PREFACE:
A Qualifying Personal Journey
No Easy Beginnings
LIKE MOST OF YOU, I did not grow up in a family of masters, kings, geniuses, billionaires or politicians. Exactly the opposite, I was born on a ‘confiscated’ farm, during ‘The War’ in Europe, where my family lost everything twice. In 1945, before I was three years old, I was a refugee child fleeing, on a wagon drawn by a horse that could barely walk, led by an exhausted mother alone with six children under six. All we had was the clothes on our back and some silver spoons, family heirlooms that were wistful reminders of a safer and more peaceful past forever gone.
Fear, anxiety and terror were constant companions as we ran from the Communist war machine rolling up behind us, and into the oncoming artillery fire coming from Allied planes. Protection was non-existent. Nowhere was safe. These feelings stayed with me for the first three decades of my life, and still sometimes visit me now.
My father, originally German-speaking from Latvia, was captured in Normandy in 1944 and shipped to a Red Cross supervised prisoner of war camp in the United States. This left my mother to look after us on her own. When the axle on the horse-drawn wagon broke down, so did the last of my mother’s strength. Leaving four children behind with a farmer she’d never met, she hoped to survive and save two of her children, one on each hand, by going on foot across the fields. This was safer than staying on roads whose ditches were filled with dead people and horses. Eventually, my aunt Ena, my mother’s sister who spoke fluent Russian, went back behind now enemy lines and found us. The farmer had dropped us off at an orphanage in Berlin, and its caretakers put us on a train heading toward Switzerland. She took us off the train and reunited us with our mother in West Germany.
My father returned from the war soured on human beings and even more on big institutions: government, religion, drug companies, medicine and business. The war had also cured him of any loyalty to the German ‘Fatherland.’ As displaced persons, we took up space there, and Germans having lost the war were frustrated and humiliated, and resented refugees.
It took six years to get our exit papers from Germany, and when I was 10, my family emigrated from West Germany and landed in a small town named Oliver in British Columbia, Canada. A year later, my father bough 112 acres of ‘bush’ land about 15 miles west of the town of Smithers in Northern British Columbia and built a house there that was four inches wider at one end than the other. We cleared 40 acres of the land by hand and by horse. I spent two years living in that house and the ‘stump ranch’ that surrounded it.
We had no electricity, running water, radio or TV. “I just want to be left alone,” was one of my dad’s favorite comments. “The world stinks,” was a second, and a third was, “If it doesn’t rain in my bed, I’m happy.”
My North American childhood was comparatively quiet. I was a shy, withdrawn, fearful and insecure kid who read a lot of books. They were both exciting and safe. I also spent time in nature, which felt friendlier than my family environment. But I never went far, because I startled easily and sudden noises triggered anxiety. I pictured being trampled by a moose, torn apart by a bear, or worse.
In this setting, I became obsessed in finding out what I could rely on. My experience was that people were not reliable, trustworthy or protective, and that I was on my own. It was a difficult childhood. Although I was sensitive and felt judged and criticized, I was not an unhappy kid. But I certainly wasn’t exuberant, either.
I mostly did well in school, because words on the written page and academic pursuits were both interesting and nonthreatening. I also experimented a lot, often testing the limits of social, physical, family and natural laws. I wanted to try everything out, to learn from experience. That was for me the best kind of learning, and I got my share of education in the school of hard knocks.
Early Motivation
When I was six years old, we lived in Germany in the upstairs farmworkers’ quarters in a barn that housed nine horses on a farm on which my father worked as a laborer. I remember that adults were argumentative and short-tempered. They often took their frustration with each other out on us kids. Whenever there was tension, I would shake. As time went on, I learned to be the kid who could break tension with jokes and goofiness. It was my survival skill, and I became quite good at it, but it was never my mission.
One day, when I heard yet another tedious argument between adults about topics that seemed trivial to me as a 6-year-old, a thought occurred to me, “There must be a better way to live. There’s got to be a way in which people can live together in harmony, and I’m going to find out how.”
That thought became my lifetime mission. It drove my interests and my activities, and it also determined the topics I studied when I finished school and enrolled in university. To this day, it still drives what I read and think about, what I say, design, develop and do.
Higher Education
An avid reader, my interests were in both literature and science. In the end, science won out over poetry and stories, because it seemed more ‘practical’. I wanted to know how things work, and science was more about truth, while literature was more about perspectives.
From my world of chaos, I enrolled in science because I wanted to know the principles by which the planet I live on works. ‘Science’ means ‘knowledge’. In science, I studied physics, chemistry and mathematics, but soon got bored with how theoretical these disciplines became. I couldn’t see their practical, down-to-earth applications. Not that there weren’t any, but I was more focused on harmony between people.
After I tired of the ‘pure’ sciences, I enrolled in biological sciences, because I wanted to know how life and creatures work, a topic that never grows old for me. Molecules, cells, plants, the seasons and the weather, animals and people are super-fascinating. When I look out through my bay window into the garden of colorful flowers and the leaves moving in the breeze near the bay beside which I live, I’m in awe.
Along with my studies of biological sciences, which included anatomy, physiology, natural history, biochemistry and genetics, I also enrolled in psychology, because I wanted to know how thinking works. Then I enrolled in medicine because I wanted to know how health works.
Helping people get healthy seemed like a good way to spend my life. If a person were sick, all I’d have to do, so I reasoned, is turn them back in the direction of health, give them a push, and watch them get better. But to do that, I’d have to know what health is. That’s what I hoped to find out by studying medicine.
Sadly, I only learned about disease in medicine, and the Dean told me that the medical profession doesn’t know what health is. “We’re working on it,” he said. I felt deeply disappointed. When I was told in my first year of medicine that a doctor should always sound as though he knows what’s going on even when he doesn’t, my career in medicine came to an end. We called it ‘lying’ on the farm. That was not okay with me.
At the end of that year, I left medicine and returned to biological sciences, where I got to study normal cells, tissues and creatures. In medicine, the emphasis is on sick cells and sick or infected creatures. Back in biosciences, I spent two years in graduate studies. Specializing in biochemistry and genetics, and working with fruit flies, I did research on ‘chemically induced crossing over’ (whatever the heck that might be!) in males of that species. I loved genetics, because I got to look into the control room of cells. The genetic code had been ‘broken’. The transcription of genetic DNA into RNA, and the translation of RNA into proteins were hot topics. It was exciting, and I was excited.
I slept on a camp cot under one of the counters (benches, we called them) in the lab so that I could be close to my first love. During that time, the 1960’s, I began to become more aware of disturbing global social issues, and they troubled me. After accepting a full scholarship to do my Ph.D. in Genetics in Chicago with one of the pioneers of that discipline, I changed my mind, turned down the opportunity, and left university. I was hungry for something else as yet unclear to me, but not covered in any of the courses I had taken.
For a couple more years, I sat in on classes in the arts: English literature, social psychology, philosophy and religious studies, but what I was looking for was not there, either.
Self-Knowledge
At 17, I remember first feeling an intense ache in my chest. I didn’t know what it was, and I couldn’t shake it by any of the physical, mental or outside distractions that I pursued. The ache was always there. There was no physical problem associated with it. I was quite healthy.
By the time I turned 29, I still did not have an answer for my restless heart. I’d already done my time with drugs and alcohol in my journey of personal development. Some people...