he is familiar or has either learned through experience or has been taught. Most Mazatecs will permit no light until the

ceremony is officially over....which is often times several hours after the effects have already worn off. There is no absolute way for a ceremony to go, but I find it very important to pray for the mushrooms that each individual will consume with his or her name mentioned various times to identify whose package is being prayed for. And one can not omit the importance of Prayer. A dialogue must be established with the Gods. If there is no dialogue, not much can result in the end. And the prayer needs to be physically pronounced. That is the same that was done to cast a spell. The curandero must pronounce positive prayers to counter the evil words pronounced by the brujo. It shows the power of the Word, (St. John opens his gospel with the acknowledgement of the Word.) Any real prayer can be used. The Lord's prayer is very effective....so is the Ave Maria. Not only Christian prayers are useful. But then they must be spoken by a follower of the other religion. Native American prayers are always good. Maybe a good time can be had, without prayer....and maybe not. But the ceremony is not about a good time with bongo drums and flute playing, although in a different setting, such as the Amazon basin for example, the elements may be different, no doubt. Perhaps there, the flute and bongo drums are part and parcel with their ceremony, and moreover they may be essential to getting the results they are after.

There are many more trips/ceremonies I could comment upon. I have seen more than I would ever have wanted to see. The Good, the Bad and the Ugly. Today in the Post 9/11 era here in the sierra Mazateca, Shamanism is dwindling away. Modern Mazatec youth prefers movies, parties, TV, Internet, video games, and prenuptial games/rites to the much more risky business of shamanism, much like modern youth everywhere in the world Today I am quite perplexed about the future, as are many older folks living in the Sierra. For one thing the climate is changing drastically, with little definition in the seasons. For another, none of the younger Mazatecs have any interest whatsoever in the mushrooms or Shamanism, including my own children. I was able to catch the dying of a great Religion that really functioned and to whom any who desired was a candidate for the priesthood, male or female. I don't know what the future will hold for the sierra or Mushroom ceremonies. I do know that if one has not seen a Real ceremony, one is very unlikely to discover all the principles and elements that come into play. The Mazatec Mushroom ceremony took thousands of years to perfect and was handed down by the grandfathers and grandmothers by word of mouth for centuries. The mushrooms themselves taught the ancients all the rules.

Now we are seeing a generational break.....and to quote Terrence McKenna, It only takes a one generation break in a many thousand year oral tradition, to lose everything, absolutely everything. And my twenty-plus years of residence here have molded my experience in the Mazatec framework of things. It took me many years to learn how to See, and to know what to do about what is seen. A real ceremony is very much like a visit to the dentist. If you go to the dentist and you are in pain, you sure don't want him to say....Why your teeth look beautiful. You have nothing to worry about. So I guess there is some pain in letting go of the old or the obstacles to growth. The Mazatecs are quick to point out that we are all sinners and that we should be working along lines to become saints. It is a long road with many twists and turns. And as for Quetzalcoatl...........I now believe this is a state of mind, much like Christ Consciousness. It doesn't belong to any one individual. Rather it is a Real psychological place, (or space, if you will), where one can go....a space that is all knowing and all seeing and available to anyone who desires a state of total unity with Nature and the Cosmos. A place where the Past, the Future and the Present converge upon one another. It is a world of pure spirit. It is available to anyone who has the good fortune to have the desire to evolve...to acquire more in terms of Being. It is available to anyone who wants it badly enough. May God Bless you. Amen.

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