John & Jeanie Nelson, 3/28/00: Hi, Judy, Ramon, et al: Snow is falling this Sunday morning in Madison. Jeannie lies sleeping peacefully under cozy down in our bed. I have been cheered by the morning MOST and am moved to send an update of news from our quiet corner.
 For a number of years I occasionally suggested we might enjoy adding a dog to our family and each time the idea met with a less than enthusiastic response from my darling cat lover. On the 8th of October she surprised me with an affirmative response. We drove 60 miles north to Sundog Kennels and met Pam and the puppies. The females had been called for but we had the pick of the males and were chosen by a shoebox size shepherd of 8 weeks. Bhangazi Trooper transformed us into a pack of three. Trooper began puppy preschool 2 days later. He then graduated the beginner obedience class cum loudly and is now an intermediate student and is up to his fleas in a canine good citizen class. He demonstrates promise of becoming an asset to society and Jeannie refers to him as a "love bringer". He has grown amazingly and now weighs 80#. His kin are successful service animals and can perform such feats as being able to locate 2 potseeds on a gymnasium floor - a most useful service in droughty times. He has, fortunately, not had to be pressed into this task and has, instead, become adept at the frizzbee. He has put an end to my sedentary ways - my little fitness director. We have, as a result of our frequent outings, become acquainted with neighbors and the village of my youth. The dog is the big news here.
 We will transport Trooper to SF when we come in 6 weeks for short stay. We are looking forward to seeing as many MS folk as time allows and introducing our puppy to the ranch.

Pam Read Hanna's Xmas 1999 letter: HC 62, Box 8145 (505) 862-7909 Thoreau, NM 87323: Dearhearts #10
 Incredibly, the last Dearhearts letter was dated 1994. That's because right after that, I got on the internet & e-mail bigtime & haven't been the same since. (Have a body of writing at various sites, am into an academic discussion group & seem to be a confirmed net addict. Who would have thot?)
 A lot has happened in these past five years. Lou died. Tuck died. Several of us old '60s types, including me, have found out that we have hepatitis C, but with a little help from my friends & the internet I found a Chinese herb doctor in New York (Dr. Zhang) & the herbs have brought my viral load down from 7.5 million to less than 5,000. Anybody who wants the info on this, give me a call or e-mail. So life goes on and Findley & I have finally come back home to New Mexico where all three kids are. I found a wonderful caretaker for the big house in Nashville who is also taking care of my mother (she's still in the cottage and doing fine).
 Adam Siddhartha & wife Beth have bought a house in Los Chavez (near Belen) south of Albuquerque - a fixer-upper adobe hacienda. Siddhartha is working in Socorro for the NM Bureau of Mines and Beth is the new tribal judge for Isleta Pueblo. Psyche & hubby Fred are living in Santa Fe where Fred is self-employed as a carpenter & Psyche is making jewelry for a living. Sage is still at large & doing odd jobs somewhere near Santa Fe (we see him now & then).
 We're six miles east of the Continental Divide between Gallup and Grants at an altitude of 7,700' above sea level in a cozy little house near Bluewater Lake. Findley always wanted to live where he could see great vistas - great expanses of sky, while I of course have to have a rio to river trek. We consider ourselves in paradise. I do miss the sage & Apache plume and Russian olives & cottonwoods and magpies - true - but we got pinones & cedar, blue herons & eagles & jackrabbits. And there's no light pollution so the stars blaze bright at night like it was when you were a kid. We can see the milky way and of course rainbows, sunrises & sunsets. And I can trek for miles up the rio - Bluewater River - into these secret canyons that time forgot. Very high. Our front yard faces NM land office land so nobody's going to move in & build a McDonalds to ruin our view.
 Our daily companions are birds, sheep with bells who come periodically down from the hills - and our two butterscotch-colored kittens who think they're dogs. They've walked as much as a mile up the rio with us. I have my own office with all my books and computer - a room of mine own - and Findley's found a good cheap golf course a few miles away. Our cups runneth over.
 We're surrounded by Indians - Acoma pueblo to the Southeast, Zuni to the Southwest, Laguna to the East and Navajos all around. The land is pretty arid, but we have a well, so I think we can garden in raised beds & pots. Findley is ecstatic about the sky & painting same. He'll fire some pots when he gets a kiln built.  We made a trip to the health food store in Albuquerque last week & found out that we could get a discount cuz Findley is "chronologically gifted" - that means he's an old geezer. Hell, I'm vertically challenged, but I don't get any discount for it. ;~}
 Everybody who gets this letter is invited to visit us - any time. Just call first. A pot of frijoles and chiles will be waiting on the back burner & a warm fire in the wood stove (if it's winter) & fresh cornbread & the stars at night & the sight of the hills always and the lake in the distance. I miss my friends at Vandy (was there for 10 years after all) & Findley misses his golf buddies in Nashville. We intend to do some camping & visiting next summer to see some of you again. Hope you're all Y2K ready & that you have a happy & healthy new millennium. God bless us every one.

