Existential Despair and Shamanic Rebirth

So what was happening in my spiritual journey during this time? I had continued my ongoing studies of Taoism and I had finally been able to separate the actual teachings of the Buddha from the religion that sprouted up after his passing. I had become interested in natural pantheism because–like so many spiritual concepts I have encountered in my life–it was something that gave me a cognitive framework for ideas I already held. Nothing radically new, just ongoing fleshing out of my spiritual belief system.

I had, however, continued to feel a growing existential emptiness and despair within my life. Depression seemed to be getting the better of me in spite of several changes in medication. There were weeks on end when hardly a day went by without the thought of suicide haunting me like a dark spectre. Perhaps it was the ongoing curse of the Silver medalist–who knows? All I know is that something was missing.

About this time, I began studying entheogens–natural plant-based psychoactive substances used for millennia as a catalyst for facilitating spiritual experiences. I had been listening to a lecture series by the late Terence McKenna called The Search for the Original Tree of Knowledge. Terence was a leading spokesman for what had been called the "Archaic Revival"–a reexamination of psychoactive substances and spiritual states of consciousness that began in the late 1990s and has continued to the present day.

Perhaps the most discussed of these substances was dimethyltryptamine or DMT–the primary psychoactive substance in a brew used by indigenous people of the Amazon rainforest called Ayahuasca. People were (and still are) paying thousands of dollars to go on Ayahuasca journeys to South America to experience it first-hand. Ayahuasca is a brew containing at least two substances. This first is Banisteriopsis caapi–a woody vine that grows throughout the Amazonian basin. This is mixed with a number of DMT-containing plants such as Psychotria viridis or Diplopterys cabrerana.
Interestingly, it is the B. caapi that is referred to as the ayahuasca vine even though it is the other plants which contain the DMT. DMT is not orally active–it is destroyed in the gut by an enzyme, monoamine oxidase. The B. caapi contains an alkaloid that temporarily inhibits the action of monoamine oxidase allowing the DMT to enter the bloodstream and thereby the brain.

In 2001 I had the opportunity to participate in an ayahuasca experience with a Bolivian shaman who was coming to the Olympia area in June. He would be facilitating traditional ceremonies with ayahuasca. Along with a dozen others, I signed up to take the "vine of the soul" and see what all the fuss was about.

Whatever you may have eaten or drank during your life, I can assure you it does not come close to the taste of ayahuasca. It is without doubt the most vile thing I have ever consumed–excessively bitter from the concentrated tannins within the plants. One of the notorious aspects of the ayahuasca experience is known as "la purga" or "the purge." Think Exorcist-style projectile vomiting that comes on about 20-30 minutes after drinking the brew. The good news is that it's over relatively quickly and usually doesn't return (although some were dealing with it throughout the night).

Following the purge, I laid down to recover–vowing never to do this again. Then, it was like a light switch had been flipped. The world was instantly transformed. Everything took on a surreal glow, even though it was a moonless night. The world seemed wondrously alive. But the most amazing part by far was the expansion of my mind and consciousness. It was like church, college, and psychotherapy all rolled up into one–only better. All of my spiritual studies of the past 30 years coalesced into a unified whole. Every existential question was answered. All of the personal insecurities that had haunted me since preadolescence instantly vanished. THIS was some powerful spirit medicine.

I couldn't really tell how long the whole thing lasted. The ceremony began at sunset. It was over at sunrise. From the moments following the purge and throughout the night, I had been thrust in to a spiritual rapture unlike any I had ever dreamed possible. As the sun rose above the horizon, I felt physically drained. The evening had been filled with dancing and chanting around the fire–nothing forced or artificial, just natural expressions of the ecstasy within. It was that good kind of "tired" feeling, like after a workout. Even though I was no longer in the same all-consuming state, I felt very relaxed and peaceful. I remained in a type of spiritual afterglow for the rest of the day. Even though I had already been up for over 24 hours, I didn't feel like sleeping. I was content to just savor every breath of my experience. I had been transformed. Nothing would ever be the same again.

