tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5076566237988420512024-02-19T06:02:52.866-07:00The Plant WhispererApplied Ethnobotany, how plants speak to us, how I speak to them.Aldoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09061792906637482873noreply@blogger.comBlogger11125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-507656623798842051.post-83309893437050452432012-06-28T14:25:00.011-07:002012-06-28T20:39:38.084-07:00Saguaro- The King of Cacti<div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: black; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNBSaisfJHXCkfTCiUXkPhS6nKdv5527mZW4NpLPeDFz-61oDve1t1brkVmfRFzRRSd7YYnSGdnTJtP1c0DCUbtxfgJw4saus0w7GBB4iw0xjP5XpJ8WbT4L1ukxd7THCys1-oOnWkx9JS/s1600/4140.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNBSaisfJHXCkfTCiUXkPhS6nKdv5527mZW4NpLPeDFz-61oDve1t1brkVmfRFzRRSd7YYnSGdnTJtP1c0DCUbtxfgJw4saus0w7GBB4iw0xjP5XpJ8WbT4L1ukxd7THCys1-oOnWkx9JS/s400/4140.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="color: black; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5TZptMLLuSVzpFteiYpNdBFC7qAwmPmFRo1JdE0AGenxUw8vFgTHDdzl5_y6Udye_dnbQU0QycGSwvT2wBkofCOJgNmcEAfipIHJ24ykiV0OnNN3p-9aVr5QywFcimJrUlxiP2eDP_ySn/s1600/8162.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5TZptMLLuSVzpFteiYpNdBFC7qAwmPmFRo1JdE0AGenxUw8vFgTHDdzl5_y6Udye_dnbQU0QycGSwvT2wBkofCOJgNmcEAfipIHJ24ykiV0OnNN3p-9aVr5QywFcimJrUlxiP2eDP_ySn/s320/8162.jpg" width="240" /></a>Just the name is an adventure. Say it- Suh waro, with the feel of a hot day and a cold night running off the tongue like dry water. It is the icon of the Sonoran Desert, the land which this plant whisperer calls home. Did you know that these ancient sentinels of the magical desert can approach, or exceed 200 years in lifespan? Or that occasionally someone will get crushed by one of the falling arms which can weigh tons, thorns not included? They grow from the Colorado River in western Arizona, south beyond Rocky Point, through the state of Sonora in Mexico, east almost to Tombstone and north to what we Arizonans call the Mogollon Rim- where the oaks grow in the central part of the state. North of that, for any that haven't been there, we have actual forests in Arizona folks, thus ending the natural range of the King of Cacti.</div><div style="color: black; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
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</div><div style="color: black; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">But this is not the interesting stuff about Saguaro to my sun baked mind. When I was a kid, my dad made cactus candy out of good old Ferrocactus, or barrel cactus. De-spining the body of the creature was a trick. Then the bitter flesh had to be cooked and sugared to give it the signature desert rat preferred taste. It took some time, but it was fun. </div><div style="color: black; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
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</div><div style="color: black; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDCDcT6EAi2OH5WObNne1uvfNQD6DwHdILy_pqe6pLGUDsA5YYfEzVjEt3EM0FtnaBF934qePVhQjXRP8S57JjqaUUBWCAGUdGeFAec8q-8UWqQCkeSOV9GDL06aCag4kErwg2cC4EVFHZ/s1600/15236.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDCDcT6EAi2OH5WObNne1uvfNQD6DwHdILy_pqe6pLGUDsA5YYfEzVjEt3EM0FtnaBF934qePVhQjXRP8S57JjqaUUBWCAGUdGeFAec8q-8UWqQCkeSOV9GDL06aCag4kErwg2cC4EVFHZ/s320/15236.JPG" width="240" /></a>Barrel cactus are more like the pawns in the cacti chess world (jumping cholla being the knights). Saguaros are the king. Their flowers marked the beginning of year for the indigenous O'odham people. But the fruit are the food and sacrament of real desert rats. Ripening to a magenta hue, the mourning, whitewing, and inca doves are the first to dig in. </div><div style="color: black; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Before the desert rains, the fruit begin to dry and fall on their own (sometimes with some hungry human assistance) and begin a downpour of the richest, sweetest food that any sentient creature could possibly find on this garden earth. Free for the taking, but getting up early before the withering heat is a must. If you can do this for a week or so, and if the rains delay, a mom and dad and couple of kids can pack away a 50 pound bag of dried, loving desert sustenance which you will have to hide so that it does not get eaten right away.</div><div style="color: black; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
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</div><div style="color: black; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Seeing as how we are away from the desert this year and can not be there for the harvest, I will make an ode to the saguaro- king of my ancestral lands, I think of you with every California sunrise.</div><div style="color: black;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black;">Ok, lets's see... <i>thinking...</i></div><div style="color: black;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black;"><i>(sung to the tune of This Land Is your Land) </i></div><div style="color: black;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black;"><b>As I was walking</b></div><div style="color: black;"><b>Out in my mountains</b></div><div style="color: black;"><b>I heard a song sing</b></div><div style="color: black;"><b>Coming from the desert</b></div><div style="color: black;"><b>Was a whitewing dove</b></div><div style="color: black;"><b>On the tall Saguar oh oh</b></div><div style="color: black;"><b>Singing, this food was made for you and me </b></div><div style="color: black;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Saguaro Yarn Painting by Raven</td></tr>
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</div>Aldoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09061792906637482873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-507656623798842051.post-22026959232894949902011-06-29T08:45:00.002-07:002011-06-29T09:54:24.644-07:00There Are No Bad Plants<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_RIqNjs0A9IA2PjDSuxB_kAjH3b2aIwDrxXmoMK0jMebsB2aopSNZgXElI-Sa2-kn7ilpSk0mlA4quHdAYW4DjR56ZQ3IOT3FYrh2kZTTAperpVRYt2OuRXNvBRNWg1D9khVoTIoDbfYE/s320/milk-thistle11.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="246" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Milk Thistle (<i class="OverviewEmpha adamEmpha">Silybum marianum)</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_RIqNjs0A9IA2PjDSuxB_kAjH3b2aIwDrxXmoMK0jMebsB2aopSNZgXElI-Sa2-kn7ilpSk0mlA4quHdAYW4DjR56ZQ3IOT3FYrh2kZTTAperpVRYt2OuRXNvBRNWg1D9khVoTIoDbfYE/s1600/milk-thistle11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: black; text-align: left;">This is something I've been wanting to shout from the rooftops for some time: There are no bad plants, but there are bad people.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: black; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: black; text-align: left;">There was a time (perhaps we're still there) when knowledgeable, practicing herbalists were considered to be suspect at best, or worse, evildoers, green witches. Recently while visiting my mom, my little boy noticed that she lives on Greenwich road. "You grew up on Green Witch street dad?" I've since been having conversations with him about why some people fear the benevolent powers of plants and often, the people who utilize, honor, or respect them. Cultural ignorance is always a tough subject to explain to a young and wide-open mind.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: black; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: black; text-align: left;">Several years ago we had a cattle rancher as our nearest neighbor. He was a typical western dude with lots of horse-sense but, somewhat ironically, little room for progressive nature boy type sentiments. Once while conversing with him at our front door, he noticed a young volunteer Milk Thistle plant thriving in the desert soil near where we stood. He immediately changed the subject and blurted out with some emotion, "That's a bad plant! I spend lots of money every year trying to get rid of it. You should kill it so that it doesn't spread."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: black; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: black; text-align: left;">With as little revealing of my disappointment in his small estimation of the basic dignity of plant life as I could muster, I related the following to him. In the late 1980's, while living in Mexico, I picked up a nasty case of Hepatitis A at the village of the renowned elder Huichol shaman, Don Jose Matsuwa. It took a few weeks for the miserable fatigue, yellowing of skin and whites-of-the eyes, deep joint pain, and non- specific skin itchiness to kick in. It took a few more days still for me to figure out that I was the victim of a known viral attack. The lethargy and pain that Hepatitis brings is almost impossible to describe. You can get hit so hard that you nearly literally, want to die. Very soon after my diagnosis was confirmed (plenty of rest, and possibly, a gamma globulin injection is the standard allopathic recommendation), a holistic healer and friend of mine called on the phone because he heard I was down with The Hep. "I am having a bottle of glycerin-based Milk Thistle extract shipped overnight to you amigo. Use it and you will be better soon."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: black; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: black; text-align: left;">At the time I only knew Milk Thistle slightly, being aware of its prickly beauty and ability to weather the arid conditions of Arizona. Well, within 24 hours of ingesting the extract I was feeling 200% better!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: black; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: black; text-align: left;">It turns out that Milk Thistle has been used in Europe as a treatment not just for Hepatitis, but also for deadly mushroom poisoning. While an average of 50% of people who ingest Amanita or Gallerina mushrooms may die from liver failure, in certain trials of Milk Thistle extract, 0% mortality was observed. Today, one can find potentized, dry extracts of Milk Thistle sold as over the counter herbal medications, even in the most standard of drug store chains.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: black; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: black; text-align: left;">It is a good plant, and I love it. Here's what it tells me: "Don't listen to people who don't know what they're talking about but do so loudly. Be quiet enough to hear your own heartbeat and you will hear your own song of life."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: black; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div>Aldoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09061792906637482873noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-507656623798842051.post-8126664533502418142011-03-12T18:19:00.008-07:002011-03-13T19:49:24.804-07:00Sometimes Plants Whisper, Sometimes They Yell<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh94BI6_U0UruTP3zcRu6CwaMd_t9P6SzZNetWq0D35e6qJAKJ5DDbM02qYVwqkqOkcIrI96QE1S5lG6bn0ty-FWAgtYF3b2vzT_p9CqODfCSZfGfRZIb56MywbIIVw7TrY7vd-KD7lRgGk/s1600/Artemisia_tridentata_sspwyomingensis3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh94BI6_U0UruTP3zcRu6CwaMd_t9P6SzZNetWq0D35e6qJAKJ5DDbM02qYVwqkqOkcIrI96QE1S5lG6bn0ty-FWAgtYF3b2vzT_p9CqODfCSZfGfRZIb56MywbIIVw7TrY7vd-KD7lRgGk/s400/Artemisia_tridentata_sspwyomingensis3.jpg" width="235" /></a></td></tr>