Corrita, 4/10/00: Hello Ramon. Never thought I would be contacting you over a netline! 22-23yrs. ago was the last time I had contact with you after Bill kicked Morningstar Steve off the land after killing the 3rd or 4th deer. (Bill thought it was the second one ) and we came up to your place for a few days before going down to the city to ask Lou if we could set-up on Morningstar.
 I remember a lot of stuff from that time period. Quite often-you, Peggy, o.b., garbage mike, silent steve, coyote, bill and esp. bart - he shows up in my dreams several times a year! - many moves, men, substance abuse, alcohol use and lots of miracles, progressive growth, leading to now.
 Four years ago, I was finally able to read and understand that book by Ken Keyes, jr. that you gave me.  There are few material things I kept from back then. The orginal copy of the MS Scrapbook, although a bit tattered and yellow, and the living love books are with me and very treasured more for where they came from . What amazes me most and remains a constant reminder is that there were times when I had to run for my life leaving everything behind stemming from my insane choices, but those two books always made it into my pack !  Just got this new brain extension last week.  My original one was so over-loaded w/ info  memory.  I kept telling friends, family and God if they wanted to give me something, all I really needed was a new brain. Came back from Tahoe after visiting for a few days and there it was!  Immediately I began setting up and
researching deadly viruses that some of us contacted years ago . Researching health topics esp. syndromes and dysfunctions has become a passion, except yesterday, when I went to click in health , lifestyles.  Hippies came up! It's still all cosmic! I would love to hear from you or anybody letting me know what happened in the last days at the ranch (think I can guess) Who's still here? Who left? What next ! ?
 I love you, Ramon Thank You, Love Light to All,
P.S. If you're in contact with Jill, let her know I baked Bill's birthday cake that the goat ate. I still think of her every time I put on my Birkenstock's.  Too bad they still don't cost 29 bucks! Peace,

Saturday  29 April 2000
Hello To All, Yesterday, I was sorting though old files from a few years ago and came  across a brochure for the Heffter Research Institute ( have no clue as to  where or when I got it) however a while ago, as I was going through my "to be  done" file, I looked up the address on that brochure and was amazed at what I  found.  Possibly, many of you have heard of this institute but thought I would share it with whoever may be interested.   A few years ago, it came into my thoughts about how neat it would be if I could connect into an  "acid" receptor somehow and/or if one even existed or had been  scientifically found to exist.  Sometimes I feel like I could really enjoy another dose, although it's been years, (Dylan/Dead -Anaheim 1987)  I don't  feel right about walking up to some high school kid or seldom do I run into any one who has ever ingested that drug "that makes people jump off of  buildings...."  People are a trip out here in this world and I've been out here too long!!! Really miss "Ecotopia" ! ?  An example just walked in,  saying "LSD, oh that drug that made everyone go crazy....
(need to get back on track after a few hours of distraction...where did I leave off?)
 LSD, yea-but more than that.   Back in the late 1800's and up to the 1920's, a doctor Arthur Heffter  was busy researching  biophysiology, biochemistry  and some other neuropharmaceutical ideas he had been thinking about, like the  active principals in certain psychoactive and toxic substances and found for one example, mescaline as the active principal in peyote.  His basic research and discoveries in a field alien then and still very controversial today  dealing with the neurotransmitters and their receptors, dopamine, sertonin,  and norepinephrine plus other  places beyond my comprehension are what this  web page is about.  Check it out: http://www.heffter.org.  As of now, I haven't  had a chance to really check it out myself except skimming through the first  pages got me real stimulated.  Ironically, the person who walked in while I was beginning this e-mail--- the one who believed another one of the  "lies"--- just came out of her med session at the mental health facility down here with a brand new prescription for the newest anti-depressant drug,  Remeron (mirtazaphine), since the prior twenty or more weren't working on her  brain like promised although the scam, whatever...put out by the ? PAMHAN99 (Most 4/19) said it well: "modus operandi " of the medical/pharmaceutical racketeers  is working extremely well.
 Since it takes me so long to get to things-- intended --like connecting with Ambriel!  Peggy told me some of what's happening these days with you and Rainbow Harley  and I just want  to let you know you have been in my thoughts for years, however now more so  ---remember that time I was making something really good, some kind of food  that we rarely had access to, it was in that old trailer and I used kerosene  thinking it was oil ....  it feels so good knowing we can once again be in  contact. Soon, alright?   And Coyote, Wow!!!   One day, on Fell St., as I sat on the front steps of MaMa Kitten's place at that time, feeling really depressed, bummed-out, totally alone and just wishing that I would go away and never come back, along comes this really cute guy, sits down next to me  and says something like "do you like to do acid?' then proceeds to show me an  8 by 10 piece of paper imprinted with all these neat little buddhas, OM's,   Morningstars ,lots of really high symbol type stuff ...It was hard to choose  which energy force or en-trance to use but I think he offered me a beer, too.   Maybe he choose the first hit for me ?  I do remember that I managed to do all of them throughout the rest of the day and night. Matter of fact, remember  Coyote, between the both of us handing out hits to everyone at the Onabus Bar, that place was ready to explode and we were just sitting on some beer  kegs next to the bar - grooving on the music, the energy, the whole  experience-and the owners came over and told us we had to leave immediately, before it got any worse.  We didn't agree with "worse"-thinking it was pretty cool actually!   That is one of my best and most fun memories of  then-still  now, I would do it again...the continuing story, after getting kicked-out of  a bar for just sitting there....I wouldn't do that again but maybe, who knows, Coyote-we might get to do another free flight thing together sometime  again.  I still Love you, guy!!!
 Ramon, I intended to e-mail a Thank You to you for your quick and very  informative overview of  what had and was happening, putting Peggy and me  back in touch, wonderful hearing from you. .... And, thanks  to all who have written in the Most since the beginning of April --April !  wow! my life has been transformed and re-integrated in just (what's the  date?) 28 days, amazing...we really enjoy reading from everyone, we being  Corey, born and raised "bay area/city" boy.  We met seven years ago in the Tahoe area and he just loves Tom's lovely perspectives and has been inspired by you, Tom, to start thinking about writing his own excellent stuff again  which is another one of those miracles.
 Although I could continue on here about something else, I think I'll go back to where this mail began. http://www.heffter.org
and see if I can reconnect with the connection I was making several hours ago.
In Love & Light,