My melancholy friend

I recently heard about a study of Olympic medal winners that found Silver medalists generally feel worse about their Olympic performance than Bronze medalists. The hypothesis is that Bronze medalists feel grateful to have made it to the medal stand, while Silver medalists on the other hand are disappointed because they fell short of the Gold. I seem to be a person destined to be a Silver medalist–particularly when it comes to my career. I get close enough to see the Gold, but it's just a few inches out of my reach. Then, it's gone. Once again, not quite good enough.
After two years, Pierce College decided to reorganize their Alcohol/Drug Studies and Social Service/Mental Health program into two programs with separate coordinators. A year earlier, Dr. St. Dennis had decided to resign and return to the Pharmacy school at WSU. I, of course, applied for the A/D Studies coordinator position. Who else would they give it to? After all, I'd been doing the job for the past two years. The college was nice enough to give me an interview, but I realized early on they had already made a decision and it wasn't going to be me. It was nice that several students wrote letters to the college administration asking that they keep me on, but the ship had already sailed and all I could do was stand on the dock and watch it disappear into the sunset.
Within 3 months I became a citizen of Prozac nation and the dark angel of depression would be my dance partner for the next 20 years.
Fortunately, one of my responsibilities prior to losing my job at the college was to make out the class schedule for the following Fall quarter. At the time I was expecting to still be a full-time instructor, so I had given myself a full schedule of classes. The only difference was I would be a part-time instructor with a full-time schedule. At least I could take some time finding another job.
In a strange coincidence, the first two job interviews I got were on the same day–one in the morning, the other in the afternoon. The first was for a position as volunteer coordinator and trainer for a non-profit agency providing services to people with physical and mental disabilities. The second was as director of counseling at a private, for-profit rehab hospital. Following my interviews, I had two job offers that I was going to "sleep on."
At the time, my biggest concern having recently married was taking care of Christina and myself financially. Non-profits can't compete with for-profits when it comes to salary. I could take the position with the non-profit that would have been a cut in pay from what I was making at the college, or with the for-profit that paid more than I had ever made in my life. I was about to sell my soul, but at least I wasn't selling it cheap.
With my new job, we were able to move out of our apartment and buy a house. We were financially secure, but I was miserable. Allow me to get up on my "socialist" soapbox for a moment. I do not think healthcare should be a for-profit business. Rather, it should be like fire and police services–something we all get for the public good. Eventually the United States will join the rest of the industrialized world and provide healthcare to all its citizens regardless of their ability to pay, but not before trying anything and everything short of it. Once we can no longer deny that for-profit healthcare doesn't work (except for insurance, pharmaceutical, and giant healthcare corporations–as well as the politicians they pay off to allow this to continue), we as a society will finally do the right thing. I hope I get to see that day.
OK, back to the story. If you choose a profession to help alleviate suffering, working for a business which profits by that suffering . . . Well, you do the math. I couldn't take enough anti-depressants to distract myself from feeling my soul slowly being sucked out of body. After 4 years, I couldn't do it any more (it was getting hard to shave without being able to look at myself in the mirror). I resigned and went back to the non-profit world.
During this time, I was able to stay somewhat sane by continuing to teach classes. Bellevue Community College hired me part-time for some classes, and I was also able to start a substance abuse counselor education program at Highline Community College.
I changed jobs again a couple years later moving from a community mental health center to an outpatient substance abuse facility. They were applying for a very large federal grant to conduct a two-year demonstration project to see if offering more drug-involved felons treatment options instead of jail reduced recidivism. I was chosen to be the clinical supervisor for the project. It was a pretty big deal. I got to fly to the East coast along with several executives of the facility. I had lunch with a Congressman and met the Drug Czar.
We got the grant and set-up the program. Everything seemed to be going OK until I started to realize things weren't what they seemed. I began to notice that the county prosecutor's office and the facility I was working for–once they received the grant money–weren't very strict about following the provisions of the grant. Also, although I was suppose to have supervisory authority over the daily operation of the program, the facility's executives were constantly undermining my authority. It soon became clear to me that my job was to shut up and do as I was told, rather than try to run the program according to the conditions of the grant. I wasn't again going to be a part of something that required me to put my values on hold. I resigned before I could sink any further.
By leaving that position, I was able to be where I am today and where I've been for the past 10 years. It also marked the beginning of the greatest spiritual struggle of my life.

