I sealed my tiny home into total darkness for 60 hours. No light. No time. No distractions. What I found was not emptiness—but something full.
Radios and Desert Freedom
There are other ways of communicating that don’t rely on Tech companies. Here is why you should get your own radio and learn about the privileges that you already have.
The Ins and Outs of Community
What a Washing Machine Revealed About Community
About six weeks after I moved off the land project in Arizona, I got a text message telling us the community washer we used was broken and that we owed money for repairs. Not a conversation. Not a check-in. A bill. Here’s what it said (redacted):
“The washer you used is broken. It will be repaired and per our agreement you pay if you break it. We’ll let you know the cost.”
What struck me first was the tone. It framed the situation as a transaction, not a relationship.
A bill, not a conversation. And for the record, there was no such “agreement.”
Our last community in Ojai went through seven washers in seven years, so nothing about a machine breaking surprised me. What did surprise me was being held responsible for a community-donated washer six weeks after we’d already left. (Also—how does one even “break” a washing machine? You push the Start button and… broken?)
But it was never about the money.
It wasn’t even about the washing machine.
It was the shift—from trust to accusation, from community to contract, from relational living to transactional living. And transactional living is the quiet death of any community.
Welcome vs. Keep Out
I’ve lived in places where “Welcome” is more than a word—it’s an ethic.
Boulder Gardens is one of them.
Most private properties in this part of the desert are covered in No Trespassing, Private Property, and Keep Out signs (often justified as “liability”). But Boulder Gardens is different. Just today a friendly bicyclist rolled up and said:
“Yours is the only private land anywhere around here with positive signage. Everywhere else it’s warnings.”
He’s right. As you enter Boulder Gardens you see:
“Welcome to Boulder Gardens.”
Soft colors. Friendly lettering.
No gates. No threats. No barbed wire.
Just welcome.
Where people talk about trust but behave like” land-lords”, you begin to realize some places use the word “community” to describe what is essentially a work camp wrapped in spiritual vocabulary
A Sanctuary Built on Service, Not Ownership
Garth’s Boulder Gardens is a square mile of desert that slowly became a sanctuary because people showed up with generosity instead of rules. Garth didn’t believe in rent.
There are stories from the early days when he offered food, shelter, a place to wander, and a stocked communal fridge—and what he asked in return was presence, kindness, and maybe a little help around the fire pit.
And here’s a story that says more about leadership than any spiritual discourse ever could:
Once a week Garth would make his rounds across the property, stopping at every cabin, trailer, and tent. He collected everyone’s dirty laundry—ten people scattered across a square mile of desert—and hauled it all to the laundromat in town. He paid for every load himself with a pile of quarters, waited through the cycles, dried it, and returned it to each doorstep. Pickup and delivery. No charge, no fanfare. His generosity didn’t stop at the property line.
I once watched him in a supermarket when a stranger approached and said, “Garth, do you remember me? I need a little help for food.” Garth didn’t try to recall his face or make him prove anything. He simply reached into his pocket, pulled out the first bill his fingers touched—maybe $1, maybe $20, maybe $100—and handed it over without looking. Whatever it was, it was enough. Garth died with $202 in his bank account.
That is what leadership looks like in a real sanctuary:
service, not power;
humility, not hierarchy;
open hands instead of clenched fists.
Meanwhile, Back in Arizona…
Our deeper purpose on that Arizona land had been to help create a desert Sanctuary but quickly the current shifted, and we began to feel more like unpaid helpers or free labor. Our presence was needed, but our purpose wasn’t seen. When the washer message came, it didn’t begin anything—it confirmed everything.
I responded gently and clearly with a two-page letter. I explained the washer had been donated, that we’d repaired it several times already, and that we’d been gone for over a month with no communication. I said we wouldn’t be paying for repairs now that we were no longer living there.
When Worlds Collide
Community only works when everyone involved is living by the same principles.