Pam (Read) Hanna, 7/22/00:
I think it was Jeff Horton in Santa Fe who put me back in touch with the M* CA gang after having been out of touch for many years. Was wonderful. Uncle Lou, being the "compulsive correspondent"that he is, began writing and visited several times while we were living in Nashville (Tony lives in Nashville, so Lou came to see him and his grandchildren). In 1995, we both got online and the snailmail letters turned to e-mail. We corresponded from 1992 to the year of Lou's death. in 1996. I'm leaving out a lot that was sent to other people too -- his reaction to Morningstar's death (Don & Sandi's daughter), Jerry Brown's party, the trip to the Cannabis club, his tribute t/o Timothy Leary... What follows are excerpts from some personal letters and e-mail to me.
Lou Gottlieb
Aug. 3, 1992: "I've been working on my autobiography, specifically my "mid-life crisis" which bottomed out in 1965. In reading my journal for that year, I found two places where I actually wrote, "I hate my Dad. I am uncomfortable in his presence." I'd forgot all about that. I never mouthed off at him, and always did whatever he asked immediately, but I definitely minimized contact during the last four years of his life. Do I regret having done so? Not really. He couldn't have been any more comfortable around me than I was around him, and by then I'd pretty well absorbed most of the practical wisdom he'd accumulated."
"I understand God best on my Hindu days. He created the world and its inhabitants to amuse Him with their 'lila' (antics), Usually their play is comic, sometimes creative, heroic, altruistic, other times destructive, vicious, cowardly, especially when they cling to this existence like a leaf in autumn which is afraid and refuses to fall off the tree. Then He's got to get the pruning hook and hand it to Hitler, Franco, Stalin, Harry Truman, Pol Pot, Sadam Hussein, Milosevic, Charlie Manson, Jeffrey Dahmer, and other 'monsters' who help us return to His ocean of Bliss."
June 21, 1993: What am I doing for Tony? Desk top publishing of music. I just finished copying two more songs by Dan Seals off a tape for inclusion in a Dan Seals Song Book. Now I've started taking down Cheryl Wheeler's songs for a Cheryl Wheeler Song Book. After I take down the songs in pencil, I lay them out on the Macintosh and boot them back to Tony who prints them out on his laser printer and takes camera ready copy to the designer and printer of the books. I enclose a dot matrix print-out of the first page of one of Dan's songs. It looks a lot better on a good laser printer. The lyrics come out much sharper."
"Joseph Pulitzer's advice to business executives, 'Don't do anything you can hire somebody else to do, because when you can't hire anyone to do something -- that is your job' is good advice for running a household, even if it requires a major financial sacrifice. Your time is much more valuable than what you have to pay someone to do scut work, your job is to find a way to cash in on the time you have freed up by hiring help. You can't to that while doing household chores."
Jan. 12, 1994: "I went to the MacWorld Expo in San Francisco last Friday. Thank God I had the sense to park near Ramon's place in the Noe Valley and ride the J-Church streetcar into town. It was, like most bazaars, too crowded. Everything I really want, I can't afford. What I can afford, I already have and don't use. There was a demonstration of a program called "Producer" made by the Passport people in Half Moon Bay who also make good sequencers that was amazing. "
"My favorite in the Clinton cabinet is Hazel O'Leary who's blowing the whistle on the clandestine nuclear shenanigans of the past thirty years. She held a public hearing in 'Frisco' yesterday talking to the people from the Lawrence Livermore Lab. Even ol' Teller, the father of the hydrogen bomb, was there and said there should be an end to the secrecy surrounding nuclear research."
"Central American politics is a maelstrom of hatred and murder unparalleled in human history. The scene in Chiapas is just the latest chapter in a really sad story of oppression. I've just finished a biography of a Salvadoran professional revolutionary named Miguel Marmol, a founder of the Communist Party of El Salvador. He survived his own execution by firing squad in the squelching of the Communist-led uprising in El Salvador in 1932. Maximillano Hernandez Martinez who claimed to be a theosophist (?!) executed something like 30,000 during his 13-year presidency. It's an amazing biography written by Roque Dalton, a Salvadoran poet who was himself executed in the '70s for revolutionary activity. Last December, the New Yorker carried an article about a massacre in El Mozote, a Salvadoran village which was actually not a resistance stronghold but rather fundamentalist Christian, in which some 800 including many children were massacred in 1981. The land-owning oligarchies which rule Central America utilize only the most homicidal thugs to defend their interests. In our desperate effort to prevent another Cuba or Nicaragua, (God forbid that the Commies should get control of the Panama Canal), we have consistently given financial and military aid to these elements.
Feb. 10, 1995: "As you know, I come from a family which hated and feared physical labor. I was brought up to fear having to do physical labor for a living. My mother used to say, "Yo no quiero obreros in esta casa"("I want no laborers in this house."). My father reminded me more than once that the survival of the Jew has historically depended on his possession of portable skills or merchandise rather than land and agriculture. Recently, I have started working two hours per day at Morningstar mainly clearing away wild blackberry brambles. It may well be the first time in my life I have voluntarily done what might loosely be called agricultural labor. It feels great. Not only does it feel great but it has influenced my dreams. I keep having the ghostly recollections of an archetypal village in my DNA or subconscious. Human beings must have lived for thousands of years in villages where traditional social roles were passed on from generation to generation, and I must have cleared land in more than one previous incarnation."