Pinch me, I must be dreaming

Shortly after starting work at St. Peter Hospital, I received another unexpected gift. As a 32-year-old male it never entered my mind that a 20-year-old female would give me a second thought. After all, I'd had problems getting any female to give me even a first thought most of my life. So imagine my surprise when the 20-year-old who had been cutting my hair for over a year one day asked me out on a date! Was this one of those acid flashbacks I'd heard about, or was someone playing a joke on me? OK, I'll play along. If she is serious, I'm sure 5 minutes into the date she'll see the error of her ways, admit this was a horrible mistake, and suggest I start getting my hair cut elsewhere.
Well, Christina's still cutting my hair today. Two years after that first date, we were married. This December (2010) will be our 26^th anniversary. She doesn't like when I say this, but it's true: I don't know what she sees in me, but I hope she never stops seeing it.
A little more than a year before Christina and I were married, I got what–at the time–was my dream job. Pierce College needed an assistant coordinator and full-time instructor for its Alcohol–Drug and Social Services–Mental Health programs. I had applied for the position thinking my chances of getting it were about the same as having monkeys fly out my butt (thanks Mike Meyers). A couple weeks later, I was having breakfast with Dr. Clarke St. Dennis the Coordinator of the program. After breakfast, I asked him how soon I would know if I had the job. He said if I didn't have the job, we wouldn't have had breakfast.
Teaching has always been what I like, no, LOVE doing. Whenever I'm teaching, it's hard to remember that I'm "working" and someone is actually paying me to do it. Even as a counselor, I've always taken a cognitive–educational approach in working with clients. Now I get to do it for a living full-time. Plus, I'm about to marry one of the most beautiful (inside and outside) people I've ever met. In a life of peaks and valleys–I had arrived at Mount Everest.
For two years I lived a life that–not so many years earlier–was unimaginable. For the first time in my life, I had found a job I could see staying with until I retired and was married to someone I was ready to spend the rest of my life with. What could possibly go wrong?

Time to Get Schooled

In 1982 Boeing was going through one of its periodic rounds of layoffs. Eventually my name got to the top of the list and I was unemployed. Not a problem. I had a few years left on my G.I. bill that I could use to finish college. This is just the Universe telling me it was time to move on. Since high school I’d often thought about working in human services and, after my rehab/recovery experience, I knew some things about overcoming addiction.

I enrolled as a full-time student at Fort Steilacoom Community College (now called Pierce College) in their Alcohol/Drug Studies program. I had found a minimum wage job cleaning hot tubs and that, along with my VA checks, kept my head above water. I really liked college–especially the psychology classes. I also started getting into some kind of physical shape by running. Eventually I was up to 5 miles a day.

A few weeks before graduation, one of my classmates said they were hiring at the Tacoma Detoxification Center. Well, I had to start somewhere in my new career. A county detox job is about as bad as it gets in the rehab business. You’re pretty much dealing with street alcoholics–the real skid road types. The moment you enter the building, your nose is assaulted by a combination of alcohol, vomit, urine, and gym locker. There are people sleeping on mats in the hallways because there aren’t enough beds (especially if it’s a cold night). Most of the time they’re pretty mellow, but every so often one of them thinks he’s a tough guy and takes a swing at you. Fortunately, they’re so intoxicated they can’t figure out which of the two of you they’re seeing to hit. I usually worked the overnight shift on the weekends, or as I called it–Prime Time.

I had already applied and was accepted for transfer to The Evergreen State College in Olympia to complete the two remaining years of my bachelor’s degree. A couple weeks before I was going to pack-up and move to Olympia, one of my co-workers at detox said someone he knew had called him about a job at an outpatient substance abuse treatment facility in–you guessed it–Olympia. Would I be interested? By the time I moved to Olympia, I had a half-time job as a counselor intern. Since it was outpatient, all the treatment was done in the evening. I went to college full-time during the day and worked half-time at night. This was my life for the next two years.

For those of you unfamiliar with Evergreen, they don’t have individual classes like most other colleges. They do what are called “integrated” or “coordinated” studies. Instead of taking several separate classes, you take a year-long program that integrates classes around a central core. My first year I was in a program called “Human Health and Behavior.” We were a mix of psychology and pre-med students. Half the day we were in core classes as a group, then in the afternoon the psych and pre-med students went to separate seminars to focus on their specific disciplines.

My senior year I was in a “Group Contract” class called “Psychological Counseling.” Only 16 students were selected for the group. I managed to make the cut primarily because I was already working half-time as a counselor. 16 students and one incredible instructor–Dr. Richard Jones. Dick was one of the founding faculty members of Evergreen and had been instrumental in shaping its unique learning environment. He was an elder statesman at Evergreen and this was going to be his last year of full-time teaching. A few years later, he would lose himself to Alzheimer’s and pass on.

