GONZO NEWS

If the world is my oyster, where's the horseradish?
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A monk asked Yueh-shan, "What does one think of while sitting (kazen)?"

"One thinks of not-thinking," the Master replied.

"How does one think of not-thinking?" the monk asked.

"By not thinking," the Master replied.
~Zen Mondo
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If you're not living on the edge, you're taking up too much room.
~ GonzoZen Koan
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INGREDIENTS

(1) The Nature of Money
(2) Acknowledgements
(3) Cerebral Resuscitation

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(1) The Nature of Money

I spend way too much of my time dealing with money.

As a consultant, I have clients who want help getting money. The mission-based businesses (not-for-profits) want grants and donations, the for-profit entrepreneurs want grants (failing that, they want loans or venture capital or profits), the government agencies want grants (failing that, they want a bigger piece of the tax pie, or find better ways to save/spend/allocate money).

I served on the board of an economic development company which helps small businesses find money.

I have to collect money from my clients. I have to pay money to my creditors. I have to figure out how to make the money coming in at least equal the money going out.

Thirty years ago I left home for my First Really Big Adventure --- I had joined the U.S. Peace Corps. After an extended period of matriculation (a career academic -- two colleges, four majors, three scholarships, a GPA that wouldn't register on the Richter Scale, and finally ... a Bachelor's Degree in English/Journalism/Political Science/Psychology, [pick one]) I taught one semester of high school, fled screaming and signed up for The P Corps. Next stop, the PI, Philippine Islands, Republika ng Pilipinas.

For three years, I lived modestly and happily on $125 a month.
{Here was a typical day: Dawn - wake up, hit the beach, swim, snorkel, fish, lay out in the sun, shower, eat breakfast, by 8 a.m. in the field working with farmers. Noon - hit the beach, swim/snorkle/fish, shower, eat lunch, take a siesta. 2 p.m., back in the field, work w/ farmers/fishermen until 6 p.m. Hit the beach, swim/snorkle/fish, shower, eat supper at dusk. Young men come by, pick me up to join them in serenading their girlfriends. In bed by 10 p.m. Six days a week. Sunday all day at the beach. White sand and palm trees as far as you could see, and not a building in sight.}

Needless to say, that experience shaped my perception of what was IMPORTANT WORK and what was not. But even then, I was finding that money was intrinsically linked to IMPORTANT WORK.

I lived in the town of Sta. Magdalena, about three dirt roads off of the paved road, in the southernmost part of Luzon, the main island. I learned the local dialect, ate the local food, drank the local wine (lambanog, distilled palm wine that the Philippine Air Force uses to fuel jet fighters), and attended every barrio fiesta (of which there was at least one a week). My main project was managing a tree nursery, propagating coffee, cacao, pimenta (black pepper), and leucaena (ipil ipil). The funding for this project came from the International Human Assistance Project.

The Bureau of Agriculture had selected this town for a Peace Corps Volunteer because they needed to develop new cash crops. The market for copra (dried coconut, from which coconut oil is derived) had plummeted. Rice prices were fixed by the government at an incredibly low level. Those two crops had formed the basis of the local economy --- they needed to diversify.

Market research had shown a very high demand for coffee, chocolate (which comes from madre de cacao, NOT the coca plant, which is where cocaine comes from) and black pepper. Soil samples and ag research showed the elevation, rainfall and soil in Sta. Magdalena were ideal for growing these. Ipil ipil was grown for firewood, to help prevent deforestation of the native hardwoods.

I was placed there because of my agricultureal background, having grown up on a kudzu farm in South Carolina, where my father worked one full-time job in the textile mill, another in the fields. My mother worked at least two full-time jobs just keeping it all together. The farm raised mostly kids and dogs.

The Sta. Magdalena Nursery thrived. We distributed dozens of seedlings the first year. Three weeks after the first seedlings were given to smiling, nodding farmers, I visited each to see how they were tending the seedlings. About half were still in the plastic bags, having never been planted, and were little dried sticks. The rest had been stuck in the ground and forgotten.

Perplexed, I asked why they hadn't taken care of the plants. They apologized, mumbled, and promised to do better. I re-distributed seedlings, and three weeks later, the same results.

Faced with the failure of the project, I vented to the mayor, who commiserated, ordered everyone to take care of the seedlings, then left for an extended vacation with his mistress. I re-distributed seedlings, three weeks later, same results.

I did what any sane person, facing similar circumstances, would do. I had a few beers. San Miguel, for those who like beer, is one of the great beers of the world. I later found out, having spent about 9 months in the provinces, that it tastes even better cold.

With a warm San Miguel in my hand, I sat down on a crate in front of the sari-sari store (the Philippine equivalent to 7-11.

The daughter of the owner of the sari-sari told me she had heard about the problem I was having with the farmers. Bles Fuata had grown up in Sta. Magdalena, gone away to college in Manila, found a job there and was back home for a visit. She said the problem was, I was giving the seedlings away.

"But, these are poor farmers," I protested. "I can't charge them. Besides, this project is supposed to help them!"

Bles patiently explained that, unless the farmer perceives a value in something, he has no use for it. They accepted the seedlings because they didn't want to hurt my feelings.

Without paying for something, it has no value, she said. If they have some sort of investment in it, it becomes worth something.

So, we sold the seedlings for one peso (about 5 cents American). We didn't distribute quite as many, but they were all planted, cared for and thrived.

Conclusion (and about damn time): The farmers of Sta. Magdalena formed a cooperative. They are growing and selling coffee, cacao and black pepper.

They are harvesting firewood they have planted instead of deforesting the mountains. They have an investment in their own future. When I left Sta. Magdalena, I turned the nursery over to the cooperative, who hired a young man just graduated from the University of the Philippines with a degree in AgroEconomics.

So what did I learn about the nature of money? I learned I can live modestly and happily, that value is what the customer perceives it to be and nothing more, and that money is more than just a method of exchange, it is a means to an end. But not the end itself.

(2) Acknowledgements

I want to thank Bles Fuata for her wisdom. I want to thank Father Lito Fuentes of Sta. Magdalena parish for his friendship. I want to thank Sunshine Smith for referring me to Dr. Mark Albion and his "Making A Life, Making A Living" website and book [www.makingalife.com], as well as Responsible Wealth [www.responsiblewealth.org] and Business Leaders for Sensible Priorities [www.businessleaders.org].

And I want to thank my wife Miriam for indulging me in my insanity that dismisses material wealth as the measure of success. I am the richest man I know.