"I am working pretty well these days. I think it's because I made a list of all my project-in-work and try to do something on one or more every day."
[what follows is a list of all Lou's projects -- I'll shorten for brevity]
The Autobiography [I was the 6th person to read it] "It only goes up to 1981. I have extensive notes for the '80s and '90s and add to the first draft as the spirit moves.
A solo act. I want to put together two 45 minute solo shows. "I want to try playing the reefer circuit in Northern California to see if I can come up with some market tested material worth recording.
The Limeliters. I still look for material. It's time for us to make another children's album.
A TV property that Tony and I are developing.
My studio. I am gradually moving more and more of my shit down there and clearing away brush in front of the place for a flower and vegetable garden. I sleep like a baby in my hermitage with no sixty cycle hum I still fantasize about playing a solo recital of Bach and piano rag music."
Piano teaching. I devote Sundays to five piano students and learn from them a lot which helps me in my own piano studies.
My Expert Witness 'career'. [I put a list together for him of Nashville attorneys doing copyright infringement cases.]
Songwriting. I've got at least 10 pretty good songs partially done.
March 14, 1995: "Back home after five days in Berkeley. It's been a weird five days, the night of the first rehearsal (Thursday) I came back to Morningstar to sleep. During the night, two 100 ft Douglas Fir trees (20" in diameter at the base) fell across the Dupont Road driveway. Like God was telling me "Don't go to rehearsal." Anyway, my neighbor, Dan Solter, father of Jonathan, Solter, my youngest piano student, came over with a chain saw and cut away enough tree to let me out."
"I got back to Morningstar last night feeling down, but much better upon arising today and good a good practice session in. It's been raining all day today and I'm suffering from sunlight deprivation. The folks here at Camp Fowler were without electricity from Wednesday night til Sunday night.
"Anais' brother, Joaquin, is alive and well in Berkeley, 86 years old and working on a new opera. The next time I'm in Berkeley, I'm gonna call on him." [This is Anais Nin's brother. I had been doing a study of Anais' journals while I was at Vanderbilt. The library there has the complete set.]
March 27, 1995: "I put a copy of the Whirling Rainbow News into the mail for you today. This afternoon I jammed with Bruce Barthol who used to play bass with Country Joe and the Fish during the heydey. He's the musical director for the San Francisco Mime Troupe. Nice guy and good song writer. We played a bunch of oldies like 'Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow, Bye Bye Love, You're Sixteen, Save the Last Dance for Me, I Fought the Law, etc. I love those tunes, but don't know what piano part to play. They all sound like jazz tunes with real simple chords when I play them. I quit thinking about popular music piano styles sometime in the late '50s."
May 3, 1995: "We played in Sioux city, Iowa Saturday night. On the plane there and back, I read "The Spear of Destiny" by Trevor Ravenscoft. It's a study of the use of the occult at the service of evil by the Nazi leadership. Hitler said his worst enemy was Rudolf Steiner, was totally into S&M, had his first flash on Peyote, had only one testicle, worshipped the spear of Longinus (the spear that pierced Jesus between the fifth and sixth rib), hung out continuously with occultists -- lots of little known facts concerning Nazi monsters. I loved the story in the Vanderbilt Review and I got a big kick out of the James Dickey interview. I've gotta read a couple of his novels. He sounds like a guy who tries to see clearly. Robert Bly called him a sadist and he called Robert Bly a moron. I can't go along with that.
Terrible downer that Oke City bombing. I do hope Timothy McVeigh gets to run his trip out fully. I would like to know how he justifies the combing of a nursery school. That's gotta be a large unexplored area of mental illness.
The creative faculty of the universe gives me EVERYTHING I NEED. Praised by the glorious name -- which ever one you use."
May 25, 1995: "Findley and Cathy [Findley's former wife] came up from San Francisco on their way to Ukiah to see their saxophone- playing son. We met at the Union Hotel, had coffee and went to Morningstar where I made a hit with Cathy by reading aloud the chapter on Bodhisattva Wondersound (Myom Bosatsu) from the Lotus Sutra. I have been convinced for a long time that I am an incarnation of Myom Bosatsu. After touring the ranch, we came up to Steve Fowler's and then we went out to Bodega for fish and chips."
June 27, 1995: "I went to Copperfield's book store in Sebastopol last night and heard George Fowler pitch his book. [Ramon turned me on to George Fowler who lived in Nashville when I did. When Lou came to Nashville, I took him to meet George and his wife, Lori -- they are an ex-priest and ex-nun married to each other. They loved Lou.]
"George is definitely happy. He claims this book can get the reader there in much less time than it took him to get happy. Having never been enmeshed in the story-form trammels of organized religion's cocoon, I guess I don't appreciate the liberational effect of the "Dance of a Fallen Monk". I like the way he talks about the "experience" of meditation. Getting to the "I/we-are-all-one-with- God and it feels better than orgasm. He's right about that. It's just that I have never got there as a direct RESULT of practicing meditation. The few times I've been there were the gift of grace or the right microgrammage."
