Central America

         The Life and Times of Golden Bear

October 26^th 2011

Once Gb got his head around what was happening to him, he could finally relax a little. The winds of change were blowing across the waters of time.  The moon was eclipsing the sun as the sun was eclipsing the moon.  The proverbial blue moon had arisen. The cicadas were singing their happy tune, shedding the old skin and morphing into a new life.  All this pointed to the one amazing truth.  The answers of all answers lie within the chrysalis.  Golden Bear was following his instincts like his first ancestors in this mystery of survival. He was going against all that he had been taught, all that he learned.  His mode was that of a hunter.  Check every bush and tree for your next meal. Look in every crevice and cranny for sustenance.  Chase everything that moves.  Hunt or be hunted. Be like the Baja Lynx. Start your hunt in the evening and lay up for the day in the colors of the shadows.  Head South for winter and North in the summer.  Keep your moccasins in good repair because you will be walking at some point.

February 12^th 2012

        VHe’d come a long way.  He had traveled down those well-worn paths of the coastal peoples of Mexico, Guatemala, Honduras, San Salvador, Nicaragua, Costa Rica and now, finally Panama.  The Golden One had arrived in Paradise.  Well, it looked that way at first. There were many colorful rainbows that greeted him on this day of arrival which is symbolic of the power and faith vested in Gb.

       Boquete is this quaint alpine tourist town in the Chiriqui Mountains near Volcan Baru’. This is home to the mystical Quetzal of the ancient Maya.  It holds a secure position in history. This bird represented a door to the spiritual world especially if one is tripping on magic mushrooms.  The creature appears in many stories and lore of the Maya, holding a special place of reverence for the naturalists who were the ancient Mayas.  The feathers alone are worth their weight in gold.  Actually, the feathers were valued as sacred and absolutely no price could be set for them. 

       Once, Gb visited the pyramids of sacrifice in Tikal with there many cravings in stone.  On one of these steps of this monolithic pyramid is carved a young chieftain who wears a headdress festooned with Quetzal feathers.  He was obviously high on magic mushrooms staring into the heavens, star-gazing. A stunning image caught in stone.

February 15^th 2012

John introduced himself. He was the resident hiking instructor there at Qhia Hostal in Santa Fe, Panama.  Qhia means moon in Mayan or phase of the moon or some such derivation. The language is complex just like John. He began his story by telling us that he is walking from Costa Rica to Colombia on the spine of Panama which is the mountain range that separates the two great oceans. Imagine the Geisha girls of old Japan walking on their husbands’ spine to soothe the tired muscles of the working man.  There was no limit to the imaginary life of John the trekker. That walk was a stunning achievement in any mans’ book but as his tale unfolded, everyone became slack jawed with amazement. This fisherman from Alaska had discovered a tribe of albino pygmies with blue eyes and nearly blond hair.  This small tribe lives underground most of the day only coming out after the sunset to avoid the sun and forage for food.   John continued, for he had lived with them teaching about the new technology like his handheld GPS and sharing basic information such as what the shirt pocket was for. He then revealed the most amazing thing about these people.

      They worshipped the watermelon. Not just any watermelon but the rattlesnake watermelon that came into existence with the North American cliff dwelling tribes of the American Southwest who had carefully bred this melon from the wilds. The seeds of which were handed down from father to son, tribe to tribe, people to people in the ongoing pageantry of mankind.   This unknown tribe had found uses for the rind of the melon by using it as a mold for clay pots and as protective dress against the elements. Even as storage for their other crop of Quinoa harvested in the remote valleys and highlands of Panama.

      John explained in detail how the rind would be worn until it took the shape of the head then was carefully covered with a tree resin to add a hardened surface that resisted rain and wind and the occasional blow dart. The melons’ most important role of all was camouflage. This was critically important to these melon heads when they went marauding into neighboring watermelon patches to liberate their God.  At the fall of darkness they would don their ceremonial headgear and like a herd of turtles, began snaking their way on their bellies disguised as watermelons to quickly snatch these symmetrical orbs from the very vine and ground they grew in. 

     As soon as they captured these wonders of soil and sunlight and after performing the ritual tribal watermelon stomp, the great feast would begin.  Many a watermelon had given its life for this sacred honor and is eaten alive with its very heart gouged out and fed to the watering mouths of the tribal young. Everyone gets new headgear to wear into the next foray. This is the life of the melon heads of the Panamanian jungle.

 February 17, 2012

      So the wheels turn with or without you.  Gb preferred to be at the helm of this great ship of state. He left Boquete as suddenly as he arrived.  His visa was coming due.  He needed to stage himself for either a visa renewal or a three day trek into Costa Rica which would validate his return to the Chiriqui Mountains in Panama.  He chose Puerto Armuelles for some R&R.  Beach time is always good for the soul as long as you check the waters for jellyfish, stingrays and other biting territorial creatures that haunt the Pacific. We get revenge by eating them. They get revenge by stinging us.  Such is life. 