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</tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Artemisia tridentata </b></span></div><div style="color: black;">Also known as Sagebrush, or Big Sagebrush. It is not related to the true sages (Salvia), except that their distinct aromatic qualities might remind one of sage. There are several subspecies, mostly ranging by local habitat, most of them being very similar in habit and aroma. However, I've found that this "almost the same" aroma can range from citrusy, to minty, to dry, if anything can smell dry. This plant owns the dry basins and lower foothills of the west, from Northern Arizona to Canada. Although it is not a showy or even colorful flower, it is the state flower of Nevada. This plant's aromatic signature connects with something deep in my brain, as if it were the oldest smell on the planet. It is a clean aroma, like a sacred grandmother's earth perfume. To be in the Sagebrush plains after a rain is Nature's ultimate aromatherapy treatment. For me, nothing says sacred like the silent song that this plant offers ceaselessly to the western skies.</div><div style="color: black;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black;">Artemisia is one of my most cherished plant familiars. This is one of the friends that "cared enough" to show me how plants teach, how their schedule and agenda differs from mine, and how to get with the curriculum. </div><div style="color: black;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black;">One night in November 1989, the Raven's birthday, we pulled off on a side road near Grand Canyon National Park to get some sleep. In the morning, stepping out of the VW van, we were greeted by the beauty of the everywhere scent of Sagebrush. Yes! We had just spent a season cooking at a retreat center where much use was made of dried Sagebrush bundles in "smudging", a "native incense" aromatic, often used for "clearing negative energies". The smell of the fresh Artemisia is, of course, less smoky than when burned- something more like natural lovely laundry detergent. Well, we knew we wanted this aroma in our van. We picked the early flowers and new stems from scattered plants, leaving last years woody growth to re-sprout in the new year. We got into the habit of doing this in this same area for many successive years and would indeed find vigorous new growth on the same plants we had respectfully harvested the year before. We even began to be able to distinguish between certain familiar plants because of their unique aromas.</div><div style="color: black;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black;">In that first year, we arrived a few days later in Tempe and went to our familiar food co-op, reeking with the beauty of Sagebrush smell. People noticed, asked, liked it. They wanted some. We ended up trading several dozen fresh bundles that we had wrapped for food, a little $, some gas in the van. Nice. It was clear to me, an unrepentant weirdo, that the plant had done this. We were grateful. This chance occurrence in fact, eventually started a natural incense business which grew for many years.</div><div style="color: black;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black;">By the second year of camping with, harvesting, bundling, drying, storing, using, and trading this plant, it had begun to impart data, mixed with feelings, or intuitions, to my little hippie brain. Maybe the first, most subtle whispering was the immediate mood lift of the fresh fragrance of the unassuming leaves. Even a tiny piece of leaf in the pocket works like an emotional Tums, or little invisible "stick-it note" to remember how beautiful The Mother... </div><div style="color: black;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black;">In the third year of living with this particular earth angel to the point where it would stain our hands, (sometimes pieces would fall in our food while cooking in the tiny van kitchen), my dreams began to intensify. The effect was one of increased lucidity, or awareness that I was in a dream. The plant had raised its volume to a loud whisper, but I, being a little dense, did not yet relate the 1st class, dreaming upgrades to the nature of the plant.</div><div style="color: black;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black;">But that was about to change. This was the year that we actually had received many orders from bookstores and whole-food retailers who consistently sold out of our moderately priced and beautifully wrapped "sagebrush sticks." We were finishing up several days of camping, harvesting, and drying, and were preparing for our return to civilization. Dried Sagebrush bundles in paper grocery bags were stacked each evening in the front seats of the van so that we would have enough room to open our bed and catch some Zs. I remember the air in the van being so pungent that it almost burned the eyes. Before I passed out from exhaustion I remembered wondering if I should get up and clear out the front so that it didn't smell so strong. But I was tired and so I passed right out.</div><div style="color: black;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black;">Next, I'm in this white room with a white bed and it looks like it could be a hospital but there's a young girl laying prone in it that I recognized. It was Lala, my first peyote teacher's granddaughter. I had not seen her since she was young, her age at this time being about 20. For whatever reason, she was asking me to lay down with her, not in a sexual way, just in a weird way. Then she began to plead, beg for me to lay down with her. I know, I'm in a dream here- but this freaked me out! I thought I was there and I began to implore her to get up. I'm saying, "Please Lala, get up, please!." She was saying no, and I was crying and was going to pick her up and move her and right at this moment I heard a loud crash. I knew it was her, but I simultaneously realized that the noise was in the van I was sleeping in, something very loud! I bolted upright and screamed, "Lala?" Raven jumped up too- it was weird. I, for a moment was convinced that Lala was in the van. Totally freaked (Raven was wondering what was up also) I turned on a light to see, which revealed that 2 bags of Sagebrush bundles had basically tumbled from where they had been and hit all our kitchen stuff and things, thus creating a jarring awakening. I was still emotionally involved in the just vanished dream such that I recall muttering Lala's name a few more times even after I saw the cause of the racket.</div><div style="color: black;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black;">I explained to Raven who Lala was and described the dream but it didn't make any sense, especially as I had not really thought of her for quite some time. The intensity of the event left me laying awake for a while before eventually drifting off again, this time to an uneventful sleep.</div><div style="color: black;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black;">Two days later we arrived at our food cooperative in Tempe. Approaching the front door I saw this hand written notice taped on the door- "Please pray for Lala (then her full name) who was in an auto accident and is in a coma at such and such hospital." So what am I to make of that friends? I don't try to make these things happen, I don't even really want them to, but they do, and they demand that I become more ignorant or more aware.</div><div style="color: black;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black;">I thought about this for some time. But I'm not that good at thinking, so I decided to read all I could about Artemisia, reading being one of the activities I enjoy and excel at only slightly more than naked, fluorescent, black-light, Twister. It turns out that Artemisias are all avid volatile aromatic producers, little factories of scent. Certain Artemisias wre the basis for the legendary intoxicant, Absinthe, as well as being used in traditional "dream pillows" in Asiatic herbology. It turns out that years later, our association with the Native American Church would bring this plant to us again as an essential ceremonial herb, a fresh bundle of A. tridentata being passed around the tipi following tobacco and preceding the Peyote. This all makes sense to me now, but it took me a while to realize its special role in my life. In following years I enjoyed using fresh sprigs next to my bed, lifting the nightime experience in a positive way, much like the summer aroma of night-flowering Sacred Datura can.</div><div style="color: black;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black;">I eventually came to understand that the sacks of falling Sagebrush were just this being's way of getting the attention of a fairly slow starter, not the quickest flower in the bunch, not me. But in this way, the plant did indeed, effectively communicate with me. It got me to pay attention to the subtle of its ways but the solid of its presence. This was the hollering part of its talk with me, I could not get the message from the whispers alone.</div><div style="color: black;"><br />
</div><span style="color: black;">This also began to clarify my personal ethos of how to learn a plant, I mean really learn from the inside out, not from the head down. Put simply, it is this: To let a plant speak with you first listen. If you can't hear anything, live with it, camp in it, sleep with it. If you still don't get the message, find a sustainable means and purpose for harvesting it. Lots of it. Not there yet? Taste it, eat it, accidentally and on purpose. People like my friend Amanda at Tucson Herbs know how fun this is, the stalking, the finding, the capture. Take it home after living where it grows, and lay on it. Keep it where you live and appreciate it. Do this for many seasons, and you will know what you know about this being without anybody having to explain it for you, guaranteed. I have been very fortunate (and stubborn enough) to be able to get to know quite a few species using this method since my childhood. Sometime soon, I hope to start to make a list- "Plants I Have Known and Loved," or "Total Plant Immersion Therapy, A Way of Knowing." :)</span><br />
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</div>Aldoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09061792906637482873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-507656623798842051.post-58289805004340095592011-03-07T08:22:00.000-07:002011-03-07T08:22:58.828-07:00A Tree I Knew<div style="color: black;">There was a tree that I grew up with. It was not an outstanding tree really, other than it grew in the front yard of my mom and dad's house. It was a mulberry tree, a male, first planted when the house was constructed around 1959. It watched over my friend's and my childhood adventures, like a silent relative.</div><div style="color: black;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black;">The tree functioned as hideaway, home-base for games of tag, watchtower, and spaceship. The tree did make shade but I don't remember actually sitting under it for this reason. Mostly the tree served as our most visible playground monitor, an old friend who enjoyed our company. The tree never asked for much. My mom would appreciate it when my dad neglected to perform winter pruning as she always believed that he would cut it back too much, and most of the neighbors agreed. But pruned or not, it's branches would grow each summer to make a friendly but formidable, and undemanding habitat each summer for us kids.</div><div style="color: black;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black;">Years go by and I move away from home. My children and grandchildren would play in and around the tree. This always brought on a satisfying, nostalgic sense of deja vu in me. In these later years, I would deep water the tree on visits to my mom, spending a little time appreciating our shared personal history.</div><div style="color: black;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black;">The last time I visited, mom had considerable house renovation and landscaping done and the tree was chopped down/dug up. I visited with the big, old stump awaiting pickup at the side of the house. Old friend, thank you for all the fun. I miss you.</div><div style="color: black;"><br />