July 26, 1995: "Last Sunday I drove to Monterey to retrieve some tape masters and other stuff that had been left there by the guy who was doing the cassette duplication for our little back-of-the-hall record company. He got into an argument with his business partner, debts mounted, he was involved in a nasty custody battle with an ex-wife, etc. So he just threw up his hands, picked up his machinery, inventory and a lotta masters belonging to his clients and left them with a friend in Monterey. Luckily the friend turned out to be a Limeliters' fan, so we were able to fish out most of what belonged to us from a chaotic heap. Others have not been that lucky. If someone calls him to complain, he just says, "Sue me." Somehow I seemed to detect a faint odor of methedrine clinging to the whole scene."
There is a good possibility that the Limeliters may have a bona-fide new personal manager who has done wonders for Glenn Yarbrough's career. Maybe he can jump start ours. Solvency looms.
Rena sent me a copy of the July 20 1995 issue of the Maui News. She and Melodica are in a color photograph on the front page along with two other kids. The caption says, "Rena Blumberg gives an impromptu lesson on the benefits of the curbside recycling pick-up service."
"Say hello to Jeff Horton for me and congratulate Psyche on her renewed vow [Psyche had another ceremony in Santa Fe so that Findley and I could be there]
Aug. 29, 1995: [on our ongoing heated debate about "master bulls" etc.] "Yes. The preservation-of-the-species drive in human beings manifests in many ways especially now that over-population could render the planet uninhabitable by homo sapiens. Modern demographic theory declares that zero population growth is essential for human survival. Whether this is true or not, there are billboards all over the underdeveloped world showing mommie, daddy and TWO (only) kids. In India, a man is awarded fifteen rupees for submitting to a vasectomy. Homosexuality is seen as Mother Nature's organic contraception and is on the increase. Even Charles and Princess Di gave up after having two kids -- and have separated.
I am primarily interested in the effect of ZPG on masculinity. I hold these truths to be self-evident. All bulls are not created equal. A few are Master Bulls, used for breeding. Others are altered into steers and become beef. Similarly all men are not created equal. Some men are kings (Master Bulls) and others are commoners. During the ancient matriarchy, kings were larger and chosen for breeding by those goddesses who fancied their looks (especially bone structure), their smell and the look of their other progeny. Kings had harems. Commoners became priests, soldiers, farmers, hunters, homosexuals, uncles, clowns and politicians.
War, famine and disease maintained the demand for men, especially hunters and soldiers. When the patriarchy took over, they decided that all men were created equal; therefore, every man was fit to procreate if he could convince a woman of his fitness or rape her. Polygamy became sinful and was outlawed. A few kings still had harems but they were symbols of power, not sources thereof as previously, and the powerless were imprisoned for bigamy.
How can a man tell if he is a king? Women ask him to give them a baby. If a man has received two or more requests, whether he follows through or not, he can be pretty sure he's a king.
[The gospel according to King Lou continues with the theory that marriages break up when the procreation ends. We argued about this endlessly & it was one of our most hilarious and entertaining debates.]
"The seed DEMANDS to be broadcast," said the Maestro. "Islam and the Church of the Latter Day Saints recognize this drive. The outlawing of polygamy remains the single most flagrant flouting of the First Amendment."
Aug. 30, 1995: "It is quite possible that Generation X 'IS redefining masculinity to allow for the exclusion of procreation' [he's quoting me]. Yes, of course, "sexual consciousness is clearing changing to limit population." No doubt. I am not talking about consciousness, I'm talking about UN-consciousness, that vast sea upon which consciousness is an island the size of a pin head. That great species memory which determines human behavior."
The notion of Zero population growth probably has its origins in Malthus -- not more than 150 years ago. The potential danger of overpopulation (Ehrilch) began to be taken seriously in the early 1970s. Human beings have been reproducing viviparously for at least FOUR MILLION years -- some say longer. Population control -- other than infanticide -- has only become operational in the fast 40 years with the invention of the pill. Masculinity is a zillion times older than ZPG. And it's fragile. In this country, women live at least
seven years longer than men on the average. I am suggesting a tentative hypothesis to explain what I see happening to many marriages after couples decide to stop having babies. The ultimate goal of all this theorizing is to help people keep themselves happy."
Feb. 7, 1996: This very afternoon, I weighed in at a sylph-like 211.25 lbs.!! Lower than I've been since 1986 when I went on the Overeaters Anonymous diet. I'm going for an even 200 and this time I will keep it off.
March 24, 1996: "Linda Lawrence, an old friend and fellow Ciranjiva devotee, is in charge of fund-raising for Jerry Brown. She had already invited me to Steve's party. It sounds like it's gonna be a real whang dang doodle. Tim Miller interviewed Sandy Stein, Vivian, me and Friar Tuck on Saturday. Today (Sunday) he was going up to Bill Wheeler's to interview him. I wanted him to interview Nevada, but I couldn't find him."
April 5, 1996: "It's the paternal metaphor for the Supreme Being which limits the conception of God. The Creative Faculty of the Universe exceeds, nay explodes, the paternal metaphor. By continually re-inforcing the image of a deal-cutting ol' man, we limit the imagination and restrict the Ancient of Days primarily to the realm of human behavior mainly enforcing the golden rule. I'm not against the golden rule; I'm against a ritual that effectively limits the form of God ultimately "dumbing down" the love of God." Christ is Risen, pass the ham, please."