         Gb was waiting. He was waiting for sunset and the planetary orbs to appear.  The steady stars are always there. The non-twinkling ones are planets. The sunlight during the day overpowers the faintness of star shine.  The moon was in its final crescent.  As the planets align, one might be able to see the curves of their surfaces as they begin to make their appearance just at sunset. This is truly an astounding sight to behold. His only concern were the town lights that might wash out this magnificent display.  Carnival begins in earnest all over Panama tonight. This coincides with Easter which changes according to the Christian calendar and is always different every year. His wait was almost over.

February 18, 2012

       After spending a restless night at Pension Balboa watching the carnival get underway which is the custom in Panama, the old bear slipped across the border back into Costa Rica to lay up and lick his wounds in Nelly. The heavenly carnival was a no show for the clouds were moving in obscuring the view. After spending nearly all day at the Aduana,  Estelle appeared. Standing in line to get her exit visa that they failed to give her when she left Panama some time ago. Panama just won’t let you go. Remembering the fun times at Santa Fe was special for the old Gb.

      This quaint town of Nelly has its own attractions.  All the children are beautiful. This is a given in Costa Rican families.  The jungle is close by. So close you can hear the frogs and insects amid the cries and squawks of lonely parrots.  Nelly is on the verge of success.  People are still smiling and happy in Nelly. 

        As for the story of the Panamanian melon heads, it will go on into a new chapter of discovery and wonder. On a whim or should it be known as a siren call, Gb went izequerda soon after leaving Nelly in his wake. He took the road less traveled. Finding to his surprise, another road to Golfito.  This he never intended. The quietness and remoteness of Golfito has its charm and the opulent jungles full of creatures and nocturnes that whistle and buzz their way through life, up close and personal and downright lively. The jungle is in the backyard of this little banana town of old. The loading docks are in disrepair. Cannibalized for their creosoted protection from insects such as the toreado worm. The decking found its way into nearly every household and backyard improvement project. The heyday was during the Panama Canal construction when it was decided to feed the workers with the cheapest product going which still is bananas.

        The banana plantations were vast undertakings requiring huge tracts of jungle to be cleared and replanted with only one variety.  There are hundreds of types but they chose Gros Michelle for its characteristic consistency of shape, durability and sugar content.  All bananas you see in the supermarkets of North America and Europe are harvested green and allowed to ripen under controlled circumstances using ethylene gas. However, the Gros has been replaced by the Cavendish. Gb was not there for bananas but was examining nearly every aspect of melon head activity in the jungle regions of Central America. He was there to examine the connection between the melon head tribe and the tribes that had inhabited the Costa Rican jungles and coastline.

     His only clue was that these coastal tribes had perfected a way to carve a perfect sphere in many sizes from huge to doorstop size.  It befuddles paleolithic archaeologists even today who have no clear understanding as to how they were able to achieve such perfection.  Bears’ theory was simple and elegant as well.  They used the rattlesnake watermelon as a model and thus were able to achieve the natural symmetry of this wondrous food using the most natural of substances which is sand and falling water.                  Waterfalls are plentiful here in the wild lands of Costa Rica.  By using sand and water over time they were able to erode the rather soft volcanic exterior of these massive stones. Possibly they helped the smoothing process by hand rubbing. Who told Bear to come back to this duty free banana capital? The God spirit was leading him again. He was due for back surgery In October 2012.

June 15^th 2013

It has been more than a year since the Central American adventure took place.  Gb drove all the way back to San Diego and lived among friends for a while. Eventually he was forced to leave his little one room abode due to the winds of changing circumstances blowing through.  Today he is living in Tijuana in the Libertad area upon the hills overlooking this old city of Mexico where he feels somewhat safer since Mexico outlawed guns. It is so much more interesting and cheaper with less stress than the USA.  Ever planning his next adventure which is bound to be exciting as is necessary to get away from the humdrum of domesticity which has never suited the old bear for very long.

       His fate is about to change for the better once again depending on that fate or better put, destiny.  One can never really tell if something is in reality or pure fiction. The written word can deceive ones’ senses and in this day and age of deception and intrigue on the internet.  Many want you to believe them, all for a few bucks. Oh what a tangled web we weave when we first attempt to deceive or so said my brother in a moment of pure lucidity.  He was quoting from a Shakespeare play.  Such an extraordinary man is Al the III.

        He joined the Navy and fought in the Vietnam war. He was a gunners’ mate on the battleship New Jersey which shelled Hai Phong harbor relentlessly in an attempt to dissuade the North Vietnamese from smuggling arms south.  Ok, they said, “we’ll only smuggle at night.” My brother witnessed some great splashes.

Don’t ever try to understand what motivates someone who is inherently gullible.  Most children in their golden years are susceptible to lies and deception.  Bear never outgrew this particular facet of his personality. He believes that people speak the truth even when they lie because the truth of the lie is actually more revealing than the truth itself.  Is that clear enough or shall I rephrase it in a lie?