</div>Aldoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09061792906637482873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-507656623798842051.post-53085891150714219142011-02-18T14:04:00.001-07:002011-02-18T16:34:21.078-07:00Luther Burbank And The Garden Of Invention<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAQ7xWkDUDthgOaOstbpPdq0f2uLyekMq5k2i_BLlYaXa-cwyhm0NMyyYYWJZbE8Yj1rlw1H7e3s4b_O8yTTN7gy5KKInZD1Rl8faQZUh3Y4bSUkyULSaSvaCEc_6XJXrC3NGkFAHBWwZf/s1600/kahlo24.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAQ7xWkDUDthgOaOstbpPdq0f2uLyekMq5k2i_BLlYaXa-cwyhm0NMyyYYWJZbE8Yj1rlw1H7e3s4b_O8yTTN7gy5KKInZD1Rl8faQZUh3Y4bSUkyULSaSvaCEc_6XJXrC3NGkFAHBWwZf/s640/kahlo24.jpg" width="428" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Frida Kahlo: Luther Burbank, 1931</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="color: black; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black;">I've been a fan of old Luther Burbank for a while. He was the original, if not the only, horticultural superstar, aside from possibly Johnny Appleseed. Actually, both Johnny and Luther were raised in the same area. But anyway, nobody knows who Luther Burbank is now because, who gives a damn about plants, and making plants more beautiful and productive and generally making everyone better fed and more happy? I mean how does that put food on the table, bring the bacon home? Anyone can just go buy some fries and a Coke if they're hungry right? Well anyway, every one of those fries comes from Luther Burbank. Funny that we hardly know his name.</div><div style="color: black;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black;">I first picked the guy up on my radar by reading <i>"Autobiography Of A Yogi"</i>, by Paramahansa Yogananda who not only devotes a chapter to Luther, but the book is dedicated to him. Now I'm not going to provide you with a Wikipedia link here so that you can bone up on Luther, get off your butt and google it yourself or go to a library for gosh sakes already. </div><div style="color: black;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black;">I recently brought a title home from the library titled, <i>"The Garden Of Invention, Luther Burbank and the Business of Breeding Plants"</i>, by Jane S. Smith. I have extracted a portion in which she describes a speech which Luther gave in 1905 to the California Board of Trade, in which he promised to <i>"be brief, and not to the point."</i></div><div style="color: black;"><br />
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<i>"Don't feed children on maudlin sentimentalism or dogmatic religion," he urged his listeners. "Give them nature. Let their souls drink all that is pure and sweet... Let nature teach them the lessons of good and proper living, combined with an abundance of well-balanced nourishment. Those children will grow to be the best men and women. Put the best in them by contact with the best outside. They will absorb it as a plant does the sunshine and the dew." <br />
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And then he gave the prescription that became the most popular, most quoted passage in The Training of the Human Plant, a wonderful evocation of the joys of his own childhood wandering the fields and woods of nineteenth-century New England. "Every child," Burbank wrote, "should have mud pies. grasshoppers, water-bugs, tadpoles, frogs, mud-turtles, elderberries, wild strawberries, acorns, chestnuts, trees to climb, brooks to wade in, water-lilles, woodchucks, bats, bees, butterflies, various animals to pet, hayfields, pine-cones, rocks to roll, sand, snakes, huckleberries and hornets; and any child who has been deprived of these has been deprived of the best part of his education."</i> </div>Aldoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09061792906637482873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-507656623798842051.post-385650030152142862011-01-21T23:56:00.106-07:002011-01-25T10:33:44.965-07:00Grandfather Peyote: How Some Plants Are More Equal Than Others<div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj74GbdItPuwxfB0zifOwcrDf7KDSrkV5IFWzilq1UVjH4uq2Fz6IotUW_Twf_AEk4GqzNGApYlwKg_zJYmYOqEV_IY8RqIrsXbgTJg24CU_OG5ZW2MOBk2qqcHGadpwBKAzVsmF1EabHl3/s1600/scan0004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj74GbdItPuwxfB0zifOwcrDf7KDSrkV5IFWzilq1UVjH4uq2Fz6IotUW_Twf_AEk4GqzNGApYlwKg_zJYmYOqEV_IY8RqIrsXbgTJg24CU_OG5ZW2MOBk2qqcHGadpwBKAzVsmF1EabHl3/s640/scan0004.jpg" width="488" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Pencil drawing by Michael Wisnowski</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"><div style="text-align: left;">As in the memorable oxymoronic quote from Orwell’s <i>Animal Farm-</i> <i>“Some animals are more equal than others”,</i> some plants may also be more equal than others, depending on what your particular human situation might be. Sour orange trees are beautiful to see ubiquitously planted in Tucson/Phoenix landscaping, but the inedible fruits end up dropping all over the place and people pay Mexicans like me good money to collect and bag and haul them off to the landfill. <i style="color: purple;">(Why not just plant sweet, rather than sour oranges in the medians and public commons you ask? Well we wouldn’t want people thinking that food grows on trees would we? And think of the people who need the pay to gather the sours, as the sweets would mostly be hauled off for free, and now the dudes at Safeway have to layoff some workers because nobody’s buying oranges and, well you see- it’s all such a vicious cycle.)</i><span style="color: #e06666;"><i><span style="color: purple;"> </span></i> </span>Ok, so you get that if you’re hungry and thirsty, Arizona Sweets are way more equal than the equally visually appealing, Arizona Sours.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7WziP08O5pMO7W2ghOOYMRqLjCZh1E6_TCd8JrByCA_5TL6OtwGhpQdI4NcwcSNDNtaqe99EGlurUdL4z7hyVqX1iAFgl9WhyphenhyphenCoAzVDLa2nlTOjDc1J4Jzl2caHqAU9jG1v2khxGoMQXT/s1600/cluster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7WziP08O5pMO7W2ghOOYMRqLjCZh1E6_TCd8JrByCA_5TL6OtwGhpQdI4NcwcSNDNtaqe99EGlurUdL4z7hyVqX1iAFgl9WhyphenhyphenCoAzVDLa2nlTOjDc1J4Jzl2caHqAU9jG1v2khxGoMQXT/s320/cluster.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div>With this same utilitarian, practical prejudice in mind, I will share a few words, and more effectively perhaps, a few images illustrating the following notion; Based on my experience of hunting, observing, planting, growing, harvesting, drying, giving, being blessed by, and also consuming no small amount of the humble and ancient looking Chihuahuan Desert medicine they call peyote, I believe this plant is by far, the most equal plant I have ever known. And if I live long enough, I hope to tell you, the willing reader, about quite a few of them, but let's start with my favorite plant- a cactus. <i style="color: purple;">(Important note to you, mis amigos y amigas, who've read this far: I have it on the solid word of the honorable Mr. Uncle Pete Petrie of Mesa, Arizona and Santiago, Chile- that only the readers of this world have any chance at all of evolving from loserhood to actualized, sustainably cognizant, earth-loving, friendly human beans, so congratulations people- you're at the right party!)</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"><div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="64" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimj0CzrXYYNFdUZGa1ONo_NBSEDFhOlSVNpKoiCFtZavMPqj7SZcywFoRPvLDgrKV7HBsJQW-2_28CyrjqX2PJIUl2bmFB8HobFmIUxT1p4oBdSszpDSTZTXseetjmtMM9Iz-DNudLiFm-/s320/border.jpg" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ink Drawing by Leo</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: inherit;">About cactus; I remember when I worked with Uncle Pete at The Boyce Thompson Southwestern Arboretum there was a back greenhouse, not open to the public, that really only got watered when Dr. Crosswhite or I had nothing else going on. So this place was full of cacti in little pots that baked all summer with precious little or no moisture, lots of heat, and absolutely no attention. There was one particular ceramic container that had a setting of a small family of healthy looking cactoid beings with a little sign that said, "Cacti: Warmth, Courage, Endurance" That's all it said. I don't know why. But I understood exactly what it meant from the moment I saw it and each time thereafter. The way they somehow germinate and thrive on a dry, vertical cliff, hanging on in unbelievable heat, witnessing the decades away. I was in awe of cacti before I even liked them, mostly due to "jumping-cholla" and stuff, but then I loved them, and part of this is that they show me how to develop warmth, courage, and endurance for myself, my family, my world. At some point, I pretty much just realized that I want to be around cacti, the deserts where they grow, especially saguaros and peyote. (The Sonoran and Chihuahuan Deserts.)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSLxu-X9dt7GDkjN6QA8J59Yftq1d5Li4vqJqJMfjMa9nQDkoaC-wW4FGFCbVCgf-0jXI30xAtV_HN4MAmXrSN8ztGgexjdrpwA0Emawd9jFUs8U8-Ata5_c0ovDN0Tb3bALjlmU_Gxvsm/s1600/Saguaro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSLxu-X9dt7GDkjN6QA8J59Yftq1d5Li4vqJqJMfjMa9nQDkoaC-wW4FGFCbVCgf-0jXI30xAtV_HN4MAmXrSN8ztGgexjdrpwA0Emawd9jFUs8U8-Ata5_c0ovDN0Tb3bALjlmU_Gxvsm/s320/Saguaro.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yarn Painting by Raven</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"> So then, here's this little Arizona-grown, altar-boy, spoiled, Mexican, lucky brat, who loves cactus, then finds out there's one that you eat and it teaches and heals and gives you art and community and all stuff like that. Ok people, how could I not go there, check that trail out?</div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXQllWOyTUaNAhYRsujxPCMCwf_vDrEsD3aEqEXYOx2TK1U2ZJdO5UPxe6RnxphOY631-K4024hp1HO_G7DCX1jUPCzKDxI2knRoPzpbtFKG2riKFvdpBPldg-VZiIa69jfgKjdaMMEowz/s320/chocologo2.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="296" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Choco</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioIYdk9Q-_sV_CsZjeeIziLmgFOu6RQzJmd0RUys2YwxwBfOji0ImWFHD0ezYIMjagq3eZvZ2JMAJY-Pveh08SHTR3ZCkKPCV5KebPpeoDOeGtNEyyv21ln0lqtZ0BSLdk7kCY_Gb-Y9QK/s1600/DSC06621.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioIYdk9Q-_sV_CsZjeeIziLmgFOu6RQzJmd0RUys2YwxwBfOji0ImWFHD0ezYIMjagq3eZvZ2JMAJY-Pveh08SHTR3ZCkKPCV5KebPpeoDOeGtNEyyv21ln0lqtZ0BSLdk7kCY_Gb-Y9QK/s200/DSC06621.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All photos by Leo</td></tr>