If one person believes “shared” means collective stewardship and another believes “shared” means “use my stuff but pay me if anything goes wrong,” then you already have two different worlds trying to occupy the same land.
Eventually the truth comes out—in a washing machine, a torn-up garden bed, a disagreement about labor, or the quiet realization that you’re trying to build a sanctuary while someone else is building a fiefdom. Sometimes the whole truth arrives in a short message about a broken machine.
Communities reveal themselves in the signs they put out—
whether those signs hang on a fence
or arrive as a text message.
intentionalcommunity #gifteconomy #relationalnottransactional #bouldergardens #sanctuary #alternativeLiving #simpleliving #communityliving #degrowth #antiwork
Why I Don’t Pay Rent
My Time as St. Francis of the Desert
I don’t pay rent. I’ve lived another way that’s more relational, and it works. There was a point when I left Long Beach as a burnt-out teacher and drove into the desert with one intention: stop spending. Rent, groceries, gas—money flowed faster than I could earn it. I could see the end coming. Instead of waiting for collapse, I stepped sideways.
For two years I lived without rent and without wages. Basically without using money. Joshua Tree first. Then Ojai. Both places were New Age-style intentional communities, and I contributed with time and effort. I repaired water pipes. Cleared brush. Fed animals. Protected homes from fire. My focus was community. At the same time, I did everything for myself. All those repairs and upgrades and creations, all those “favors,” were actually investments in relationships. So it wasn’t exactly free. There was always food in the refrigerator thanks to cooperative living and abundant gardens. I had my built tiny home that I build myself. I had people to share mornings with. People to work with. I wasn’t surviving. I was liberated. I never felt freer doing those two years.
If someone tried to give me money I’d refuse, or ask them to please fill my gas tank, or pay my car insurance. Someone once handed me $20 and I stuck it on the refrigerator with a magnet. It stayed there for weeks. It became a symbol of the my commitment. People thought that because I didn’t work for money, I worked for free. That was NOT the case. Many times I felt used, and it was usually because people don’t understand that kind of economy. Most people have transactional relationships. Maybe St. Francis felt used. I don’t know. Maybe he did it to set an example. Maybe he did it for the Creator. (Which is the very opposite of doing it by being a doormat). I think the key is to do things for others that also befit yourself. The key is finding that middle ground so that you and they don’t feel used.
Robin Greenfield Shows Me It’s Possible
After I made that leap to alternative living, I began following Robin Greenfield. He didn’t live off desperation—he lived off resourcefulness and conviction. He grew his food. Foraged abundance. Used what others overlooked. He chose alignment over consumption. His life was all about community. Robin is committed to staying below the government poverty line. Since taxes fund war he avoids that. Since cars rely on a huge earth damaging infrastructure, he avoids that. That is actually a step too far for me, because i value mobility. I feel trapped when i can’t travel. So for many years i used a motorcycle. But I know how to fix most things on my car. So I recycle cars.
Rent Is Not Neutral — Thanks, David Graeber
Anthropologist David Graeber made it clear that rent and debt are not natural facts of life. They are control systems. Debt is a leash. Rent is a monthly reminder of who is allowed to stay and who is allowed to own. It isn’t a service. It’s permission to remain. I don’t agree to those terms. When you buy land you don’t lose wealth, because your money became land. But if someone needs a piece of land (because every human needs a place) then they owe you? Crazy! People lose a great deal in this arrangement.
I know many people with land who think they are kings. Literally. The landowner here in Arizona has officially filed to make his land sovereign, with himself listed as “Lord.” The sovereignty movement is great in theory. God’s free earth, spiritual freedom — I get it. But how did he get that land? In this case, money came through inheritance. Very patriarchal setup.
Right now Lord Landowner believes anyone on his land should pay tribute through “hard work.” We’re having a slight disagreement because I came here, to the middle of an empty desert, to create a sanctuary and a church — his church, in fact. His idea completely. Since he hasn’t followed through on his own vision, he now wants me to work for him. That’s not what I signed up for.