I don't seem to have any printouts of e-mail from the Maestro in May of 1996 -- then nothing at all in June and I was worried about his health because the last time I saw him in Nashville (March of '96) he was thinner than I'd ever seen him. I e-mailed him in June, concerned, and got no reply. Then in July, a few days before his death, I got my last e-mail from
HYPERLINK
mailto:LUCKYL614@aolcom
LUCKYL614@aolcom.
It only said
"…..feeling better."

A Calf With Wings
A New Wheeler's Tattletale by Jodi Mitchell

  I loved our little cabin on the way back of the Knoll. I settled into the sense of security of having a little house of my own at long last. I thrived on solitude, the quiet peacefulness of The Knoll, a life of contemplation; reading, writing, gardening and chores, cooking simple, healthful meals and attuning myself with the magnificent splendor of Mother Nature.
 Suzi, my nearest neighbor (see prior story about my dog, Maggie) moved away to Morning Star New Mexico taking beautiful Maggie with her, turning a couple on to her house. They stopped by one day to introduce themselves: a tiny, dark woman named Pat, her old man known either as Gypsy Paul or Fiddler Paul (and he indeed played the fiddle), his all white dog, Friday, and their robust 2 yr. old son, Eden. Pat was under 5 ft. tall with long dark hair, a dark complexion and a slight but sturdy build. She may have been small, but she had a very LARGE VOICE, and I mean LARGE, which I would soon discover she made free use of as needed.
 Paul was very much the Gypsy, a swarthy Robinson Crusoe roaming the woods with his fiddle and loyal dog mate, Friday, whose pure whiteness was a striking contrast to Paul. I think Pat told me she was Italian, originally from Canada and had once been a hairdresser. She gave me helpful hints on hair care and how to treat my split ends. I find it now an amusing contradiction; living such a rustic simplistic lifestyle yet trying to maintain some of the cultural mores and grooming habits of our prior middle class upbringing, still believing in the potential beauty benefits of Breck shampoo as we washed our hair under the freezing cold garden hose at the top of The Knoll. We eventually graduated on to using Dr. Bronner's Peppermint for ecological reasons, but that came later! Eden was a brown skinned, rosy-cheeked, curly haired little guy with a very solid, sturdy body. He was also prone to throwing tantrums as I soon would discover. Paul was the first person to enlighten me to the difference between fiddle playing versus violin, fiddle being more relaxed; you could hold it any way you chose, it did not have to be propped rigidly under the chin.
 Pat loved Paul very much, and was a devoted mother to Eden as well. They must have had welfare and food stamps; for they ate well, and Eden was fed only healthy, pure organic foods and fruit juices. She was very generous and often brought me food, kerosene, matches and other essentials that I needed. She was a hard worker, an excellent housekeeper and she had a beautiful and powerful singing voice. Pat and Paul (and Eden) did everything with fervor, passion and gusto. A little bit too much passion and gusto as far as I was concerned! My tranquil existence on The Knoll was soon to become short-lived. They wailed, they hollered, they clanged, they banged, they barked and sang and fiddled and cooed and fucked and fought all hours of the day and night. All of this cacophony was carried right to me on waves of sound and gentle breezes !
 There I sat in my little garden, sipping Mu tea and reading from the Bhagavad Gita.
 "Jesus H. Christ!! They're at it again! Why can't they fucking shut-up! I moved down here for peace and quiet, and now THIS!!!!"
 All of this was exasperbated by the fact that Paul seemed to have a proclivity for the nectar of the gods; or maybe it was the other way around and Paul was just exasperated, but however you look at it, it had dire consequences. Paul and Friday would go on a 2 or 3-day binge and disappear off of The Land. This would throw poor Pat into a terrible funk, bursting her bubble of domestic, wedded bliss. I always knew when he was gone, for the same two things would happen. First of all, early in the A.M., Pat would stand outside next to her house overlooking The Knoll canyon and spend hours singing this one particular tune. As I said before, she had a very large and spectacular voice and she would belt this mournful, depressing dirge out across the vast void of the canyon.
 "On a wagon bound for market
 There's a calf with a mournful eye...
 ...Dona Dona Dona Dona..."
 "Oh, no... she's at it again.!" I'd say, as I'd roll over in my bed pulling the pillow over my head.
 "THAT SONG...again, I can't take it! This is torture!"
 I felt that Pat, in her own personal poetic pain, too strongly identified with the plight of the calf in that song. At that particular youthful time in my life I DID NOT GET IT... why be the calf when you could be the swallow? Why pout over Paul? Just be free, sprout your own wings and fly. But, I loved Pat dearly, and never once complained to her, and thus the second thing would happen. Pat and Eden would stop by my cabin:
 "Paul didn't come home again, I was planning on fixing this nice supper and now I have all this extra food. Why don't you come by and join me, bring Moonflower (my best woman friend on The Land) and we'll have a nice meal together."
 And thus, Moonflower and I often had wonderful dinners at Pat's. Her house was always neat as a pin, clean, homey and inviting. A red and white checkered tablecloth covered her dining table. Lantern globes were polished and shining; lanterns filled to the brim with kerosene. A nice fire was always going in the cast iron stove, a neatly stacked pile of freshly split wood resting nearby. Chamomile tea would be brewing on the stove for us; a large freshly picked bowl of salad greens waiting on the table.
 For a diminutive woman, Pat was very strong. Lugging Eden under one arm and her guitar in the other, Pat would walk up the very tall ladder (their ceilings were 12 ft. or more in height) to the sleeping loft and sing Eden to sleep. She would then return to serve me and Moonflower a wonderful dinner. I don't know where she got them from, but Pat always had newspaper and magazine clippings for us, helpful hints on health, child-rearing, recipes, things like that. We would chat and eat, providing a momentary diversion for her. Then she would send us both off with a nice care package of leftover food to take home.
 By about the third day of Paul's absence, Pat would begin to worry seriously about his well-being. She would get a ride into town to hunt him down. He almost always was in the slammer, picked up for vagrancy or public intoxication. Friday would be in the pound. She would bail them out and bring them home. Both Friday and Paul would have identical hangdog, remorseful looks on their faces. All would be temporarily forgiven, a truce would be formed, and peace would prevail for an indefinite amount of time until the cycle repeated itself once again.
 Thus, life went on at The Knoll... just like life anywhere else, really. Pat and I became very good friends. I learned much from her. Although I plan to elaborate on this in another chapter of my story, I want to add that Pat and her son Eden were the last people I saw when I left The Land. They 'saw me off' into the great beyond... trudging all the way from the Knoll to the Front Gate with me, Pat hugging me and crying.
 "See you in eternity," she said, looking so small seated in front of a large aloe plant so she could watch me go.
 I was barefoot, pregnant and penniless... with no particular destination... but, I had wings to fly. Or so I thought (?)
 I now realize, like the calf, we all have our own private reservation booked, waiting for our ride on the meat wagon. There ain't a hell of a lot we can do about it. The duality of life, a constant struggle for balance. Yet, boy, were we fortunate... this Morning Star clan...w e did get to sprout wings for awhile. Many of us still can.
  Dona, Dona
 On a wagon bound for market
 There's a calf with a mournful eye
 High above him there's a swallow
 Winging swiftly through the sky