</tbody></table>You can read all kinds of stuff about peyote, (<i>Lophophora williamsii, </i>or<i> Hikuri</i> amongst my Huichol relations), in books and online- botanical, historical, cultural, pharmacological, and personal experience reports. Like it's a drug or something. A special Grandmother said in a New Year's ceremony, you can research this medicine if you want but all you can really say about it is that, it's wonderful." The emphasis on the so-called trip, the experiences... It’s embarrassing, or something that feels like embarrassment, to talk about this medicine in this way… It reminds me of our common culturally under-informed discussions of religion, gardening, and sex. Why? Because it's something you do, not say, and if you're saying it, chances are good that you're not doing it, and therefore any words can only confuse an otherwise good thing. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtkWIwuf4jC_346fWd4-mjZb3IJLWxiWXFWovCrWTTd_jrHcxSVgyi9njHfamlnN1eJay5uwjfc6tX3dF1qxzG_3cG9M8YIsLC63J_01Dc-rL98LfR-aPn9IeXSYL9IX7goc_uwXf3fTUc/s1600/liberty20002a.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtkWIwuf4jC_346fWd4-mjZb3IJLWxiWXFWovCrWTTd_jrHcxSVgyi9njHfamlnN1eJay5uwjfc6tX3dF1qxzG_3cG9M8YIsLC63J_01Dc-rL98LfR-aPn9IeXSYL9IX7goc_uwXf3fTUc/s200/liberty20002a.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yarn Painting With Silver Liberty Coin by Leo</td></tr>
</tbody></table><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Peyote-Other-Psychoactive-Cacti-Gottlieb/dp/091417195X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1295585663&sr=1-1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://peyote.net/archive/images/peyote.gif" /></a> I edited the re-publication of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Peyote-Other-Psychoactive-Cacti-Gottlieb/dp/091417195X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1295585663&sr=1-1">“Peyote and Other Psychoactive Cacti</a>”, which is a factual synopsis of, you know, the basic information- but all of this stuff is just the hole in the donut I say. It’s actually pretty boring in its abstract relation to the yummy, creamy filling that we actually crave to nourish our souls in our short time on this earth. If this sparks your appetite, take a bite of the way this spiritually healing earth donut looks, its visual form, the shape of what it is. <br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZxY09NC84bj778YjzkTpr89W-iZ5xAL8VaMUZrYR6-F4rvZF6SfAAiq-Gs4zVugehpRENZTFkBhO9JGsJ6tb8pPnQ_pVgWt3TKeKkPZ4-77IcTBxHshQqC7xpi4oQca1OCKPNATMlXiSh/s1600/mandala.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZxY09NC84bj778YjzkTpr89W-iZ5xAL8VaMUZrYR6-F4rvZF6SfAAiq-Gs4zVugehpRENZTFkBhO9JGsJ6tb8pPnQ_pVgWt3TKeKkPZ4-77IcTBxHshQqC7xpi4oQca1OCKPNATMlXiSh/s320/mandala.jpg" width="315" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ink drawing by Raven</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Peyote is a mandala, the Circle of Life, with a flower in the center.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhumbhmE5ewhAuc2oEIbIdX7-F6k7T-pphtyt4YomSIv86yuwAeZ-BbHuW-UFYtz6l4acRt04DPdXsrVj_519on8II1aX9lVrWmZJJ1d9mnrkxK5HoAx89E82RS4jq5nRZBxNG5fJGI9cEo/s1600/paint3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhumbhmE5ewhAuc2oEIbIdX7-F6k7T-pphtyt4YomSIv86yuwAeZ-BbHuW-UFYtz6l4acRt04DPdXsrVj_519on8II1aX9lVrWmZJJ1d9mnrkxK5HoAx89E82RS4jq5nRZBxNG5fJGI9cEo/s320/paint3.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Choco</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisWf8CpBsYrg2WdpS1d47zqI1kWz1rg2M8otXzzF4D32xUjCvEXs0Wg9NLlg-RWdBofPnM0blOXsvbmzWdoA67Wre7TlBuBi4cv764KYr-s7_7vIDuTGEZ2Oy7HuMGmLdv4r-Mp2c3v1MO/s1600/DSC06001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisWf8CpBsYrg2WdpS1d47zqI1kWz1rg2M8otXzzF4D32xUjCvEXs0Wg9NLlg-RWdBofPnM0blOXsvbmzWdoA67Wre7TlBuBi4cv764KYr-s7_7vIDuTGEZ2Oy7HuMGmLdv4r-Mp2c3v1MO/s200/DSC06001.JPG" width="194" /></a></div>There’s an old concept called <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Doctrine_of_signatures">The Doctrine of Signatures</a>, attributed originally to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paracelsus">Paracelsus</a>, who got hip to the idea that plant medicines resemble the body parts and/or ailments for which they focused their healing properties. This means that a plant with leaves whose shape resembles lungs would heal pulmonary complaints, walnuts for the head and brain, and the like. <span style="color: purple;">(For what it’s worth, one of my hippie postulates is that </span><i style="color: purple;">Everybody Looks Like Who/What They Are. </i><span style="color: purple;">This might also be a cousin to the universally recognized posit, </span><i style="color: purple;">Dogs Resemble Their Master.) </i>To my eyes, the shape of peyote tells me that it’s good for everything. This is how the medicine talks to me. This green growing guru also has the communication skills sufficient to teach us about other medicines and methods, if we ask respectfully and pay attention.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQi-PEnzxRCh_X1PaGt7ymHz0v5FGy7NtDSSSzt02M_UfgEOMeQqWAwGhKIQIh44f1zS_DAfxzGE0EoF0Zo21Dxf11b16dp_hU1UrMXUhBOOlBSHzpsK7rVUblW0i3zIHsIUs6u_ZvEL4_/s200/button4.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="200" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Choco</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: right;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVaRQnPGlGGlXX1sf9d5X6rKnx-Fc5pDWL_xZvvHtdf86IHP4r4CFzXl0PIFjFGF5WblQuKz76Uzp-SFFlJTupbCqgF448fPyo2MfxkBTmbotmSsopQIm2YkKsmxMQd4Er_zCL8bTonH6o/s1600/DSC06208.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVaRQnPGlGGlXX1sf9d5X6rKnx-Fc5pDWL_xZvvHtdf86IHP4r4CFzXl0PIFjFGF5WblQuKz76Uzp-SFFlJTupbCqgF448fPyo2MfxkBTmbotmSsopQIm2YkKsmxMQd4Er_zCL8bTonH6o/s320/DSC06208.JPG" width="320" /></a></div></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: inherit; text-align: right;"><div style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: inherit; text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Like people, all peyote plants look similar but all are unique. Also like people, the little baby ones are just the cutest little things so that you just want to caress and kiss them!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: black;">It is not a loud, large, or proud or even particularly noticeable creature, almost hiding in its lowliness. Like stars becoming coming out after dusk, it let’s itself be seen by the humble, rewarding the childlike, the down-and-out, the truly devoted seeker, with the strengthening of their walk on this earth. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: inherit; text-align: center;"></div><div style="color: black;"><div style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdV1-1kjtQcUl-4N7NY193KfCNnuQRPejXMEPe_w75wWGZNF9I0kL6af04gsnkSU3uqPVhZlRGXel6Gg_DLaN0lNBpefw3ti5JeHu6tBP4VjIk3haHizGTRcqBM5nT1ohSlywqKRSAhJJR/s200/DSC08083.JPG" width="200" /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK13m5aoTz1jucJCYqSwYcB7PwEM1Pk67-ifhb-UNxgQnVaAfRuJgnbSCGhyVnC1WNyJDg5giLj_sNRyZ4rkMWVYulLUE6MnrHu5z7_bPEn9VD4KScXaNFEmKDJlYxI0W-ydYMnQCpX7dz/s1600/DSC08080.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK13m5aoTz1jucJCYqSwYcB7PwEM1Pk67-ifhb-UNxgQnVaAfRuJgnbSCGhyVnC1WNyJDg5giLj_sNRyZ4rkMWVYulLUE6MnrHu5z7_bPEn9VD4KScXaNFEmKDJlYxI0W-ydYMnQCpX7dz/s200/DSC08080.JPG" width="200" /></a></div></div><div style="color: black;"></div><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEvxUk_sF7Ft3I8Q6Tzi04muGmMX8L5wKRJB9CJPRUD4qfnsj17Aqc2frr_rrbDBCq1ZF1hgK_z4AGJaIUqeLqNNQLVsIDIqDgU58MOc9lcXloUPf2cpgn6kURv7oMkojjN8f6Bx_DqSvN/s1600/button3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqX4n5RPHzQgnSJGqOizPxm3sR6OTYlWXVpRiwnp5Gz0V1_VZ6H6WeP784SYPxHe-huigAMOfhdtLlhwzajud6I2IUr1CnvYItzsWcbg35UGi9NCj3_HZtzQs6T5UvE8lCOC_xKAbCMECG/s200/DSC08038.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="200" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.peyoteway.org/">Peyote Way Church Ceramic Peyote Drum</a><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNjTZKwaK6oTnFEgUVarsqNTxxTgO7ps7Rum_ixt8h5O8t-FKjr9X4d3aGMrJD1Eowq9fwf-UHdfLvInm2x06RX9fJTBwPfSo8l4OrlsdhKH-JJgjS1uvtp4oPaZyxqYOQL9Zb7COSqudM/s1600/MillButtonnew.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="195" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNjTZKwaK6oTnFEgUVarsqNTxxTgO7ps7Rum_ixt8h5O8t-FKjr9X4d3aGMrJD1Eowq9fwf-UHdfLvInm2x06RX9fJTBwPfSo8l4OrlsdhKH-JJgjS1uvtp4oPaZyxqYOQL9Zb7COSqudM/s200/MillButtonnew.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yarn Painting by Leo</td></tr>
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</tbody></table><div style="color: black; text-align: center;">I used to think that I was looking for peyote, wanting to find it, to know something of what it truly is. Now it looks like peyote was looking for me, wanting me to find myself, to know something of what I truly am.</div><div style="color: black; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZdxeg5VlJife5y8ONUi46kLyyv0oeBIK1NfBj15_S2MT75Bg75Ov5FpV7QU0r3pULcionS8oFPKZDKdvAks0HFG5L5qSrW72VayI6QFEBy80xDXsU3C1mJl7HXniOBSt7iMNuwrJ3Q4yJ/s320/chocodeer.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Choco</td></tr>
</tbody></table> Our Huichol elder, Don Jose <i>Matsuwa</i> Rios, would say that when it comes to knowing anything about Hikuri, he was becoming more of a baby,<i> Nu nu'tsi</i>, with age. The more you think you know, the less you do.</div><div style="color: black;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho_78F87_44KaquA888yEwgM7OXosU_PbildEpcwKJSfD3LbaxbKuUwBnha7Dvm_TOrH7vuxyffpk7wfJxizVcRd-sTGsfuNVY3IWabGSbmt29n_rKZ_cz3IiXsKFKpsTjwHfnHa6x8rzn/s200/button2.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="200" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Choco</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black;">A circle points in all directions.</span><span style="color: black;"> </span><span style="color: black;">Peyote sees in all directions.</span><span style="color: black;"> </span><span style="color: black;">It also hears us, listening to what we say, then dividing that by what we mean, and multiplying the sum total of truth straight to Creator’s realm.</span><span style="color: black;"> </span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyUXM8I7A-l4av2DfOG0cf4FzmfzoHx6umwdWt00VZKXjRXWjgu1ossRLnu19-Fqm_EhJps4kGiU-xgsLXoJeb-QUcRKjLH1Af7FPBo7uExCBAbp-OvZQsoF5ZqotQYrWZ_OBjZScxHd4x/s1600/mirror.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyUXM8I7A-l4av2DfOG0cf4FzmfzoHx6umwdWt00VZKXjRXWjgu1ossRLnu19-Fqm_EhJps4kGiU-xgsLXoJeb-QUcRKjLH1Af7FPBo7uExCBAbp-OvZQsoF5ZqotQYrWZ_OBjZScxHd4x/s320/mirror.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yarn Painted Mirror by Leo</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black;">For myself and my brothers and sisters in the sacred circle, this little round and living entity is a far better representation and reminder of Christ in our lives than a cathedral full of bleeding Jesus forever affixed to, and suffering around on a cross.</span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh04P75RoVxOI1tFDm5oXi4t843Zk9-XcjuPoLYOtF0-AzBGnM3xTPpyx7LAoJdfUxmE9qGeyc12Hg5TBmRqfRISllI22EGzPLTKImnaUKwrSebDXAP3qGUdPbOken8mNvScDh1RiLU5IEc/s1600/cross.