Letter to Anwei Read online

  The Okinawans also enjoyed the benefits of a healthy diet and active lifestyle, working hard like the Sardinians all the way into their 80’s and 90’s. In Okinawa, they have a word, ikigai(生き甲斐), which translates roughly as your “reason for being,” or your “reason for getting out of bed in the morning.” Most Okinawans describe their ikigai as their friends and family, or the role that they play within the community, be it a fisher or a gardener. It is a socially-derived feeling of purpose (telos) that drives these people to live longer and happier lives. I remember that there was one woman in the article who was 103 years old, and her daughter said that her longevity brought pride to the whole family and village. That’s a kind of honor culture, very similar to the Sardinians.

  The community featured in Loma Linda, California was a group of Seventh-Day Adventists, a variety of Protestant Christians that celebrate Saturday as the holy day of rest, rather than Sunday. The author noted that regular religious attendance and participation is known to increase lifespan by as much as two years, but subsequent research has revealed that he may have been understating the case by at least three years[8]. For these Seventh-Day Adventists, rejecting alcohol, cigarettes, and pork were all biblical injunctions, not merely health ones, and aside from the explicitly banned foods, they had fostered a culture that discouraged caffeinated beverages, rich, sugary foods, or anything too “stimulating.”

  But as important as their health habits are, their culture of socializing and helping others seemed to separate them more profoundly from the broad variety of other health-cultures in the United States in terms of longevity. One woman, at 101 years old, would wake up in the morning and work out before going to assist at an elderly day-care center, often helping people two or three decades younger than herself. Like staying healthy, the Adventists viewed helping others as a religious obligation, and as a result, they lived in an insular, family and community-oriented society of like-minded people.

  Just like the Sardinians and the Okinawans.

  All three of these groups live in close alignment with their Anwei. None of these individuals live as individuals, but live as Sardinians, as Okinawans, as Seventh-Day Adventists. They are reflections of their groups, accepting the legacy offered to them, and building upon it for those who are to come after them. They are one with their people, living in spiritual conformity with their group, and this brings them longevity, prosperity, and happiness.

  But the best information we have on longevity, identity, and happiness isn’t from National Geographic. It comes from the Harvard Study of Adult Development[9], which tracked the lives of 724 men over more than 75 years. What the researchers found was that having relationships is perhaps the single most important factor in living a long and happy life:

  We've learned three big lessons about relationships. The first is that social connections are really good for us, and that loneliness kills. It turns out that people who are more socially connected to family, to friends, to community, are happier, they're physically healthier, and they live longer than people who are less well connected. And the experience of loneliness turns out to be toxic. People who are more isolated than they want to be from others find that they are less happy, their health declines earlier in midlife, their brain functioning declines sooner and they live shorter lives than people who are not lonely. And the sad fact is that at any given time, more than one in five Americans will report that they're lonely.

  And we know that you can be lonely in a crowd and you can be lonely in a marriage, so the second big lesson that we learned is that it's not just the number of friends you have, and it's not whether or not you're in a committed relationship, but it's the quality of your close relationships that matters. It turns out that living in the midst of conflict is really bad for our health. High-conflict marriages, for example, without much affection, turn out to be very bad for our health, perhaps worse than getting divorced. And living in the midst of good, warm relationships is protective.[10]

  I’m sure to many younger people like yourself, this may sound like boring and stodgy traditionalism. But I think the appeal is more universal. One of my favorite musicians from my early twenties was an outspoken political progressive named Maynard James Keenan, who wrote and sang for bands like Tool, A Perfect Circle, and Puscifer. You may not know of these bands, but they were remarkably successful in their time, especially Tool.

  But it is not Keenan’s musical success that is of interest here. Keenan was also a wine-maker, owning Merkin Vineyards and Caduceus Cellars in Jerome, Arizona. Because I do not wish to speak for Keenan, and in any case cannot phrase his ideology any more perfectly than he does for himself, I have included a few quotes from a short documentary[11] about hiFs wine-making operations and his world-view that informs it. These quotes are a little long, but I hope you will read them, as they are valuable and enjoyable to hear, especially coming from a musical celebrity:

  What I’m doing out here in Arizona—there’s this word “sustainable” that we throw around that I feel is applicable. Not just in terms of a small economy, or a larger global economy, all those things, I think that it also applies just to an artist and their creative flow. You see a lot of guys who are successful earlier on, and they start to not be successful and they get a little desperate. Desperate to be relevant in a world that no longer understands them.

  When I heard Keenan say this, I was reminded of the older people who did not, or could not, run fast enough and who were left behind by society. Lone individuals have a hard time with continuing the run, and it is a constant struggle to stay relevant. As my friend Aedhan said, relevance is important in finding the will to keep going. Being needed by others is something we need ourselves, and that need is hard to find if we are untethered individuals, floating between places and people without a transcendent center.