The picture below says it all. Though I will say, Lord Landowner is an amiable person. I’m sure many plantation owners in the South were also “amiable” in their day.
Ringing Cedars of Russia and the Concept of the Kins Domain
In Russia, there’s a movement called Ringing Cedars, and it treats land differently than we do. They believe every person should have a piece of Earth to care for — not as property, but as living lineage. Under their Federal Law No. 112-FZ “On Personal Subsidiary Farming,” families can receive one hectare of land to live on, plant on, and pass down. For free! Citizens plant trees for their children not yet born. They call it a Kin’s Domain. It’s not meant to be bought or sold. It’s a foundational birthright. Like our First Amendment (freedom of speech, religion, assembly, press, etc.) Ownership in this model is not superiority. It’s guardianship. You don’t extract from it. You grow into it.
Charles Eisenstein and the Return of Sacred Exchange
Charles Eisenstein writes about sacred economics — an economy based on trust rather than accounting. He says the real wealth between people is not in dollars but in gratitude, reciprocity, and memory. When someone gives you their time or effort, you don’t owe them a transaction. You owe them relationship. That’s how society used to work before everything was priced. His idea of a gift economy isn’t charity. It’s belonging. It’s the belief that value doesn’t disappear when it isn’t measured. I’ve experienced that firsthand in Time Banks—like the Long Beach Time Bank and Venice Beach Time Bank. In those spaces, one hour is one hour. A welder, a baker, a mechanic, a lawyer—they stand on level ground. I got documents translations into French, my hard drive recovered, fresh baked cookies, and massages. I gave rides to school, oil changes, gardening and appliance repair, all with complete strangers. Yup, I was compensated. Nope, it wasn’t money.
Flipping the Script: My Partner Gets Paid to Live in Nice Places
While most people pay rent to stay somewhere nice, my partner is paid to stay in beautiful homes! She travels as a house and pet sitter. Sometimes there’s money exchanged but sometimes it’s just care for shelter. She lives better than people who sign contracts and wire literally half their income to a landlord. So you can pay to stay, or you can be paid to stay. Personally I prefer to skip the money and make some friends in the process.
What I Will Do
I will work with land, not for someone else’s land. I will be trusted, not managed. I refuse to organize my life around tribute to those who already have more than enough. Rent is not sacred. Ownership is not authority. And finally, Living should not be conditional.
I plan to leave this life with no money because I want to die rich.
#davidgraeber #robingreenfield #ringingcedars
#antiwork #ringingcedarsofrussia
#wearethe99percent
#degrowth
#gifteconomy #nokings
Pay to Pray
I just read of an Arizona tribe offering ketamine ceremonies in a church setting at $2,300 for two sessions. That’s crazy! Ketamine is synthetic, easy to make, and usually offered at about $20 a serving. It’s not Ayahuasca carried up from the remotest parts of the Amazon. It’s not the psychedelic Toad, which is basically endangered. It’s a lab-made medicine used worldwide. So charging that much feels like a minor crime. Why charge so much?
I see two reasons: First, it’s the commodification of everything in our society, where value comes from price tags instead of quality or rarity. The people administering the medicine usually just see dollar signs. The more it cost, the more value it has, irrespective of what the properties of the medicine actually are. I’ve coached people myself, only to see them presenting as “experts” just a few months later. One group of my friends began charging $444 for Ayahuasca ($888 for a two-night minimum!). I even know of ceremonies that cost $1000 for a single night. (In the Amazon, $50 is considered fair.) It’s outrageous! Most of these medicines are available in nature; in the forest, or the desert. At first i advice getting a complete understanding of properties of whatever medicine calls you, and then a qualified guide to put you on the correct path, But you don’t need to pay someone $3200 to have your own transcendent spiritual experience, which is your God given birthright. Spiritual connection is inherently free and part of being alive on this planet, so you don’t have to pay to pray.