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh04P75RoVxOI1tFDm5oXi4t843Zk9-XcjuPoLYOtF0-AzBGnM3xTPpyx7LAoJdfUxmE9qGeyc12Hg5TBmRqfRISllI22EGzPLTKImnaUKwrSebDXAP3qGUdPbOken8mNvScDh1RiLU5IEc/s200/cross.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.peyoteway.org/">Peyote Way Church</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjesmdP91qQ9GGWdHmY-_h6CncmL3pblJ0iWZKRbMPr767dGwDyZAWpjjXZ8wdjFkoZGX_Sg8vACivTC0uuOh56gpVTkd8j7T7DfjxGfkHrwnngh-kRYdjq9vUiThnrdIsBc7ltQjyH8Mij/s1600/hikury.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjesmdP91qQ9GGWdHmY-_h6CncmL3pblJ0iWZKRbMPr767dGwDyZAWpjjXZ8wdjFkoZGX_Sg8vACivTC0uuOh56gpVTkd8j7T7DfjxGfkHrwnngh-kRYdjq9vUiThnrdIsBc7ltQjyH8Mij/s1600/hikury.jpg" style="color: black;" /></a><span style="color: black;">An old story about how peyote came to the people was through a woman whose brother was lost. In desperation, she and her nursing child searched but eventually became lost themselves. With no food or water the mother lost her strength, her milk for her child, and her hope of finding her brother. She resigned herself to death by dehydration under a shrub, but feeling something cool and moist in her outstretched hands, the woman heard a voice telling her to eat of this, for it is food and water. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: black;">Rejuvenated by the desert manna of this perfectly soft, fuzzy, and moist, spineless cactus, the woman sees where her brother is and she brings him, the sacred medicine, and the ceremony back to the tribe. In some ways, we are all lost. In the tipi ceremony, the Morning Water Woman greets us at dawn with food and water, and we are no longer lost, we are back with our tribe.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: inherit; text-align: right;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjesmdP91qQ9GGWdHmY-_h6CncmL3pblJ0iWZKRbMPr767dGwDyZAWpjjXZ8wdjFkoZGX_Sg8vACivTC0uuOh56gpVTkd8j7T7DfjxGfkHrwnngh-kRYdjq9vUiThnrdIsBc7ltQjyH8Mij/s1600/hikury.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1U6XqwkE5u0oVWJF1ZmycqUfu-rzdmrWhjpPNNaWc9hV7sINV47JK4dO28acZ65jNWWeCP3a846PHKJoYuFRni4nfW4zSCEWGkMyISHENGegZxmHSISFqM-N50C0GMOzwSI75_LfD1a4i/s1600/tipi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1U6XqwkE5u0oVWJF1ZmycqUfu-rzdmrWhjpPNNaWc9hV7sINV47JK4dO28acZ65jNWWeCP3a846PHKJoYuFRni4nfW4zSCEWGkMyISHENGegZxmHSISFqM-N50C0GMOzwSI75_LfD1a4i/s320/tipi.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oil painting by Raven</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: inherit; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: inherit;">Often people ask how much peyote they need to eat to experience whatever. As westerners, we believe we ingest a substance then something happens. Maybe the thing we expect to happen after eating peyote is already happening before we eat it. If you believe in the strength of the subtle, then perhaps eating this medicine with our mouths is not as powerful as taking it in with our eyes. So my answer to “How much should I eat?” is usually some dumb, crazy-wisdom sounding, but true answer like, “You don’t need to eat any Holmes, just look at it clearly my friend, and let the healing begin!”<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr8UCG_t2JlGLXAuSc7t4YWECaOdnZHynbvDNIhNrNF2vIQUAho5_E5cMjX_mYShfZCWGjcwJVJsbOV4vkwlIoVZ7Eiaiz_j_KQu1Ky3MrDlqxZiG7KXmNsblzIE4UX6-MSVtWcRihPO9h/s1600/chocologo1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr8UCG_t2JlGLXAuSc7t4YWECaOdnZHynbvDNIhNrNF2vIQUAho5_E5cMjX_mYShfZCWGjcwJVJsbOV4vkwlIoVZ7Eiaiz_j_KQu1Ky3MrDlqxZiG7KXmNsblzIE4UX6-MSVtWcRihPO9h/s320/chocologo1.jpg" width="297" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Choco</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv-dkvG0F02hrSovbM6lgZ_nH_2W-736BT2-Ic3ltWF0KWWQt_FazeAh88skTAhA79Hcm4LroMgbAFmAkiDLSFjzrag29CpdwlDbHsVrV78yaUI4atryOUyoZZGIi1rMpZNjTLlEkS5Ecx/s1600/4DirectionsA%255B2%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="195" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv-dkvG0F02hrSovbM6lgZ_nH_2W-736BT2-Ic3ltWF0KWWQt_FazeAh88skTAhA79Hcm4LroMgbAFmAkiDLSFjzrag29CpdwlDbHsVrV78yaUI4atryOUyoZZGIi1rMpZNjTLlEkS5Ecx/s320/4DirectionsA%255B2%255D.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yarn Painting by Raven</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> My personal experience is that I don’t trip out from eating peyote; I am tripping out before I eat it. Its most powerfully reliable effect is then, to make me stop tripping. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="188" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVxmCichXE4btw8CS9ObvnF7878XkV05DkdREr62R34TqilXq7MKpHjNaN7BZdUvWZDEdoV4jlVcyiWApNSQdrwGUvOkmAUOOyg22qmvSYA2n5NynRjDXj2-mG9m3NqbiHDkbeqg6QOypT/s200/ravebutton.jpg" width="200" /></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"></div><div style="color: black; text-align: center;">"To be the person you want to be, be the person you want to be.", it says. "When you get responsible for being here now, then you'll be here now."</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-vTexki7RDujJmWq2uemdf6rw957ZCKie4KJg-gYNub3G9tZAWb2J78be2XxydZ-IGUmNtR-Sg54QFRlIaFwBK4Y-tNscsVAcpxu3osqwJqscuLc9KhXc_h3uztaCCOVM25FeWgZUVtYb/s1600/MiniClock3A.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="175" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-vTexki7RDujJmWq2uemdf6rw957ZCKie4KJg-gYNub3G9tZAWb2J78be2XxydZ-IGUmNtR-Sg54QFRlIaFwBK4Y-tNscsVAcpxu3osqwJqscuLc9KhXc_h3uztaCCOVM25FeWgZUVtYb/s320/MiniClock3A.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yarn painted clock by Leo</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSJlMk_CSf-jMML_FajOK13hU3WyemVgcKkcDAcSyWWur0sbchBe_UpqkmDr-Cwh6tQOibIhlAsd8E37LoS29OXScoatIjmUBrMkbztpHeEgVqBzVEfCR_ipLLmfLdioTL4x0KbjK3HBUt/s1600/DSC08062.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSJlMk_CSf-jMML_FajOK13hU3WyemVgcKkcDAcSyWWur0sbchBe_UpqkmDr-Cwh6tQOibIhlAsd8E37LoS29OXScoatIjmUBrMkbztpHeEgVqBzVEfCR_ipLLmfLdioTL4x0KbjK3HBUt/s320/DSC08062.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Huichol beaded art</td></tr>
</tbody></table>People looking for some psychedelic trip should drop acid or eat mushrooms. People looking for a buzz should drink beer. If you want to see cool colors and stuff, go see a 3D movie already.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh-FvJqLr99BCiOZA4cRT2vE2uCYCgKuIUovK8T_3RdD9UvFji3W0S0ryuZjzEX9d3BC-_ajh1wMYdcoEq1kf5lwd9Yfdnov5hRAI0C_w6PWWFmMcdxvUlNy3aijX_VCH3q_AY3Xw9nGnP/s1600/DSC02171.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh-FvJqLr99BCiOZA4cRT2vE2uCYCgKuIUovK8T_3RdD9UvFji3W0S0ryuZjzEX9d3BC-_ajh1wMYdcoEq1kf5lwd9Yfdnov5hRAI0C_w6PWWFmMcdxvUlNy3aijX_VCH3q_AY3Xw9nGnP/s200/DSC02171.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvh3Y1zcVABmeG4qHyJ9jg81OmdwwG50Rdgvsf57mUqlflVCV7GppScodKzjFdTKt4XR3gnofYrap7vQoDok-hSkVyNLB17XXyM9LQkdrqAGZjRVM1F-gba_fKy2ZVzrF02A0g-_p7m3AW/s1600/button1.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvh3Y1zcVABmeG4qHyJ9jg81OmdwwG50Rdgvsf57mUqlflVCV7GppScodKzjFdTKt4XR3gnofYrap7vQoDok-hSkVyNLB17XXyM9LQkdrqAGZjRVM1F-gba_fKy2ZVzrF02A0g-_p7m3AW/s320/button1.jpg" width="305" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Choco<br />
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</tbody></table><br />
This medicine works on you from the inside out. The sad fact that peyote is categorized as a Schedule I drug, along with heroin, pcp, and the like is simply a hype-generated bureaucratic artifact from the overzealous 1970’s, J. Edgar Hoover, paternalistic, pink panty wearing War On Vegetables which paves over the sacred and humble things of the earth with the asphalt of the profane. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"><div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitnTEEqV3SCyNeYH0uPKWnK3Q1u4yavusYYFJRJPbcoyHevv856Br77Xy7NAol1_3KGyiB91ngD0qBgxt-fDdTGWIA3KtAh2u07V7mZ_2TbDV5GkB16_IZUcQ72zZp04GpLrE2FmeK7klS/s1600/altar.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitnTEEqV3SCyNeYH0uPKWnK3Q1u4yavusYYFJRJPbcoyHevv856Br77Xy7NAol1_3KGyiB91ngD0qBgxt-fDdTGWIA3KtAh2u07V7mZ_2TbDV5GkB16_IZUcQ72zZp04GpLrE2FmeK7klS/s200/altar.jpg" width="140" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Incense burner with <i>hikuri</i> designs, from Israel<br />
<i>Gift of the late Eliav Medina </i></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</tbody></table></div><div class="separator" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: left;"></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSe0HtmzMexFmyyDboTvL6NCiLbCehNF2V0GPLbDahgNLS7UTqoKVEY32bh7EgQUfXZXgtNh8QCAlLbq50dGs7_kcKeDPu90_Kxhyphenhyphen4UExEei6RDwcdzNmUIfzWZ-90j_mRVr0Nr8BUV8n3/s1600/Peyote-Boyd-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSe0HtmzMexFmyyDboTvL6NCiLbCehNF2V0GPLbDahgNLS7UTqoKVEY32bh7EgQUfXZXgtNh8QCAlLbq50dGs7_kcKeDPu90_Kxhyphenhyphen4UExEei6RDwcdzNmUIfzWZ-90j_mRVr0Nr8BUV8n3/s200/Peyote-Boyd-sm.jpg" width="195" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Texas Rock Art</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><img border="0" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxpBL5vErjgy2wSThFgPHctbC1EkGepgf2CQjCYa_jSujTbpInL-aJ7Eu4cEGKDJH9VVqZ5yyKFpqYB0QklYqKEvCj_WjXs2z7clJ2A40ruZsg5Zrg8yCMNzzsTG2IURHdlguAad2KWwp4/s200/Wilbur_Dark_Chocolate_Buds2.jpg" width="200" /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUISo9oLVe7rv_a_2gBrjZqvF1Dqv25x8DG_-Dj961rRh5u05fjlNdOXlg1IvnVopEWm7AesE7yMfyx5yjuS0J7XXw16JmqOhEWBCkMLbN_Dh9YNymtMmJogc_oIsFJCiWElRz2_AckUXA/s1600/DSC02156-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUISo9oLVe7rv_a_2gBrjZqvF1Dqv25x8DG_-Dj961rRh5u05fjlNdOXlg1IvnVopEWm7AesE7yMfyx5yjuS0J7XXw16JmqOhEWBCkMLbN_Dh9YNymtMmJogc_oIsFJCiWElRz2_AckUXA/s320/DSC02156-1.JPG" width="320" /></a> </div></div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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Few plants inspire so much storytelling, music, and art. I see the universal shape of peyote buttons in everything everywhere, from crop circles to, petroglyphs, to chocolate treats.<br />