 How the winds are laughing
 They laugh with all their might
 Laugh and Laugh the whole day through
 And half the summer's night.

 .Dona Dona Dona Dona
 Dona Dona Dona Down
 Dona Dona Dona Dona
 Dona Dona Dona Down

 "Stop complaining." said the farmer
 "Who told you a calf to be
 Why don't you have wings to fly with
 Like the swallow so proud and free?"

 Calves are easily bound and slaughtered
 never knowing the reason why.
 But whoever treasures freedom,
 Like the swallow must learn to fly...

Original words in Yiddish by Aaron Zeitlin and Shalom Secunda
Sung in English by Joan Baez Volume 1 on Vanguard, also by Donovan on Catch the Wind CD, also the Chad Mitchell Trio Dedicated to Pat "See you in Eternity."
 
 

 GET THE RIGHT TOOL FOR THE JOB!
 Another Wheeler's Tattletale by Jodi Mitchell
 Bruce was a beautiful man, his compact body lean, firm and muscular. He chopped wood with a fluid grace and precision that was downright sexy. It was a Zen thing; he was one with the wood, one with the ax and one with the motion. Bruce was a hard working no bullshit sort of guy, solid and forthright, he did not like phoniness or pretentiousness and had no respect for shiftless free-loaders. He was known to "escort" a few unsavory individuals off of The Land, only when they seemed an obvious threat to the collective whole.  Most folks looked the other way when he did so.
 Our homesite was kept in tip-top shape: wood chopped, shitter dug within a secluded grove and covered with a board and a lidded coffee can to protect the toilet paper. The house was tight, didn't leak and held up in wind storms. Bruce was always the first to pitch in and help others with their work, and he often helped Garbage Mike on his 'garbage runs.' Bruce's favorite quote was "Get the right tool for the job" by Mr. Natural, Bruce's guru... He loved R. Crumb and had a stash of his comic books. He was also a talented artist and drew his own underground comic strips.
 Bruce was far more generous than I. He had a Christian ethic and believed firmly in and often quoted, "What go around come around." Our tiny cabin was often filled with people at dinner time. If Bruce had one orange, it would be cut in 4, 8, or 10 pieces and shared with friends, neighbors, and countrymen.
 I was not as trusting that the universe would provide. I kept secret stashes of things that I felt were necessary for my own personal survival. I especially squirreled away what little food I could get, the acquisition of which took up a large amount of my time and energy at Wheeler's. If I managed to acquire the luxury of an orange, believe-you-me I hid my little ass in the woods to eat and savor that sweet, juicy thing alone, thank you. I also had a secret stash of very pure blotter acid! When I moved into our cabin, I discovered a little shelf of books someone had left behind. Being an avid reader, I began to read them one at a time.
 There was a paper-back copy of the Bhagavad Gita, a real treasure. Someone had painstakingly hand-illustrated the entire book with colored magic markers; it was filled with beautiful calligraphy and lovely scrolls and borders.
 Bruce had no interest in Eastern philosophy or religion; he sometimes good-naturedly called me 'Ms. Hare Krishna' and scoffed at my vegetarian diet. Thus, I had this book all to myself to study and read, which I fervently did. This magical little book held another surprise: between its pages, sheets of blotter acid! One of those magical Wheeler's moments, you know! Bruce did not do acid, and I preferred tripping alone, so I spent many a day way down in the canyon putting my find to the test, sitting on my favorite tree stump waiting for Govinda to appear, and boy did he ever!! I never told Bruce of my score. I'm sure he was wondering what the hell was I doing down there all of those days! But, alas, all good things must come to an end, and some very odd people began showing up at my door. I did not recognize any of them from The Land. It was surprising that they even found our secluded and camouflaged cabin. They would often have some cryptic message like: "We hear you are the Keeper of the Keys." They were after the acid! I found this rather creepy and intrusive; and eventually gave the entire stash away to one of these freakish characters. It worked, because the invasion soon ended.
 Bruce was gregarious and sociable, I was shy and reclusive. We were both very self-reliant, equally respectful and aware of each other's needs and personal space. Neither of us was particularly jealous or possessive. Although people acknowledged us as a couple, we pretty much did our own thing, coming and going as we pleased, and seeing other people if we wished.
 Bruce loved San Francisco and often left The Land to spend time with our many friends who resided at 570 Page St.(see prior story). Invariably, as soon he stepped out, another male friend of mine would show up at my doorstep. It was as if they had radar! All in all, though, men from The Ranch had a hands-off code of ethics and kept a respectful distance. None of this arrangement was intellectualized or openly discussed. It just sort of worked itself out on its own. Yet Bruce and I were somehow bonded to each other. We had a strong friendship that other folks respected and enjoyed being around.