  We have a lot of disconnect. We have plenty of food, plenty of clothing, plenty of shelter at this point. Now we’re just kind of wrath, eating each other and eating ourselves. We’ve lost touch with that friction, that friction that keeps you moving, keeps you on your toes, keeps you growing. Keeps you learning. Keeps you surviving. We’ve kind of lost touch with that, in a way. We’ve lost touch with that creative side, I think. Our utilitarian side.

  This is an attempt to rekindle some of that. To understand how vulnerable we actually are. How much we are not actually in charge. And to keep that art alive, keep those stories alive. I have much more to say now, in music, in words, with this endeavor.

  Your inheritance is not just what your ancestors leave for you. Part of it is nature itself. Part of it is the struggle both with and against nature that your ancestors undertook as a matter of survival, and the further you separate yourself from the struggles that characterized the stories of Job and Odysseus, of Ernest Hemingway and Jack London—of your own ancestors—the further you get from all that, the less relevant their underlying spirit will be to you. I think if you get too far away from nature, you become less human.

  I do what I do because I enjoy it. I enjoy farming, I enjoy wine-making, I enjoy writing music, I enjoy performing songs, writing songs, just in general doing. And I’m always going to be doing. Whether I’m relevant or not I think is irrelevant, because I’m going to do what I’m going to do regardless of whether somebody knows about it or not. It’s just in my nature. So you can see in the studio, I’m always writing, I’m always working with Tool, A Perfect Circle, Puscifer, all the time. Just slowly hedging our way through it all to present. If I was just doing those things, you start to run out of actual life experiences. All you’re going to write about is the bus, or a […] lawsuit. You’re going to lose your way, become disconnected. This [the vineyard] is the reconnect.

  Other people are the building block of legacy, but connecting with the Anwei isn’t the same as connecting with just anyone. Sometimes connecting with the Anwei means ignoring those who happen to be nearby—perhaps those in your school, or at work, or fellow artists in the music world. In principle, the connection with the Anwei doesn’t even require other living people. What feels natural to you? What is your true nature? These are challenging questions to answer because we are so heavily influenced by our environment in our early years. It can be hard to distinguish between what is from the Anwei and what is from the rest of the world—this being the prerequisite understanding so that you will be able to differentiate what is beneficial to the Anwei, which may include some outside influence, and what is detrimental to it. But over time, you may be able to discover the Anwei in yourself, without other people. This is a difficult skill to develop, but it can be of great value. If the people you are surrounded by are people in your occupation or role, then your life will reflect only what is meaningful to that occupation or role. If you are a musician, this might mean the tour-bus and lawsuits, at least according to Keenan. But no matter how the values of these roles and occupations look, they will lead you away from what is most important. They will lead you away from the Anwei.

  It is better to be surrounded by others you can grow and learn from. But in cases where those around you are on a different path, it is better to trust yourself and your own instincts.

  As a legacy, I feel like some of the music we’ve done will live on its own. But I feel like… using [David] Bowie as an example. Bowie passes away. People line up to freak out that he’s gone, and they’re reverent about what he’s done, and in a way, that’s done. He’s done it, he can’t do any more, he’s no longer here. So there’s a reverence to him, and a worship of sorts; a fan reaction to what he has done, and now he is no longer here. But that’s kind of one direction.

  What we’ve done, what we’re setting up as a community here in northern Arizona […] with the wine-making and just the culinary efforts, and the communit
y efforts that go along with it and all the collateral benefits of a wine-making and grape-growing community, there might be some founders of that movement.

  But if we are no longer here, there are other people that continue what we’ve started. So in a way, that’s more of a legacy because you’ve actually established something that can continue a hundred, two hundred years beyond you, which sets up that artistic process: wine-making, food-growing, all the industries that surround that, all the activities that surround it, and of course, the art of celebrating those struggles, because as a wine-maker, you need grapes. So you are a slave to the sun and the rain. You are a slave to mother nature, to understand her processes and what she wants, and she does not care what you want. You’re having to work around that. So that celebration around the fire, at the end of a long hunt of a long agricultural endeavor, that art, that’s what tells the story of what struggles you’ve gone through. It’s the celebration of life, along with the struggle of actually trying to survive.

  Keenan may be a little unfair to Bowie here. Rock music is a tradition, with regional epicenters in Los Angeles, London, New York, Seattle, Nasheville, and elsewhere, and musicians become inspired and influenced by other musicians in an organic fashion, just like chefs, painters, architects, and other artists. But he is right to say that a real legacy is not a one-way street. It is a dialogue across time which can grow and adapt. A real legacy is not a statue, but a living thing.

  On the subject of life, Christian theologians would distinguish between two different kinds of life: bios (βίος), and zoe (ζωή). Bios refers to physical life and the material it is comprised of (it is the etymological root of “biology”). Zoe refers to the life of the spirit, and in its nature and effects, it is similar to ikigai. What Keenan’s talk of reconnection and art conveys is that finding the Anwei is not just the source of bios life; it is a deep well of zoe life as well.