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</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghOXvvw-xa38whUJSAExAg3ZBmZ8-9dj4px7PEeJza3iygBOB4OYP7FnlxBnj-wY8qNlsqSgDNVzad85g66FiefGzjoQUkU2d45Udl42MZiU5RzErTWFojqmDYXe8eIVpNOL9LB9UecG-e/s1600/LeoYarnPainting2.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghOXvvw-xa38whUJSAExAg3ZBmZ8-9dj4px7PEeJza3iygBOB4OYP7FnlxBnj-wY8qNlsqSgDNVzad85g66FiefGzjoQUkU2d45Udl42MZiU5RzErTWFojqmDYXe8eIVpNOL9LB9UecG-e/s320/LeoYarnPainting2.jpg" width="148" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mesquite Yarn Painting by Leo</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: auto; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghH-6q1_E1n1H0Pp95mye55yHIMRFbKqLQBMJNzULHxfn4U_1KsTTBgKxnA9qkMGP2EvH04qeuTZSTrleUjL7jVRxuFerzvdP5qkSUalFr2tde8XICvZf1MNYW0VOvDajGlUSDKIfbgBxp/s1600/MiniClock.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghH-6q1_E1n1H0Pp95mye55yHIMRFbKqLQBMJNzULHxfn4U_1KsTTBgKxnA9qkMGP2EvH04qeuTZSTrleUjL7jVRxuFerzvdP5qkSUalFr2tde8XICvZf1MNYW0VOvDajGlUSDKIfbgBxp/s320/MiniClock.jpg" width="188" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Clock by Leo<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: 0px; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6OEd35qZlrjmOYCku8NzZxvd2MBMXzZutMKtxWlBY8IsRB-hIAwn24FnrtjgMFWJ_5nL84EDDC8ZRJ6Tb7p5eNsKpLhvNGgroa2Bqm770vARE9CqISoeiXANupEPhWlYTe0BKqA68cKuE/s1600/cropcircle5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6OEd35qZlrjmOYCku8NzZxvd2MBMXzZutMKtxWlBY8IsRB-hIAwn24FnrtjgMFWJ_5nL84EDDC8ZRJ6Tb7p5eNsKpLhvNGgroa2Bqm770vARE9CqISoeiXANupEPhWlYTe0BKqA68cKuE/s200/cropcircle5.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crop Circle Diagram</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;">“If there’s no peyote button in it, can it really be art?”- my friends have all heard me say this dozens of times.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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</div></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifD3W2W8-oubG_lEMzivBElrMzrT3fb53ucPB90CdTofgTpo4aXdTYkC1brfUQENEol1jGSsihBzCdOejQqpFMnV3cotKf5EN3DB-ct82XGKlM1TbrIEwBU9xop_L9Wy_SbKRyR2EsnmjQ/s1600/cropcirclenew.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifD3W2W8-oubG_lEMzivBElrMzrT3fb53ucPB90CdTofgTpo4aXdTYkC1brfUQENEol1jGSsihBzCdOejQqpFMnV3cotKf5EN3DB-ct82XGKlM1TbrIEwBU9xop_L9Wy_SbKRyR2EsnmjQ/s200/cropcirclenew.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="197" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crop Circle Diagram</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAjzA70o4I-OmBgOzRpMm3VrIhQjfJ9hFor-SbrNlYYyJLB-D1Z3U3rpTkzn79fdh3S595XNiXGD_ILM0AWtV-6MVxXO5aL9IF1GU77AjaBgO_MzE3LuFNeyviSHYLNnzQfesOA7hlwzzD/s200/DSC08069.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="200" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Candle, gift of the late Eliav Medina</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;">To my understanding, this plant loves to be respectfully harvested and eaten. It loves humans. It especially loves women and children.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6Mlx9NqABIrWgOt6yQU4WRdmE_j0ZZjO9z9VilyxcwJrJs1wY9MXBYhOtruUznYo1Ih5q2VNTMz61UessHFwHUhbuitzrS9mRdDnz38GKHVz1e2cyQ_FH5UUW2mn0Z_FtWfgPYiRyUK3L/s1600/familia.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6Mlx9NqABIrWgOt6yQU4WRdmE_j0ZZjO9z9VilyxcwJrJs1wY9MXBYhOtruUznYo1Ih5q2VNTMz61UessHFwHUhbuitzrS9mRdDnz38GKHVz1e2cyQ_FH5UUW2mn0Z_FtWfgPYiRyUK3L/s200/familia.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunday morning after church</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMdaN57n4Aa7SYZfKjS6hE1vFZestzgWJhhpygHicYgc1k0O5ft_j6SsI6tkiQmT3DRTAvinX1wpgZUnYHri-dQxdnwwTfw9NaxSEFpGwPqC_gboHjSvxjVRJmJWV55Qbpy5vcxmAdUJRR/s1600/newchocoborder3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMdaN57n4Aa7SYZfKjS6hE1vFZestzgWJhhpygHicYgc1k0O5ft_j6SsI6tkiQmT3DRTAvinX1wpgZUnYHri-dQxdnwwTfw9NaxSEFpGwPqC_gboHjSvxjVRJmJWV55Qbpy5vcxmAdUJRR/s400/newchocoborder3.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Choco<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQCVin0qVakdyjzmLVR4kBxVmvIJRXOv8W6Y7oUNjEY2vHrA_kaIyJnnlkTl2UMYhhvh5p3Qgfc3di-H-1_4nRzLq-Q2kM8pq4B0ja1er4Ja2DLCewXmrZm_aeicWqKe9LXAdZQQaKicF2/s1600/DSC00075.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="195" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQCVin0qVakdyjzmLVR4kBxVmvIJRXOv8W6Y7oUNjEY2vHrA_kaIyJnnlkTl2UMYhhvh5p3Qgfc3di-H-1_4nRzLq-Q2kM8pq4B0ja1er4Ja2DLCewXmrZm_aeicWqKe9LXAdZQQaKicF2/s200/DSC00075.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;">Peyote loves food and music and all-night fire vigils, waiting for the sun. It finds its larger, non-corporeal form in honest expressions, heartfelt tears, joyous laughter, and community cooperation. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLL7eCNWlhJin33-e7hrgxp1GYkMYLNfe6_zPnnRJ6iHupZ2WuUM7MvnvygLFoMFfMjyOGgivPKEzwr-49ZJSHuzqTm1ie0djOwYHhqrEkQlhgrLu-AgQWeqnwiV5n6ES5WfDcXNjuq9A0/s1600/DSC00456.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLL7eCNWlhJin33-e7hrgxp1GYkMYLNfe6_zPnnRJ6iHupZ2WuUM7MvnvygLFoMFfMjyOGgivPKEzwr-49ZJSHuzqTm1ie0djOwYHhqrEkQlhgrLu-AgQWeqnwiV5n6ES5WfDcXNjuq9A0/s400/DSC00456.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>In many ways I feel that when I’m in a tipi ceremony, I’m once again showing up to make myself, and old man peyote, a little happier. I relish and need this, the feeling of being silently but sincerely wanted; my attendance and more importantly, my attention being requested. It’s a perfect circle feeling of getting help and being helpful, intertwined with each other like a DNA helix.</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Huichol Yarn Painting</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yarn Painted Mirror by Leo</td></tr>
</tbody></table>They say you taste yourself when you eat this medicine. Its taste always makes me think that I am chewing every taste on the earth. When I eat enough of it, the taste seems to change from bitter, to what I can only describe as “good for me”.</div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWpREk3zK19d6KTI_DQ2isrpNgWYLdI-lP1JBxfbXnSey5PYupjBOrIfcUlftvfmnLwHPycyS6pgOcwzDxko0uqgyxyD__iBTFY55jqGH1CaGSUWuZYtTG8kGm3yQi0cCVQeuv72Ck-97q/s1600/DSC00077.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWpREk3zK19d6KTI_DQ2isrpNgWYLdI-lP1JBxfbXnSey5PYupjBOrIfcUlftvfmnLwHPycyS6pgOcwzDxko0uqgyxyD__iBTFY55jqGH1CaGSUWuZYtTG8kGm3yQi0cCVQeuv72Ck-97q/s320/DSC00077.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: inherit; text-align: center;"><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></div> Every time we take this medicine in, it changes us in a positive manner. It is a green light for healing, a red light for negativity, and a yellow warning signal to respect and take care of our earth, ourselves, and each other so our children and their children and their children can live harmoniously, and that it starts with us.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yarn Painted Clock by Leo</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yarn Painted Clock by Leo</td></tr>
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</div>Aldoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09061792906637482873noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-507656623798842051.post-1453818025277050202011-01-20T09:13:00.001-07:002011-01-20T09:14:11.215-07:00The Original Declaration of Ethnobotanical Rights<div style="color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>While rummaging around through old papers and photos, I found our original, hand-written proposal for a deceleration of ethnobotanical sovereignty, if you will. I thought you all might be interested to see this original, heart-based version, (as differentiated from the somewhat frontal-lobe oriented version version posted below this one), which was recently re-drafted from memory. Me thinks I like the former lovey-dovey, idealistic, 1980's version (of myself- and this declaration) better than the latter, more practical and studied piece of dessicated desert rat crap which followed. </i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>L.M.</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: #ea9999; color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>We hold these truths to be self-evident: That all plants and all animals are of divine origin, each having their own usefulness and purpose. </b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: #ea9999; color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: #ea9999; color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>As inhabitants of the earth, all people have the inalienable right to protect, steward, utilize, and promote the knowledge and use of all things that grow on the earth. </b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: #ea9999; color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: #ea9999; color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>These plants and animals provide the essential provisions of life; accordingly, the relationship between caretaker and provider must be one of respect, sustainability, and ultimately, symbiosis. </b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: #ea9999; color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: #ea9999; color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Therefore, we declare the stewardship, knowledge, and use of all nature's provisions to be our inalienable rights. </b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: #ea9999; color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: #ea9999; color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>The prohibition of these rights is a direct violation of our inherent pursuit of life, liberty, and happiness.</b></span></div>Aldoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09061792906637482873noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-507656623798842051.post-28652278206315140942010-12-20T12:27:00.004-07:002010-12-20T12:45:52.042-07:00Declaration of Ethnobotanical Rights<div class="MsoBodyText" style="color: black; font-family: inherit; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">Friends,</span></div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="color: black; font-family: inherit; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">Raven and I first drafted the ancestor of this declaration in 1989 whilst tripping around Northern Arizona in a beat up old Honda Civic. Here is the latest incarnation which I submit here for the purpose of receiving your comments, suggestions, grammar corrections- whatever.</span></div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="color: black; font-family: inherit; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">LM </span></div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="color: black; font-family: inherit; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 24pt;">Declaration of Ethnobotanical Rights</span></div><div style="color: black;"></div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; text-align: center;">Understanding that plants have historically been a source for food, fiber, fuel, and medicine, and that the human family has been traditionally sustained through its relationship to the botanical world, it is hereby declared that:</div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">1.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span>All plants species are naturally created equal, each bearing its own unique qualities and inherent value. </div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">2.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span>All people have an inalienable right to cultivate, utilize, study, and share information regarding any species of plant. As this Sacred Trust lies beyond the natural jurisdiction of any human agency, this natural relationship shall not be infringed providing that it does not actively endanger native ecological communities or public welfare.</div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">3.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span>No individual person should be prohibited from the cultivation of any plant species for medicinal, spiritual, aesthetic, or other personal, non-mercantile purposes.</div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="color: black; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;">4.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span>While reasonable governmental taxes may be levied on the sale of agricultural products, no person or organization should be impeded in the commercial adaptation and trade of any plant, or plant product, providing such commercial activities do not violate civil or criminal statutes or other public safety codes regulating the commerce or transfer of specific plant materials, and are not contaminating of the genetic qualities and well-being of other species or ecological communities.</div>Aldoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09061792906637482873noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-507656623798842051.post-10269430041542277382010-12-11T16:05:00.008-07:002010-12-13T12:08:17.978-07:00The Strangest Flower In The Sonoran Desert Smells Like A What?<div style="color: black; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Passiflora mexicana</b></span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWU8Rz9l8lcGYS6xwSF-JDPaPDhfjGq01Jji0GopwbxIVnYtOpJat5aEw6QVrXR_zLryEzwMAShd9Dti2cbhsAvXigQiFvGwgHJZRtWJqgbcRj9-XgZc5fRV5gt2A3T94h-kAMvJOoURMj/s1600/DSC07496.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWU8Rz9l8lcGYS6xwSF-JDPaPDhfjGq01Jji0GopwbxIVnYtOpJat5aEw6QVrXR_zLryEzwMAShd9Dti2cbhsAvXigQiFvGwgHJZRtWJqgbcRj9-XgZc5fRV5gt2A3T94h-kAMvJOoURMj/s320/DSC07496.JPG" width="262" /></a></div><br />
