As the saying goes, people use clichés because they’re true. Here are two about California: first, that people move here to reinvent themselves; second, that our state is the land of cults.
The pair are intertwined, the latter an inevitable consequence of the former. From the gold rush to the Summer of Love, California was a place with neither the societal strictures of the East Coast nor the traditions of a dominant religion. It was also home to an expanding population of migrants seeking economic prosperity. Combined, these factors led to unprecedented opportunities for the recent arrivals, but they also helped create a breeding ground for cults. New ways of life presented new ways of worship.
For individuals seeking to exploit people’s spiritual hunger, the potential to strike it rich in California was too good to pass up. For instance, the early 20th century witnessed the emergence here of Theosophy and New Thought, and in the 1920s, Sister Aimee Semple McPherson rose to prominence. Other movements came and went in the decades that followed. The 1960s and ’70s saw the formation or arrival of groups like the Children of God, Heaven’s Gate, the Peoples Temple, and the notorious Manson family. None of these would have been possible if California had not been cast as a land of reinvention, a place where anyone could start over.
It’s against this backdrop—a state where anything goes, including a plurality of cults—that this issue’s astounding cover story, “The Case of the Missing Chacmools,” takes place.
This editor’s note appears in Issue 28 of Alta Journal.
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Longtime Alta Journal contributor Geoffrey Gray investigates the fate of six women who flocked to Los Angeles in the 1970s and ’80s seeking to become more spiritual versions of themselves. They joined the cult of New Age writer Carlos Castaneda, the author of The Teachings of Don Juan: A Yaqui Way of Knowledge and other wildly popular books. The women called themselves witches or chacmools—a term for ancient Mexican warrior statues that protected the Toltec gods. At the peak of his influence, Castaneda and his loyal chacmools conducted workshops and retreats for thousands of his followers. The chacmools were asked to change their names, allow Castaneda to cut their hair short, and, often, as part of their initiation, have sexual intercourse with him.
Castaneda, too, had come to California to reinvent himself. He grew up poor in Peru but presented himself as hailing from Brazilian high society. In his books, he claimed to possess metaphysical knowledge revealed to him by an Indigenous shaman. More likely, he bundled the tales of various traditions with those he made up entirely. These compelling fabrications helped him sell as many as 28 million copies of his books.
Yet after Castaneda’s death, in 1998, three startling events came to light. One: the cult leader’s will had been changed only days before he died, naming his chacmools as primary beneficiaries. Two: his estate was valued at just over $1 million, an improbably low figure. And finally: six of the chacmools had mysteriously vanished.
Gray sets out to follow the money and find out what happened to these women who had looked to Castaneda as their guru. As our writer discovers, theirs is a cautionary tale of the California dream and of exploitation by a cult leader. By the end of his quest, Gray finds himself ensnared in the group’s beliefs and practices.
More than a year in the making, this 22,000-word, 30-page investigation represents Alta’s most ambitious undertaking to date. Think deep research—hundreds of pages of legal documents, flights across borders and treacherous hikes in Death Valley, tracking down reluctant sources and knocking on their doors. It’s a sterling example of old-fashioned boots-on-the-ground reporting. And the accompanying illustrations by Edward Kinsella III are a tour de force: his mixed-media artwork amplifies the emotional drama of the narrative and brings its themes to the surface. It’s my hope that you’ll be surprised and delighted by this great big summer read.
After you’ve finished this heart-thumping tale, you may find yourself asking whether other articles in this issue reveal still more truths about California as a place for reinvention. You will not be disappointed. In “Aging in Place,” Min Liao examines how her parents, who emigrated from Taiwan in the 1970s, are navigating a changed Bay Area as elderly people. “Out of the Fire, into the Universe,” looks back on artist Lita Albuquerque’s devastating loss of decades of work in the 2018 Woolsey Fire—and how she summoned the courage to begin making art again. Consider, too, “Better Homes and Gardens.” It’s the superb account of how a group of Davis residents reinvented the housing subdivision in order to realize an environmentally friendly, self-sustaining community. These are but three examples.
It’s our aim at Alta to shed light on life in California and the West. With “The Case of the Missing Chacmools” and every story inside this issue, we’re aspiring to fulfill our mission. So, what’s your tale of reinvention? Drop me a line at letters@altaonline.com.•
Blaise Zerega is Alta Journal's editorial director. His journalism has appeared in Conde Nast Portfolio (deputy editor and part of founding team), WIRED (managing editor), the New Yorker, Forbes, and other publications. Additionally, he was the editor of Red Herring magazine, once the bible of Silicon Valley. Throughout his career, he has helped lead teams small and large to numerous honors, including multiple National Magazine Awards. He attended the United States Military Academy and New York University and received a Michener Fellowship for fiction from the Texas Center for Writers.