The second reason: When you charge that kind of money, you’re basically rewarding the 1%. You’re congratulating people for having tax havens, hedge funds, investments in fossil fuels, deforestation, land grabs, industrial agriculture, real estate speculation, lobbying, greenwashing, or wage slavery. You’re saying: “You did a great job making all that money! Here’s your reward: an expensive, fully catered, transcendent experience with your higher self that I will give you”. Meanwhile, you’re not rewarding laborers, organic farmers, herbalists, taxi drivers, educators, conservationists, or activists. You’re saying: “Sorry, you don’t have enough money for my exclusive time and attention”. I hate that attitude, but it has become the dominant one.
Of course, I see a solution: Instead of giving people discounts (a sliding scale), flip the model. Set a reasonable base fee but fundraise from the rich 1%. Make it an expectation that those with more give more. If someone’s driving a new car or carrying the latest phone, you know they can afford it. Why should they pay relatively less than someone struggling? (One group even charged according to nationality: higher rates for the U.S. and Europe, lower for Latin America and Africa.)
And FYI: everyone earning about $35,000 a year is already in the top 1% worldwide, regardless of nationality. Personally, I try to stay out of the 1% by simply not needing that much money. I avoid rent (the biggest expense). I grow food, repair what I own, live in community, and travel (America is just expensive!). That way I can afford to ask for way less for my services. And like I said above: I don’t want to be paying for your new stuff, and especially not your rent or mortgage. Transcendence should be for everyone, not just the 1%.
Finally, if your life is screwed up so profoundly, either through methamphetamine, murdering someone, a life of violence, cancer, car wreck or something like that, your salvation will not come through some newsletter that asks you for $2300. In that case, you will need recon with your time here on Earth and somehow, in some way, make the necessary amends. -But that’s a very different story.
Sanctuary Is Not a Service
The word sanctuary is starting to lose all meaning. Take Sanctuary Camelback Mountain Resort & Spa in Arizona: a place where inner peace costs $700 a night and includes poolside cocktail delivery. If your refuge comes with room service and a resort fee, that’s not sanctuary. That’s paid for hospitality.
So what is a sanctuary, really?
Historically, it meant protection without condition. In medieval Europe, if someone was being chased — even by the law — they could run into a church and touch the altar. From that moment on, no one was allowed to harm them. Sanctuary didn’t evaluate whether someone was worthy. It offered safety first, judgment later.
Sanctuary on the Road
I was reminded of all this last year while walking the Camino de Santiago through Portugal, France and Spain. Today it’s sometimes considered a scenic adventure and people walk it for fitness or their Instagram posts. But many people take it seriously, as a walk of faith. The pilgrimage has always been walked by people searching, grieving, repenting, or people who had lost their way. And it was extremely dangerous — hunger, exhaustion, bandits — and most pilgrims traveled with almost nothing. Even today the idea of Camino isn’t a service you book online. The refugios are non advertised, first come first served, for sometimes 5 euros a night.
I’m writing this now from a place that calls itself a sanctuary, and for once, it feels accurate. I’m in the high desert an a large piece of land that is known all over the world. People come and go every day to hang out and experience the desert land. Some say a day, a week, or a month. Others live here full time. People are valued for how they show up in spirit and not by what they can offer through money. And it’s a really large wonderful community here. The is a fired pit surrounded by couches and the refrigerators are full. It’s called Garth’s Boulder Gardens Sanctuary. Garth had his roots in the Mormon church and with the Christ Brothers, the people dressed in white who walked barefoot like Jesus, with no money at all. Ironic because Garth’s father was quite rich and bought him this huge piece of land so he wouldn’t be “homeless”.
I like this one definition :
A sanctuary is a place where beings — human or otherwise — are protected without needing to prove their worth. A place where you don’t ask, “What can you pay?” but rather, “What do you need?”
Some sanctuaries are manicured and polished with people constantly busy cleaning and organizing. Other’s are dusty, improvised, or half build or run down It actually doesn’t matter. What matters is the ethics. So there is a range. But there is also a range of authenticity, where people use the terms for profit and gain. So if you’re going to keep using the word sanctuary, please just use it correctly.