  If you really kind of look at it, your legacy, if executed properly in the nuances that I identify with it, it’s not so much about you. It’s about laying groundwork and honoring your past, and honoring your family, and going forward for your children and their children. And you’re setting up a foundation where they still have to struggle. Just laying it out for them and just handing them a big bank account, that’s not going to help them. They have to struggle in some way, they have to earn this thing. I feel like vineyards, wineries, and the music, is something that requires some struggle. You have to find your way in it, you can’t just be handed it.

  I believe that stories are the greatest inheritance that you can leave for your descendants, so the best thing we can do is to live a great story. Great stories are like magic: they appear impossible, and inspire hope, awe, and courage in those who see or hear about them. Stories are the substance of the Anwei.

  There is no story in inheriting a lot of money. Often times—especially in modern times—there is not even much of a story in making a lot of money. I know that wealth can be very helpful for individuals, like you and me. But it’s not about us. To the Anwei, wealth is an interesting byproduct, perhaps an indicator of good things, but of no consequence on its own. Be careful not to overemphasize the value of money to your children. As I have said, true legacies are living things, and money is a dead thing. Leaving your children an enormous financial inheritance is more often a curse than a blessing.

  Keenan’s legacy is not just stories. He has woven an elaborate tapestry of interlocking habits, rituals, and relationships, with his musicians, his growers, his cooks, his customers, his family, even with the land itself. Each of these habits and rituals and relationships—from the seasonal planting and harvesting rituals to the presentation and tasting of wine to the picking out of a melody on a guitar—all of these are things that Keenan’s great-grandchildren can participate in. Through their own participation, they can connect with Keenan himself. If they do so, then Keenan will have already found his connection with them, the unborn.

  This is living in connection with the Anwei.

  The Verde Valley in general, it’s not for everybody. This area of Arizona, it’s one of those things. You have to resonate with this area to really dig in and be here. It’ll spit you out like a bad liver transplant.

  There is pride and self-respect in being able to live and thrive in a selective environment. Stories and legacies come from “friction,” and living in a safe, easy world without this friction will limit your ability to write a meaningful story or leave a living legacy.

  But there is a deeper importance in the land than merely the selectivity that leads to pride:

  Speaking form an artist’s perspective, there’s various kinds of canvas, but canvas is canvas, paints are kind of paints… look that guy’s a painter, and that guy’s a painter, I’ll just get one of the paintings, right? They’re going to be the same, because it’s just paint and canvas and a guy painting. Well that’s not the case, obviously. Wine kind of takes that to another level because it’s expressing a place. Every single place is going to express a particular variety differently. If you have Cabernet Sauvignon on this site, as opposed to Napa or Texas or New Mexico or Washington State, Oregon, they’re all going to be different expressions of that grape because there is an infinite number of variables.

  This [land] is a huge copper mine. A little volcanic activity here, it used to be the bottom of the ocean, so there’s limestone, caliche layers, decomposed granite, river sediment from all the creeks and rivers. You’re near the Grand Canyon, we’re at high elevation, so that diurnal swing, night to day, is going to be different than it would be in Napa. All these variables go into making that grape a unique thing on that site, and then that lifetime of trying to figure out what grapes do best in that region. Since we have no actual history or notes from here, we won’t know the answer to that question for another fifty years.

  I will tell you more about the importance of land shortly. But I think the most important summarizing words from Maynard James Keenan on the subject of the Anwei come from his website. In his bio excerpt from Caduceus Cellars, he had this to say:

  Having already dove headfirst into this venture, I found out from a distant relative that wine making is in my blood. My Great Grandfather, “Spirito” Marzo, had vineyards and made wine in Venaus, Italy, just North of Turino in Piemonte. My tastes in wine reflect this history. It’s even apparent in my choice of home. Clearly I and my fathers are one.

  “I and my fathers are one.”

  Nothing more perfectly captures the idea of the Anwei than that.

  §

  I hope you can see now that it is possible to live in harmony with this spirit, because people have done it. We may not be able to see or touch a culture; we cannot feel a nation; we cannot taste or smell “history.” You cannot point to an ant colony, or to a river, in their completion. Yet all of these things exist as concepts and patterns with explanatory value. It is in this manner that we can know that your Anwei exists. The fact that we die, and sometimes even willingly kill ourselves, is evidence that it exists. That we would willingly die for another person has confused evolutionary psychologists and biologists for decades, but it is no mystery that we should be willing to die for a greater whole, of which we are only a part. It is a whole that is responsible for our existence, and which grants us continued life of a kind after our death. The Anwei is as much “you” as you are the Anwei, after all.

  But more importantly, it should be clear that it is better to live in this way, in accordance with your true identity with the Anwei. It brings more happiness, purpose, and life than trying to live for yourself, on your own. You are a social animal, belonging to a pack like wolves, lions, or chimpanzees. It is part of your nature to be an integrated part of this group, and what animal can be happy living against itself?