 When Bruce was gone, and if I did not have another gentleman caller, I cherished my time alone. I would go for days without seeing another human, busy with gardening, wandering and meditating in the woods or whatever. Pat and later on Nasu would come by from time to time to check on me. Pat would usually bring food or foodstamps to share. Nasu would tell me of current news and happenings on The Land. Although I learned to tell time by the sun, when Bruce was gone I rarely kept track of what day it was. So Nasu would come down to clue me in, "It's feast day, or it's community run day, or it's sauna day."
 One day, after Bruce had been gone about a week, Nasu came was sauna day. I loved taking sweats, and it was often the only way I had to stay clean. For some reason that summer, the water supply was often cut off without prior warning, leaving us without drinking or bathing water. I relied on the sauna to stay clean. I also felt it purified the body and kept away communicable diseases.
 By time I got to Wheeler's at the ripe old age of 18, I had already had lots of sexual experiences. I had raged against the terribly repressive and stifling Judeo-Christian, puritanical, work-ethic upbringing of my youth and parents. I rejoiced in my body and sexuality and had lots of friendly and pleasurable sex with many beautiful boys/men who I loved deeply and passionately, orgiastically and soulfully for a minute, a day, a year or a lifetime. I also had lots of 'survival sex' Ñ sex for barter, sex to further guarantee my own personal survival on the streets, and sometimes that of my friends. So, I was pretty humbled out, my heart and mind blown wide open by my experiences prior to Wheeler's.
 I did not feel the need to go 'hogwild' in the sexual sense as others did at the Ranch. I was more interested in searching for my place in the universe and pursuing spiritual matters. I was growing up from a girl to a woman. I was blessed with a pretty strong and innate sense of self, and strong critical thinking skills, so was not easily led astray, but I was impressionable and revered people like Sun and Moonflower (see prior story) who had (especially Sun) a 'holier than thou' attitude.
 Anyway it was sauna day. It was already quite late, 4:30 or 5 PM, but I decided to give it a try and headed up the Zen Trail to see if I could catch the tail end of a 'sweat'. Sure enough, most folks had already gone, but the rocks were still cooking, so I entered the lodger and sat down against the wall just to the left of the door. There were only two other guys in the sauna, Indian dudes (does anyone remember them?), one young and handsome, the other older and a fried wino. They claimed they were brothers, and the young one totally cared for the older one.
 I settled down immediately to work up a good sweat and got into a meditative, self-reflective mode. As things began to cook, the young guy pointed to the door flap. I opened it for him and he said, "All of my ancestors," and right at that moment a small yellow butterfly got sucked into the vortex and glued itself like a tattoo above my left breast. It was horrifying and miraculous at the same time. The young Indian's eyes grew large as saucers and he smiled at me. beatifically. Some more Wheelers enchantment!
 After that I took on the task of opening the flap for us when needed, and repeating, "All of my ancestors." And it was good.
 Low and behold, who should appear, but Sun. He had a glazed look in his eyes and the energy level immediately dropped a few decibels. He plopped himself down directly across from me, lying back propped up on his elbows and staring in my face. He then picked up his very flaccid penis and began flicking it back and forth, up and down like an infant who had discovered his penis for the first time! We all tried to ignore him and regain our prior peaceful state, but his floppy dick was right in my face! The Indians stood to leave, and I followed them out and went home.  Bruce had returned from the city and was cooking dinner. I told him of my experiences of the day; about the butterfly, which didn't amaze him because I was always having things like that happen, about the sweet Indian kid who so lovingly cared for his damaged brother and then about Sun's perplexing (to me) behavior. I was hoping for some explanation by Bruce about the secret workings of the 'male anatomy' which maybe I didn't understand. But Bruce just shook his head disgustedly and said, "That's what the asshole gets for being 'celibate'!"
  I was left to my own devices to ponder over Sun's weird behavior and to whether I should tell his wife, Moonflower. I decided not to or it would be too embarrassing. She would just have to find out for herself that Sun just didn't have the right tool for the job!
 Just another day at Wheeler's Ranch. I asked Bruce, "When will the potatoes be done? I was starving!"

 Dedicated to Mr. Natural, and to Bruce, his disciple.