June 1986 I became the first of my family to graduate from college. Fortunately, my maternal grandfather (the only one of my grandparents still alive) was there to see it. Later that month, I passed my test to become a Chemical Dependency Professional. Two months later I was hired as one of the staff that would open a new blended inpatient-outpatient substance abuse treatment program at St. Peter Hospital in Olympia. I didn’t think things could get any better. Then they did.

The Lost Years

One of the many things I’ve learned with age is that there are lots of peaks and valleys during one’s life. When I left San Diego, I had reached a significant peak. Little did I know I was headed for a very deep valley.

I didn’t know what I thought I would do once I returned to Washington. Things seemed to be going OK at first. I had managed to line-up some venues for teaching t’ai chi, but since this wasn’t enough to make a living, I needed to have a “real” job.

In the Navy, I’d learned how to type. That was my one marketable skill. After a relatively short time back in my home town, I knew I couldn’t go back to living there. I felt I didn’t belonged there anymore. I had changed–the town hadn’t. So I started looking for work and a place to live in Seattle. I got a job at the UW as a receptionist for the Health Sciences Department at University Hospital. Cool, I was working in the U-district! I found a little cottage to rent in West Seattle right across from Lincoln Park and the ferry terminal to Vashon Island. Another score! Seemed things were falling right into place.

Life took another good turn 6 months later when I got a job at Boeing. For someone with no real skills, a high school diploma, and one year of college they were offering what–at the time–was more money that I could imagine. Like most newbies at Boeing, I moved around a lot. It seemed like every 6 months or so I was moved to a new location with a new job and new shift. Teaching t’ai chi classes was no longer possible with all the Boeing moves, so I ended them after less than a year.

Working at Boeing was stressful. Because of all the moves, I was always the new guy and just about when I figured out how to do my job, I’d get moved to a new one. Alcohol became my very close companion. I started living for the weekends–going out to bars and taverns. I was over 21, alcohol was legal, and I was able to drink a lot of it. Problem was, more often than not, I couldn’t remember what happened when I woke-up (more like “came to”) the next morning. I later learned these are called “blackouts” and an early warning sign of impending alcoholism.

Since I liked drinking, but kept having blackouts, I came up with what–at the time–seemed a perfect solution. Cocaine was at the height of its popularity during this time (late seventies). It gave me lots of energy and kept me awake. It seemed to counteract the alcohol. Unfortunately, like coffee on steroids, cocaine doesn’t sober anyone up–it just leaves you wide-awake AND drunk. Worse yet, cocaine has a very short half-life. This means it wears off quickly–more quickly than alcohol. So the cocaine keeps you up and you drink even more because you don’t notice the effects of the alcohol because the cocaine is temporarily masking them. The cocaine runs out, the bar closes. Time to drive home. Halfway home the cocaine wears off and the full wave of alcohol hits the brain. Nighty night!

Do this long enough and, if you’re lucky, you end up in a jail cell charged with DUI. Guess what, coming out of a blackout and finding you’re in jail REALLY sucks. It also gets your attention. A few weeks later and I’m off to rehab to avoid having a DUI on my record. 26 years old and fresh out of rehab. I think this safely qualifies as a “valley” and a pretty deep one to boot. Three weeks in rehab gave me plenty of time to think. How did I get here? When did it all go so wrong? What’s next?

Well, the good news is that there’s only one direction to go when you hit bottom. Fortunately Boeing has an employee assistance program, so by telling them I had a problem and getting help they didn’t fire me. I still had a job.

I tried going out a few times after rehab. No drinking, but it was also no fun–in fact–just the opposite. Socially and emotionally I was back in Junior High when it came to dating. In my mind I was rejected before I ever even asked someone out, so why bother? It was so much easier when I had a few drinks and some lines (not the “do you come here often” kind–the coke kind). Misery and disappointment seemed to stretch out as far as I could see. Well, if that’s the case I’ve got nothing to lose. Maybe it was time for another reinvention.

Sometime between kindergarten and first grade, I developed a pretty serious stutter. It stayed with me through most of Junior High until I found something that not only got me over it, but took me to the opposite end of the spectrum. By the time I graduated, I received my high school’s drama award after acting in every school play since my sophomore year. The answer was simple–if I could be someone other than me, then I would be OK.

