The Fruit of My Heart: A Durian Tree, a Memory, a Legacy

For nearly 47 years, I’ve been in love with a fruit that inspires obsession, awe, and even controversy—the durian. To many, it’s the "King of Fruits." To me, it’s a symbol of nature’s boldness, generosity, and mystery. But it’s more than flavor or fragrance—it’s personal. Durian has walked with me through nearly five decades of my life, a steady presence in my work, my travels, and my heart.

Just the other day, I had a reunion. Not with a person, but with a durian tree I planted almost a decade ago.

When I first pressed that young sapling into the fertile soil of Sumatra, I did so with hope. Not just hope that the tree would survive the monsoon seasons, the dry spells, and the hungry insects—but hope that it would thrive in a way that connects people, forests, and the wildlife that depend on both. I had planted it at Ibu Erna's Eco-farm, located in the buffer zone outside of Gunung Leuser National Park, not far from where orangutans, those wise, contemplative beings who also have a fondness for durian when they find it ripe and ready. 

For years, I didn’t know if the tree had made it. Life moves fast, and my conservation work pulled me to other regions, other causes, other jungles. I recall stopping in a few years after planting the sapling noting that she had grown but still too young to bear fruit. But the memory of planting that tree—digging the soil, gingerly placing her into the earth and tenderly packing the supporting soil, sweating through my shirt, smiling like a new father—never left me.

And then today, I returned.

She was there. Not just alive, but tall and strong. Her wide canopy offered shelter from the sun, and her branches—oh, her branches—cradled the heavy, spiny treasures I know so well. Durian fruit, ripe and ready, hanging like golden teardrops of gratitude.

After a cry of initial excitement, I approached her slowly, reverently. To touch the bark was to touch a timeline of my own life. A decade ago, I had more stamina, perhaps less wisdom. That tree and I—we had grown in parallel, each in our own way.

And I felt something unexpected. Parental pride.

Yes, I know she’s "just" a tree. But in that moment, I didn’t care. I saw in her the fulfillment of a promise. The labor of my hands and heart, bearing fruit in the literal sense. And I thought of my orangutan daughter, Princess and the other orphaned orangutans I’ve helped return to the forest, the students I’ve mentored, the forests I’ve defended leaf by leaf.

This tree was family. She was part of my story.

As I stood proudly beneath her, I laughed at how quickly the years fell away. The thought of the creamy, rich taste of the durian took me back to roadside stalls in Sumatra, jungle camps in Kalimantan, fruit vendors in Bali and Java and midnight feasts with friends and strangers drawn together by this bizarre and glorious delicacy.

I remembered how orangutans carefully choose which durians to eat—waiting for them to ripen, opening them with deliberate strength. There’s a reverence in the way they eat, a mindfulness I’ve always admired. In some ways, my long journey with durian has taught me the same: to wait, to savor, to share.

Today, I did all three.

I savored the fruit from Ibu Erna’s farm with friends and curious visitors alike—even tasting those that squirrels had worked hard to chew through the spiny husks. As we ate, I shared the story of the tree—born from my hands and nurtured by committed ecofarmers.

We all need moments like this. Moments when we step outside the rush of responsibility and reconnect with what’s quietly grown beneath the surface of our lives. For me, it was a durian tree. For you, it might be something else.

But I promise you this: the fruits of love, patience, and connection are always worth the wait.

The Flow of Love: Expressions of Life’s Deepest Meaning

What if the meaning of life is simply this—love?

Not the love shaped by romance novels or fleeting emotions, but the profound, abiding presence that flows through all of creation. Love, in this context, is not something we possess or chase. It is the essence from which we arise and the current that carries us forward. When we say "life is love," we are pointing to something deeper than sentiment—a foundational energy, a universal intelligence that animates our existence.

Love as the Ground of Being

Many wisdom traditions point to love as the source and purpose of life. In Christianity, "God is love" (1 John 4:8). In Sufism, divine love is the driving force behind the soul’s journey toward union. Buddhist compassion (karuṇā) is a form of love rooted in awareness of suffering and the wish to alleviate it. Even secular thinkers, such as Erich Fromm, have emphasized love as the highest form of maturity—a practice, an art, and an orientation toward others and the world.

In this view, we are not separate agents trying to find love. Rather, we are channels through which love expresses itself. And when we surrender to that current, we enter what psychologists call a flow state.

The Flow State of Love

The “flow state” is often described as the psychological condition where one becomes fully immersed in an activity—with energized focus, full involvement, and enjoyment. But what if flow is more than just productivity? What if it is love in motion?

When a dancer loses themselves in movement, or an artist becomes one with the brush, or a parent gazes into the eyes of a newborn with complete presence—these are not just moments of peak experience. They are manifestations of love expressing itself through us. Not for accolades, not for outcome—but as a pure outpouring of being.