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<div style="color: black;">Not a common plant, but where it grows, it creates nice stands of perennial vines climbing up into the mesquites. A two-lobed passion vine leaf, most commonly they have three. It likes moist places in riparian zones and these special places are becoming less common. Find some before they're gone.</div><div style="color: black;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black;">The herbalists among us know of the passively sedative qualities of this family of medicines, a reliable, if feebly potent anti-depressant. How I found this strange <i>Venusian</i> looking flower is, for me, a true example of applied ethnobotany, or how plants whisper, or how the monkey finds the banana, and how the philosopher finds the stone.</div><div style="color: black;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black;">In the second year of working a vegetable garden in an east Tucson mesquite bosque, I finally stopped what I was doing in order to investigate a persistent, oddly fetid aroma wafting in the humid monsoon-time air. You see, friends of the Desert Magic Toad can attest to the weird aroma of freshly vaporized Bufo alvaruis venom. Like its chemical relation dimethytryptamine, the smoke smells like a heady mix of sasquatch scat, roses, and sex. Well this particular flower, it turns out, churns out the exact aromatic signature as the hyperdimensional incense of the sacred smoke of toad venom. So initially, the question was why am I smelling toad venom in the garden? I believe that you were with me, Miss Wendy, when following my nose to a stand of healthy mesquites where I was looking on the ground for a squished toad, I looked up and saw this amazing flower from space.</div><div style="color: black;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black;">So here's where the applied ethnobotany happens. I already happened to know from my reading on the genus Passiflora that these medicines are manufacturers of harmine and harmaline,<b> </b>a class of compounds which are monoamine oxidase inhibitors (MAOIs), these types chemicals often being designed into our primitive big pharma antidepressants. Additionally, harmine and harmaline are moderately active psychoactives whose presence in the Amazonian shamanic medicine ayuhuasca is the catalyst for the amazing psychedelic effects of the aformentioned dimethyltryptamines, which are supplied by a second plant source and mixed together to create the mystic Amazonian brew, the breakfast of shamans.</div><div style="color: black;"><br />
</div><div style="color: black;">So, what have we here? A plant whose flowering aroma mimics that of the very medicine whose combinatorial effects might be an endemic, convergent habitat, desert ayuhuasca? Clearly, this association was specific enough to signal the hippie to start beating the bushes in search of the sacred, but humble, unspoken thing. When the monkey eventually peels this banana, I'll let you know how it tastes. </div>Aldoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09061792906637482873noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-507656623798842051.post-11000186301648047182010-12-03T09:00:00.008-07:002010-12-03T10:24:05.214-07:00My Friend and Mentor, Dr. Frank Crosswhite<h2></h2><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1-FUVYzcqlXZshegBLpwW61TGjIKqBP6QTIUgKiGRqzHnlo-F-11HKrTL-QhT_ZBUEWXDukMxi3KWNhiyHbaqpJ8_zONbjC7T20dO3xDygj9VMaKrZFiEwTVplUN_2zIB8VYR8Vn7iCXa/s1600/Frank.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1-FUVYzcqlXZshegBLpwW61TGjIKqBP6QTIUgKiGRqzHnlo-F-11HKrTL-QhT_ZBUEWXDukMxi3KWNhiyHbaqpJ8_zONbjC7T20dO3xDygj9VMaKrZFiEwTVplUN_2zIB8VYR8Vn7iCXa/s320/Frank.jpg" width="203" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>In my 50 years, I have been blessed by an intimate circle of remarkable teachers, elders, and societal leaders that I can only attribute to an amazing grace of coincidence and providence. I was raised with my parents driving United Farm Workers’ leader Cesar Chavez around in our ’66 Impala, for example. My dad was friendly with major political influences of the 1960’s and later, on my own, I fell into a circle of plant-influenced cultural mavericks such as Dr. Timothy Leary, Terence McKenna, and Dr. Alexander Shulgin. Eventually, I knocked at the grass-thatched hut door of the 100+ year-old peyote elder and Huichol shaman, Don Jose “<i>Matsuwa”</i> Rios, considered by many to be the “real Don Juan”.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black;">Amongst this personal grand gallery of human influences for which I am forever grateful, none has influenced my daily doings more than Dr. Frank Crosswhite. This month marks two years since Frank passed away, leaving one more unfilled slot in my own personal Mount Rushmore of plant heroes that I can sow the seeds of conversation with. However, I never feel far from Frank each and every time I hand-water plants, something Frank seemed to be perpetually thrilled with doing, despite the fact that his professional compatriots found mystifying, if not annoying, that a man with such special academic talents could easily have consigned this monotonous chore to lesser trained monkeys such as myself. I understood however that to water plants was a joy to Frank, as it is to me, understanding that it is not just water we are dispensing to each individual organism- it is Love.</div><div style="color: black; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black;">Frank was the Executive Editor of <a href="http://cals.arizona.edu/desertplants/index.html">“Desert Plants”</a>a remarkable publication of the University of Arizona. In his editorial role, Frank avoided the dusty language of academia, instead relating to the reader’s childlike wonder of plant magic as if each species were a gift under a Christmas tree whose delights are just waiting to be unwrapped. One of my most memorable of Frank’s editorials was simply titled, <b><i>“The Goodness of Plants”.</i></b></div><div style="color: black; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black;">Here is an excerpt from Frank’s <b><i>Arizona Daily Star</i></b> obituary whose <a href="http://azstarnet.com/news/local/education/college/article_501a7619-387c-5ca5-9149-e70fab336051.html">full text can be viewed here,</a> and which I highly recommend to my fellow plant enthusiasts.<br />
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</div><div style="background-color: #d5a6bd; color: black; margin-left: 0.2in; margin-right: 0.2in;"><b><i>Crosswhite's balance of academic endeavors with hands-on work made him something of an anomaly, Bach said.</i></b></div><div style="background-color: #d5a6bd; color: black; margin-left: 0.2in; margin-right: 0.2in;"><b><i>"Most academic people, they have a Ph.D. after their name, they are notorious for book knowledge, but they don't have much practical experience," Bach said. "That's what made Frank different from most academics."</i></b></div><div style="background-color: #d5a6bd; color: black; margin-left: 0.2in; margin-right: 0.2in;"><b><i>It wasn't just plant experts who appreciated the Crosswhites' work. They were adept at articulating their knowledge to people of all ages, education levels and backgrounds.</i></b></div><div style="background-color: #d5a6bd; color: black; margin-left: 0.2in; margin-right: 0.2in;"><b><i>"Both he and Carol were able to talk about plants in ways that were correct botanically and formally, but at whatever level their audience might be, from fifth-graders to fellow scientists," Upchurch said.</i></b></div><div style="background-color: #d5a6bd; color: black; margin-left: 0.2in; margin-right: 0.2in;"><b><i>Frank Crosswhite may have been a little too enthusiastic, his wife said, but no one ever complained.</i></b></div><div style="background-color: #d5a6bd; color: black; margin-left: 0.2in; margin-right: 0.2in;"><b><i>"He had encyclopedic knowledge at his command in so many different fields," she said. "He could make a story that was just absolutely fascinating based on what, to other people, would be dry-as-dust facts."</i></b></div><div style="background-color: #d5a6bd; color: black; margin-left: 0.2in; margin-right: 0.2in;"><b><i>On tours, "he would have people feel and touch and taste the plants. The only thing people were not prepared for was, if they kept asking questions, he'd keep answering them. His tours would extend far beyond their intent. They (visitors) would come back just as the arboretum was about to close with sunburned noses, but still asking questions," Carol Crosswhite said.</i></b></div><div style="color: black;"><br />
This man who looked like a character straight out of the 1950’s, with an unchanging crew cut and conservative style, skewed my perceptions of what spirit might reside in any particular body. Frank’s philosophical musings were just as hip as any Tom Robbins or Ken Kesey novel, but were always guided by a pragmatic allegiance to the theme of humanity’s unfolding, lock-step march to the future with our plant allies. It occurs to me that Frank was best situated to accurately assess the fallen state of humanity’s society because of, not in spite of, his being embedded in a 1950’s worldview.<br />
<br />
</div><div style="color: black;">Below, in honor of my friend and big brother in the field of ethnobotany, with whom I miss our hours of conversation so much, I give you two paragraphs of Frank’s editorial (Desert Plants, Vol. 9, #2), <b><i>“The Moral Element in the March of Science, Technology and Agriculture”.</i></b><br />
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</div><div style="color: black;">Frank, you are a real plant whisperer. I thank you so much for everything that you so freely shared with me. Hell, you even paid me to listen. I swear I feel you with me all the time I’m laying down the water and the love on my plants. <i>(Eyes welling up with tears…)</i><br />
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</div><div style="background-color: #d5a6bd; color: black; margin-left: 0.2in; margin-right: 0.2in;"><b><i>“A normal, living, breathing, human animal is attuned to a balanced pattern of functions whereby in the regular course of the day a variety of work, play, rest, enjoyment, and other activities are intermeshed, allowing a wide variety of inborn genetic adaptations to be exercised. It is still possible, although unlikely, for most of us to live in such a pristine way- to pick fruit from a tree for breakfast, to till a small field in the morning, to weave a cloth, to eat a hot rabbit stew in the cold of winter, to watch the habits of migrating waterfowl, to pick herbs for tea, to add some thatch to a leaky roof, to make a stone wall, to milk a cow, and then the next day to do different things. A person having such a life would be a social misfit. For the good of society this person would be expected to specialize- perhaps do nothing all day long other than remove staples from checks sent to the IRS, or sit in a factory gluing rubber soles to left size 71/2 shoes, or sort mail in a post office, or sweep floors in a downtown skyscraper, or operate a bottle-capping machine.”</i></b></div><div style="background-color: #d5a6bd; color: black; margin-left: 0.2in; margin-right: 0.2in;"><br />