About this time, punk rock/new wave was taking over the music scene. A subgroup of this was the rockabilly revival (remember the Stray Cats?). My stage was set. Shy self-conscious me became a rockabilly rebel. DA haircut, white sportcoat with fake leopard skin lapels, sideburns, shades–I was a real cool daddy-O! After seeing me jitterbug to the boppin’ beat, girls we’re asking ME to dance! I had learned how to have fun with being chemically altered. All I had to do, was not be me. But, I was starting to crawl out of the valley.

California Dreamin’

After a year in Virginia Beach, I was transferred to San Diego, CA. This came at the perfect time as I now had a direction for my spiritual quest and was heading to the center of the new age spiritual universe–California. I was assigned to the administrative staff of the Rear Admiral in charge of all surface forces in the Pacific Fleet (basically everything except submarines and aircraft). I was stationed at the Naval Amphibious Base at Coronado–home of Navy Seals basic training.

San Diego was paradise for someone who spent his first 18 years of life in rainy, gloomy Western Washington. Nearly perfect weather every day. It rained in San Diego about as often as it snowed in the lowlands of Western Washington. The other 360 days it was sunny and in the 70s during the “Winter” and in the 80’s during the Summer. Next door to a warm Pacific Ocean that you could actually swim in and only a few hours drive away from the San Bernadino Mountains and miles of desert that included Joshua Tree and the Coachella Valley.

I began reading every book I could find on Buddhism and Taoism (and there were a lot of them). I also began taking yoga classes along with practicing Transcendental Meditation (something I picked-up in Virginia Beach). In my readings, it seemed that the general consensus was that spiritual experiences via psychoactive substances were not the “real” thing–they could be a catalyst for beginning a spiritual journey, but they needed to be supplanted by more traditional practices if one wanted a permanent transformation. As Houston Smith–the great scholar of world religions–said, “Having a spiritual experience is easy, living a spiritual life as a result of that experience is what’s hard.”

During this time, the one writer primarily responsible for my initial understanding of Buddhism and Taoism was a popular interpreter of Eastern philosophy–Alan Watts. I liked Watts because, like me, he was a mostly self-taught religious scholar with a strong affinity for Eastern philosophy. Born in England, he served as an Episcopal priest for 5 years before moving to the United States in 1951 to accept a teaching position at the American Academy of Asian Studies in San Francisco. During his lifetime he also had a teaching fellowship at Harvard and was a frequent speaker at the Esalen Institute in Big Sur, California. Watts had a way of taking the most complex philosophical concepts and making them easily understandable, which was a big part of his popularity.

Alan Watts was close friends with a fellow British expatriate–Aldous Huxley. Like Huxley, Watts experimented with Mescaline, Psilocybin, and LSD in America. But unlike Huxley, Watts came to reject these substances as valid tools for a spiritual seeker. Ironic, because Watts died at age 58 due to heart failure exacerbated by his lifelong alcoholism.

Armed with a foundation of key concepts in Eastern philosophy thanks to Watts, I was able to gain a better understanding of source texts in Buddhism and Taoism. I found myself particularly drawn to Taoism. I think this was because I had not yet learned to separate the teachings of the Buddha from the religion that sprouted up around them. Later on, I would discover that the quickest way to destroy a spiritual teaching is to make it an organized religion.

Taoism led me to t’ai chi–the ancient Chinese slow-motion martial art based upon Taoist philosophy. Since learning Transcendental Meditation, I had experienced ongoing difficulties with seated meditation. For one, no matter what position I tried to sit in after about 5 minutes my lower back hijacked my attention leaving little left for meditation. Also, I seemed to have hit a wall with seated mediation and wasn’t getting much from it.

T’ai chi was often described as a “moving” form of meditation. I was ready to give it a try. All I needed to do was find a teacher. One Saturday I was strolling through Balboa Park, when I saw a group of about 10 people doing–you guessed it–t’ai chi. They were led my an elder Chinese man who simply went by “Mr. Leong.” All I needed to do to join the class was show-up on Saturdays and give Mr. Leong $5 when class was over. Sounded simple enough. I studied with Mr. Leong for about a year, learning Wu style empty hand and short staff t’ai chi forms.

The more I practiced t’ai chi, the more I wanted to learn–not only of t’ai chi, but of its sister arts. This has been a recurring theme in my life–if I decide to get into something, I jump in with both feet and don’t look back. I realized that continuing with Mr. Leong was no longer enough for me.