Comparison Table
| Term | Core Purpose | Spiritual? | Economic / Social Model |
|---|---|---|---|
| Sanctuary | Protection / refuge | Yes (implicitly) | Donation / stewardship |
| Intentional Community | Shared living based on alternative values | Sometimes | Varies: shared ownership / rent / work-trade |
| Retreat Center | Temporary renewal | Sometimes | Fee-based program |
| Monastery | Devotional discipline | Deeply | Work/service exchange |
| Ashram / Hermitage | Solitude + devotion | Yes | Minimal cost |
| Spa / Wellness Resort | Comfort / treatment | No (despite candles) | High commercial |
| Preserve / Conservation Land | Protect earth/ecosystem | Spiritual adjacently | Grant-funded |
| 501(c)(3) | Nonprofit for public good | Neutral | Donation/tax-deductible |
| 508(c)(1)(A) | Faith-based nonprofit (church) | Often | Contribution-based exemption |
What Is and Isn’t a Sanctuary?
A sanctuary at its core is not a business model, not a resort, not a vacation.
It is a place of spiritual, emotional and physical protection. Here’s how different spiritual or communal spaces compare when you strip away branding:
| Type | Purpose | Typical Access Model | Cost to Enter |
|---|---|---|---|
| Ancient Temples & Sacred Groves | Spiritual refuge | Open to all | $0 (offering optional) |
| Sacred Refuge Traditions (Worldwide — Indigenous, Pagan, Buddhist, Islamic, Christian, etc.) | Protection of the vulnerable and reverence for the sacred | Upheld by sacred duty or social code | $0 |
| Animal Sanctuaries | Safe haven for non-human beings | Donor-supported | $0 (for animals) |
| Monastery / Ashram / Hermitage | Discipline and devotion | Live-in or retreat stays | $ / Work-exchange |
| Intentional Community | Shared living around values | Buy-in / rent / labor | $-$$ (varies widely) |
| Retreat Center (modern) | Personal growth / experience | Structured programs | $$$ |
| Wellness Spa using the word “Sanctuary“ | Relaxation & luxury | Pay-to-play | $$$$ |
Sanctuary vs. Asylum — Not the Same
People sometimes use sanctuary and asylum as if they were interchangeable, but they’re not. Asylum is legal. It’s granted by governments. You have to apply, prove your case, and wait for approval. Sanctuary is ethical. It’s granted by people or places that choose to protect life without demanding qualifications.
Historically, asylum happened inside sanctuaries — fugitives ran to temples or churches knowing no one could lay hands on them there. But over time, governments absorbed asylum into bureaucracy, while sanctuary retained its moral meaning.
Asylum asks, “Can you prove you deserve protection?”
Sanctuary says, “You’re safe. We can figure out the rest later.”
I think we will be needing more sanctuaries worldwide soon.
Horse Caravan and the European Nomads in Guatemala
Arrival 202
We arrived two days before Christmas. It took about ten “chicken bus” rides to cross from Lake Atitlán, Guatemala into Honduras, averaging not much more than a hundred kilometers per day. So, it took four days in total to reach the Horse Caravan. The last bus dropped me in Tablazón, a place pretty much unknown to even the locals. But the bus passengers nodded when we asked about the “Caravana de Caballo,” and they told us where to get off.
The first thing we saw was Kambuki (German, red hair) and Tristan, on horseback in front of a small tienda. The caravan was further up the road at a house, but luckily for us they had just moved closer to the highway from a really remote location. Otherwise, we would have faced a long walk. Instead, we just followed a small path into a clearing. We were weary from travel, ten hours on the last leg alone.
First Days in Camp
The mood was unsettled. Kevin and Marko had just left on bad terms, and their departure dominated conversation for days. The camp felt like it was spiraling. We had a “process” with a talking stick to air everything out—what were the new expectations now? How did people feel?