      The world is getting older or the Bear is getting younger which ever it is, it should be very exciting. The joys of aging never cease and the angst of the youthful is always perplexing.

 Now where was I? I am perplexed again.

I lived with the old Golden Bear for many years so it is only natural for me to recall the most vivid moments of his life as if it were yesterday. These things happened and somehow reoccur in my memory as if by magic.

       He was called Duke or the Duke as was John Wayne but he was actually a greater man than Wayne although fame was withheld because of the pragmatic necessities of his day. Only now do I recall our early bond. We lived in the same room, ate the same meals and trained daily as Warriors of the Light. Our gunfights were make-believe real with death occurring daily in bloody episodes of ambush. Our swordplay was always to the death.

       We were sports stars. Football and baseball and basketball was where we shined putting on the equipment and trying to gain the upper hand in the battle of sports. Such was the life of the brothers.  We joined the Divine Light Mission and made our way to the Denver headquarters joyfully serving our new found guru by laying carpet in the Denver Ashram. Denver was filled with burned out premies as they were called then. That was a time to remember.  I left to go to Boulder and serve there and then to L.A. and the airfield where Guru Maharaj kept his planes. Duke ambled back home to lay up for a while and chase the girls of his youth which was his passion.

These brothers were born exactly a year and three days apart. This was a time of peace for the USA in 1949 and 1950 with the Korean War beginning shortly after. Sort of sandwiched in between two extraordinary conflicts these two were born, destined to play a minor role in the great pageantry of humanity. 

Duke was so very proud of his golden mane.  The girls would swoon and brush his hair so much he had to make them stop. All the hairdressers in town wanted him as a patron just so they could immerse themselves in the vibrant gold on his head. Such was the nature of being born in Southern California and to the German heritage. He was always enthusiastic for anything related to motorcycles. When he came back from overseas he bought a soft-tail Harley which simply means the bike has suspension and no rear fender.  That became part of his mystique.

We were always looking for adventure so one year in the Spring we managed to obtain a drive away car which is a delivery service for people who move somewhere and leave their car behind.  In this moment, we were driving all the way to San Francisco to make this delivery. So we set off in search of ourselves, the future and some very nice scenery, sleeping beside the highway in our old scouting gear which included a massive sleeping bag given to Duke by his mamare’.  He is essentially from Cajun extract. Me? not so much.

We stopped at the Grand Canyon and sat on the rim meditating. We were overlooking the huge natural expanse for hours until the road called us back. Once we stopped in Texas at a Mexican restaurant called the Blue Madonna. He had the red chili tamales and I had the green chili tamales. We couldn’t eat it. It was so hot. We drank so much milk to put out the flames of capsaicin that we peed all day.

So many things happened to us but the one most impressive was visiting the Hurst Castle on the California coast called San Simeon just south of San Francisco.  The legend of Patty Hurst was still fresh and imagining growing up there was an awesome inspiration. We grew up poor but not unhappy.

This had not been the first time we had come to California.  Duke was born there in LA County Hospital. We had moved to L.A. after my Mother married Dukes’ Father. We lived in Inglewood up in the hills overlooking L.A.  It was difficult for us to live in L.A. for any length of time. We always seemed to come back to New Orleans where we had roots and when we needed a respite from civilization. We both had some heavy issues as we progressed along the path that was laid before us.

Life was just getting to be overwhelming. One cannot change this dirty old earth. You can change yourself though, and seek to be a good human being.  If you don’t try you will stay the same ignorant slave of the system that diminishes your value and beats you down simply because you might be somewhat different or travel to a different drummer. 
Duke worked as a builder for a theatre troupe in the French Quarter. He was an innovative builder. He built an entire stage in the shape of a star on a slight incline so the actors had to consciously strain to maintain their position. There were so many other interesting things about him. 

We got over things quickly. Whether it was a fight for real or just the pure aggravation at the situation of our lives, we overcame it.  All this passed over us like a storm in summer.

Suddenly, we drifted away from our brotherhood and became other men who actually have no connection even to this day.  Duke continues to work at the pumping station that keeps New Orleans from disappearing underwater. There are seven stations around the city. He is at the most critical pumping station. This is his nature to be a savior of New Orleans.  His Grandmother would be so very proud of him.

Anyone could be a Golden Bear. You simply have to live up to the ideal which challenges you daily to perform as a good human would and should.  No more surrendering to fits of morose feelings or unhealthy behaviors. The world needs your help. Your higher self needs your help.  Become a Golden Bear!

So the legacy goes on. No longer is Golden Bear limited by borders and jurisdictions.  He can be everywhere at once always represented by someone who holds the higher moral ground.  He no longer makes distinction of nationality as the great arbiter.  The reality of just being human justifies one becoming a Golden Bear. The honor lasts a lifetime and could be placed on the headstone,

 “Here lies another Great Golden Bear who sought only good.”

Simple is best. If you get too sophisticated not everyone can understand.