About this time, I met an interesting fellow from Oklahoma. He professed to not only teach t’ai chi, but many other Chinese martial arts. His name–Mike Brown. Mike had been into martial arts for quite some time before meeting a petroleum geologist from Taiwan, Her Yu Wong. Dr. Wong had studied Chinese martial arts since he was a boy in Taiwan. Since moving to the U.S. he continued his practice, but never took on any students thinking no one in this country would be interested. Mike was interested and soon became Dr. Wong’s first student.

Eventually, Mike Brown and Dr. Wong had started the Ching Yi Kung Fu Association to share Dr. Wong’s knowledge with others. In so doing, they set minimum standards for what anyone wanting to teach these arts needed to be considered proficient. So, if I wanted to teach t’ai chi as an instructor certified by the Ching Yi Kung Fu Association, I had to learn all the Ching Yi martial arts. This way, even if all I ever taught was t’ai chi, I would have a well-rounded background and understanding of the tradition from which t’ai chi emerged.

This was just what I was looking for. Now I could get a more comprehensive training in these disciplines from both the Taoist and Buddhist heritage. Through t’ai chi I had found a physical discipline that combined gentle exercise with meditative focus. Since I found the Taoist philosophical teachings so compelling, I wanted to see how the physical practices born of this philosophy could further my spiritual development.

After being discharged from the Navy, I stayed another two years in San Diego. During this time my life consisted of eating, working (just enough to pay expenses), sleeping, and practicing kung fu. I was learning everything I could from Mike and, eventually, helping him teach as an informal assistant instructor. At the time, I thought I would never return to Washington except to visit. San Diego was my new home. But shortly after passing my test to become a certified Ching Yi Kung Fu instructor, I decided it was time to head back North. My four plus years in the Golden State had come to an end. I loaded everything I owned into a VW Super Beetle and began driving North on I-5. The moment I crossed the border into Washington, it started snowing (this was in April). I should have seen that as an omen and turned around. I didn’t.

Leaving Home

Have you ever done something without really knowing why, only to find out later it was probably the best thing you could have done at the time? Before even graduating from high school, I had enlisted to enter the U.S. Navy following my graduation. At the time, I wasn't completely sure why I did it–but, in hindsight, it was probably the best choice I could have made at the time. Many of my friends were shocked. I'm sure if there had been a "Least Likely to Enter the Military" vote by my classmates, I would have finished at least in the top ten.
I could have gone to college like most of my friends, and was even accepted at The Evergreen State College. But some part of me knew going from high school straight into college would have ultimately been a waste of time (a very fun waste of time, but a waste of time nevertheless). I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life and needed some time to "find myself." Having grown up in a small town where everybody not only knew me, but knew my parents and grandparents as well–I wanted to get as far away as I could. Somewhere where no one knew me and I could become whoever I wanted to be. Since I didn't have any money, I decided my best option was to spend a few years working for my Uncle Sam.
A couple weeks after my 18^th birthday, I left for boot camp in Orlando, Florida. I couldn't have gotten farther away from Washington and still remained in the continental U.S. Eight weeks in boot camp, a short visit home for Christmas, then back to Orlando for 12 weeks of Navy Personnelman school. After graduating, I went to my first duty station–Virginia Beach, VA–working in the Educational Services Office of a Naval Aircraft Squadron.
While stationed in Virginia Beach, I spent nearly every night in the base library studying the world's major religions. I had decided that I was going to see if any of them contained anything that made sense to me. I ended up focusing my attention on Buddhism and Taoism.
I liked Buddhism because it is a non-theistic religion. Although many Buddhist followers revere the Buddha in a god-like manner, the Buddha himself denied any divinity. Whenever he was asked if he was a god, he said "No, I am awake." This, in fact, is what the term "Buddha" means–awakened one. The focus of Buddhism is on the mind as the source of all existence. In his first discourse, the Buddha said "The mind is the forerunner of all things." For anyone who has delved into the world of substances such as LSD, this makes perfect sense.
Taoism, on the other hand, revered the natural world and viewed the divine as being expressed throughout the rhythms of nature. Although some try to equate the Tao with "god," there is little similarity with what most people conceive of as god. God in the Judeao-Christian tradition–as well as most other theistic traditions–is a supernatural being that exists outside of the natural world. The Tao on the other hand is a natural force that is both the source and substance of all existence. Out of it all things arise, while simultaneously it is a part of all things.
From that point on, Buddhism and Taoism became the primary focus of my study as I began in earnest my spiritual self-education. Where else to go, but California?