Dirtyshirt, the thirty-five-year-old caravan leader (with a very dirty shirt on), felt taken advantage of: horses and saddles had gone missing, dues weren’t being paid, and then she burned her hand badly on oil while cooking.
But there were bright spots too. Roses, who had come from a Rainbow Gathering, made creamy squash soup that everyone loved. There were calzones with fresh cheese. Food brought comfort and grounded us.
A Bit of History
The caravan began twelve years ago in Mexico, started by an Argentinian. Dirtyshirt took it over five years ago and has since led it through Guatemala and now into Honduras. The destination is Nicaragua, maybe farther—South America is whispered. But really, it’s the journey that matters.
Kambuki has been co-leader for four years. The group is mostly women, doing an extraordinary thing. Amandine, a veterinarian from France. Roses, driving her old van down from the States. Jessie, who dreams of traveling Australia with camels, inspired by the book and film Tracks. Josie, my traveling partner from England, deeply Rainbow. Tristan, a French musician who searched for Horse Caravan for months before finally finding it and buying a horse for $300.
With Josie and me, we were eight again.
On the Move
The plan was to ride four hours down trails to a smaller village and set up camp. From Seed Camp to Tablazón had taken two full days: packing up at 4 a.m., walking until dusk. Some thought it would only take a day, but horses move slowly.
Rules were established: anyone arriving after Seed Camp was a visitor and could stay two weeks. After that, they had to decide in a commitment circle whether to stay until April and bond with a horse. If not—leave. Commitment mattered.
Last year’s Seed Camp was near Esperanza, and the caravan only covered about 200 kilometers in the season, slowed by deep bonds with local families. People often had to leave for visa runs too. It was slow but meaningful.
Life in Camp
We hitched rides into town for supplies and some busked—Jessie practicing her hula hoop “flower of life,” Josie with her fire-spinning. The tent was always smoky from the fire burning day and night. Tristan baked bread with chocolate. Grinding rice, beans, or cacao was a two-person job—one to hold the bowl, the other to turn the crank.
Horses wandered through camp. They had ticks and needed constant brushing. There were long discussions about which ones to keep—beloved but aging horses versus those still in their prime.
Christmas
Visitors came with tamales, vegetables, and small gifts of money—forty lempiras, about $1.75. Kambuki was overjoyed, full of gratitude. Later, a group of men arrived, squatted on their heels, and listened to Tristan play guitar. Their questions were simple: Where are you from? Where are you going? Will you return home? They were fascinated.
Up at the tienda, the local hangout with a couple of pool tables, Christmas Day was filled with drunken men and loud conversation.
Challenges
The caravan couldn’t stay in one place too long—horses eat through pasture quickly, and farmers need compensation. The van, meant to carry supplies, was broken down with transmission problems, stuck in a shop for months because parts for a Ford were hard to find. Roses’ van did its best, but some villages were reachable only on horseback.
Dirty made a distinction between guests and committed caravaners. Committed members paid a $200 deposit, returned only if they stayed to the end. People who came late or left early forfeited it. The rule was practical: at the end of the season, the horses needed boarding for six months, and finding pasture could take weeks.
Despite her efforts at inclusivity, Dirty had been disappointed often—people who came, took advantage, and gave little back. One bought a horse with her help, then sold it at a profit. Another sold a saddle that should have been returned. These things stung.
The caravan borrowed from Rainbow traditions—Magic Hat, talking circles, consensus—but horses changed everything. Horses are expensive, demanding, alive. They required commitment and discipline, not just ideals.
Here is the official website: horsecaravan.live
Gallery: horsecaravan.live/gallery
#horsecaravan #NomadsUnited #Travel #Guatemala #Honduras #Overland #NomadicLife #AlternativeLiving
Spiritual Sanctuary or Spiritual Work Camp
Sanctuaries can be very nonspiritual if you aren’t careful.
I’ve Decided that I’m like Him
Simple living, community. A blog inspired by Robin Greenfield