</div><div style="background-color: #d5a6bd; color: black; margin-left: 0.2in; margin-right: 0.2in;"><b><i>“Our society thrives on such a division of labor even though each individual has had to deviate from the regular course of life to which this human organism is genetically adapted. In the dictionary sense of the word pervert, society is truly guilty of perverting the individual by “causing deviation from the right, true, or regular course” of the individual’s biologically adapted life. In a sense the individual human is to society what a milk cow is to a farmer.”</i></b></div><div style="color: black; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br />
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</div>Aldoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09061792906637482873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-507656623798842051.post-2817564957917011682010-11-20T18:55:00.002-07:002010-11-22T13:55:16.598-07:00A Tale of Two Gardens, my first blog post.<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black;">At this late date in civilized history, hardly any of us modernists could give a crap about anything written in the bible, by now choosing to relegate its possible meanings to wishful zealotry, thereby ignoring its very real allegorical, metaphysical, and cultural memes which our post-God culture is still very much informed by, if not infected with. Myself, I read everything and believe nothing unless and until the truth of what it is leaks into my own brainpan. Whatever you might think about biblical and cultural values or the lack thereof, I think a good way to introduce my special brand of mental and spiritual mattress stuffing to you, mis amigos y amigas, is in reinterpreting the opening and closing chapters to our society’s most influential literary guide, the one we ignore while culturally claiming to follow.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black;">Many years ago, as a deacon in the Pentecostal uprising of non-denominational Christianity, I enthusiastically soaked myself in hundreds of hours of bible study and contemplation. My interest in such things was catalyzed by plant-induced entheogenesis and accidental meltdown into Divine Presence at 18 years young. This self-motivated course of study also helped me pass the hours spent on an extremely boring night-shift job I was working. This served my hubristic attempt to get informed about what the whole bible thing was supposedly about, in order to checkmate preachity people who would seek to slay my already saved soul on the altar of their particular denominational chessboard. The most pointed personal take-away from this period continues to be the notion that Churchianity is like a board game that you can’t play correctly, if you actually read the rule book. In other words, being raised a good Catholic (altar boy and all) I couldn’t recognize the style of play from any other human scam, and worse, this game appeared to contradict almost every concept ostensibly given in the manufacturer’s guide to playing the game. Learning history only aggravated my alienation from the Babylonic religious inertias toward inhumane inquisition and persecution of the spiritually independent gene pool mavericks, all the while with great beating of both the living and the dead with a willfully ignored book of rules. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black;">Likewise, this pathetic personal disconnect from the habitually expected patterns of societal game-play affect me just as deeply in reading the US Constitution. Just see what happens when you try to reconcile our modern paternalistic “democracy” with the extremely libertarian, representative republic prescribed in the groundbreaking, hand-penned, seed of genius (with Iroquois Nation and Magna Carta liftings). Again, the current societal configuration bears no resemblance to the original rules of the game. We now expect the fear and desire of the many to necessarily smother the unalienable rights of the individual. This really hops up my already obnoxious social withdrawal syndrome. I think of our current form of democracy as 3 wolves and 1 lamb having a majority-rules vote on what’s for lunch. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: purple; color: black;"><b><i>“Adam and his wife were both naked, and they felt no shame</i></b>.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black;">But back to the story… Here’s a synopsis of the bible story wrapped up in an organic whole-wheat tortilla- the whole of biblical history is basically a tale of two gardens. The first garden is in the opening, the Book of Genesis. Ingrained in most of our psyches is the concept of “The Garden of Eden” but I believe our mythic knowledge drops off precipitously from that point on. The text states that before any plant sprung from the earth, The Creator made a man, specifically to tend the garden. Stated more plainly, The Creator made a gardener. A river, separating into four headwaters, flowed from and through the garden, in the middle of which were planted two trees. The two trees are referred to as the tree of life and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. Now, culturally we’ve been infected with the image of Eve eating an apple, and this proxy bullshit meme robs us of much of our own makeup and heritage, in my opinion. My fellow congregants, the plants tell me that this is a parable of our inner quandary. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: purple;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoBodyText2" style="background-color: purple; color: black;"><i><b>“Then the eyes of both of them were opened, and they realized they were naked; so they sewed fig leaves together and made coverings for themselves.”</b></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black;">That we are naked in our own self-awareness, is the precious secret we all hide under our social exterior- “How are you?/I’m fine”, kind of deal. We know enough to separate ourselves from the ego-less animal community with our knowledge, the knowledge of our knowledge, and the shame of the naked ego, but we don’t know how to migrate, hibernate, nest, and a whole bunch of cool stuff that all other creatures just do. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black;">I often used to wonder as a child why every insect, bird, animal, and amoeba knew exactly how to make a life for themselves, how to make a home, what to eat, and how to raise a family. They are naked to life; individuals, yet living as part of the one. Our present species needs training and education (knowledge) and artificial aids even to get to the point to know how to wipe our own butts! We most often depend on others for the knowledge and ability to make our house, bring our water, grow our food, deliver our babies, and bury our dead- seemingly as helpless as any of God’s other creatures are instinctive. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black;">The late Dr. Julian Jaynes explored this predicament of our animal consciousness (tree of life) versus figuring it out (tree of knowledge of good and evil) in his treatise “The Origin of Consciousness and the Breakdown of the Bicameral Mind”. In it, he describes the pre-Illiad mode of human consciousness as being more of an I/Thou relationship with nature, rather than a nature dominating, separate, I. Ok, so we were naked and slept in trees and heard the voice of the God of Nature in our heads, but we were happy.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black;">Cut to the last book of the bible, the very last chapter, and after the whole painful history of man, post-apocalyptic earth again has a garden with a river flowing down the street in the center of the city (New Jerusalem). The tree of life is re-ensconced on both sides of the river, with no mention of the other tree. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="background-color: purple; color: black;"><b>“On each side of the river stood the tree of life, bearing twelve crops of fruit, yielding its fruit every month. And the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations. No longer will there be any curse.”</b></div><div class="MsoBodyText"><br />
</div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">So the plants tell me that this is the allegory of the human descent into history, into knowledge, wandering through the desert of the loss of God, bloated with all knowledge but thirsty for understanding who we are, where we came from, and where we go. We are almost back to the gardens friends, but oddly enough, it’s taking all the knowledge we have to get back to the original naked, stoned immaculateness that our original design resonates with. That’s why all this crap about Eve and an apple and all this being an inference for gender culpability or some inferred weakness on the lady’s part is backwards, IMO. The women are always smarter. Without thinking for ourselves, as our lady partners have convinced us to consider, most of us guys would be living like apes in trees and naked, possibly stoned, but far from immaculate. We wouldn’t be happy or satisfied without the learning and the unlearning, the give and take of male/female turbulence, the up/the down, the toiling by the sweat of our brows, and the forgetfulness of isolated individualism that you just can’t buy in the Garden of Eden. We wouldn’t be happy without our failures. This is how I learn to grow everything, by making mistakes and improving next season. This knowledge of good and evil is satisfying to our appetite for evolution. I for one am happy we f*kd up back there somewhere. It’s been great! I’m even happier that we’re nearly at the beginning of the end of the descent through the history of unconscious knowledge and are piercing the veil of conscious awareness, both of our inner and outer environments. Also, that many of us are becoming aware that, as in the first garden, we were created AS gardeners- TO garden, see? That’s why we’re not truly happy without some of that love contact with Earth Mother and Grandmother Growth. </span></div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="color: black;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Allrighty, I’ve said too much. See you in the garden friends.</span></div><div class="MsoBodyText"><b><i><br />
</i></b></div><div class="MsoBodyText" style="color: black;"><b><i>Now they are wedded, she is a good girl;</i></b><br />
<b><i>Naked as children out in the Meadow,</i></b><br />
<b><i>Naked as children, wild as can be,</i></b><br />
<b><i>Soon to have offspring, start it all over.</i></b><br />
<b><i>Start it all over.</i></b></div><h1 style="color: black; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: small;">The Doors- Queen of the Highway</span> </h1>Aldoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09061792906637482873noreply@blogger.com2