Wade Davis

With the sun going down over the Sonoran Desert, Andrew [Andrew Weil, M.D] led me down a dusty trail toward a narrow draw that opened onto a flat enveloped by mesquite trees and looming cacti. In the middle of the clearing was a large fire, heaped with red-hot stones. To one side was a traditional sweat lodge, a willow arbor low to the ground and half covered with dark canvas. Just beyond was a trampoline. Tending the fire was the person we had come to see, White Dog, Andrew’s main toad man. At six-foot-four, with beard and dreadlocks to the waist, he towered over the burning coals, a barefoot desert wizard in red sweatpants and a lilac shirt that fused seamlessly with the setting sun… continue reading.

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