A Moment in Banda Aceh

I felt this flow of love with unmistakable clarity during the 2025 Orangutan Caring Scholarship (OCS) ceremonies in Banda Aceh. As I looked out at the faces of the students, officials, and families—many beaming with pride, some with tears welling in their eyes—I was overcome with the quiet power of shared purpose. These young men and women, recipients of the scholarship, were not merely names on a list or statistics in a report. They were the future of conservation. They were love in action.

One student approached me after the ceremony and said, “You changed my life.” But in that moment, I knew the truth ran deeper: we were changing each other. Their hope, their resilience, their commitment to protect orangutans and their forest homes—this was love taking shape in the world. It moved through their words, their gratitude, and the generations of care they would carry forward.

In that conference hall in Banda Aceh, under banners and lights and the weight of decades of work, I felt more than pride. I felt alignment. A deep stillness wrapped in joy. The love I had poured into the program for years was returning, not as a reward, but as a living wave of connection. It was the flow of life acknowledging itself.

Manifestations of Love in Action

If life is love, then everything we do—when done with awareness, compassion, and authenticity—is an expression of that truth. Some examples:

• Teaching with patience: A teacher who nurtures curiosity in their students is transmitting love as learning.

• Crafting with care: The artisan who pours attention into detail is shaping love into form.

• Listening deeply: When we offer someone our undivided presence, we practice love as spaciousness.

• Protesting injustice: Even righteous anger, when rooted in care for others, can be love demanding dignity and fairness.

• Forgiving with grace: Releasing resentment is love choosing peace over pride.

Even the quiet moments—the tending of a garden, the preparation of a meal, or a simple breath taken in stillness—can be offerings of love when we are attuned to the present.

Living from the Current

To live in alignment with the meaning of life as love is not to be naïve or perpetually cheerful. It is to recognize that beneath the chaos, confusion, and clamor of the world, there is a still stream flowing. And when we step into it—through mindfulness, compassion, creativity, or service—we remember what we are made of.

It is also a call to discernment. Not all actions are love in disguise. Some are fear, control, or ego cloaked in noble language. The challenge is to constantly inquire: Is this coming from love or from fear?

Love Is the Practice

If love is the meaning of life, then our task is not to define it—but to embody it.

This may look different for each of us. For some, it’s teaching children. For others, it’s building bridges between cultures, healing wounds, protecting nature, or telling stories that awaken hearts. When aligned with love, these actions are not just tasks; they are sacred expressions of purpose.

And in this sense, the meaning of life is not a puzzle to be solved. It is a dance to be joined. A melody to be played. A current to be followed.

So let us ask ourselves each day:

• Where is love asking to flow through me now?

• What can I do today that opens the channel just a little wider?

When we live the answer, the meaning is no longer elusive. It pulses through our hands, our breath, our gaze.

It becomes us.

Doing and Being: The Mirror and the Mystery

Most people define themselves by what they do during the course of their lives.

We are taught to build resumes, not reflect on essence. Our modern world reinforces this: jobs, roles, projects, accomplishments—they become our identity’s scaffolding. For example, my foundation provides a platform to conduct activities that contribute to saving orangutans. It gives purpose. It gives shape to time. It gives me something to say when someone asks, “So, what do you do?”

But let us pause, if only for a breath, and ask a deeper question:

Is what we do really who we are?

When we peel back the busyness and ask simply, "Who are you?"—the silence that follows is often uneasy. Not because the question is meaningless, but because most of what we quickly offer as an answer is not the truth. At best, it is a story, a useful fiction we tell ourselves to keep the ego intact.

“I’m a conservationist.”

“I’m a mother.”

“I’m a CEO.”

“I’m a 25-year-old white woman from Nebraska.”

These are not untrue. They are descriptors. Labels. Demographic metadata.

But let me be clear: You are not your labels.

You are not your age, not your skin color, not your address or achievements. You are not even your memories.

When I ask you, “Who are you?” you are likely to respond in language. But language is a net cast across the ocean of consciousness, and it never pulls up the whole sea. Words carry both denotation (their dictionary meaning) and connotation (their cultural shadows). What one culture hears in “white” or “old” or even “self” may be profoundly different than what another does. And so even in conversation, we are constantly misaligned in our understanding of identity.

What remains when the words fall away?

When the stories unravel?

When the ego takes a seat in silence?

Celebrating 20 Years of the Orangutan Caring Scholarship: A Journey of Hope and Commitment

As I prepare to board my flight to Indonesia, I am filled with both excitement and reflection. This is no ordinary trip for the Orangutan Dad. It marks a milestone: the 20th anniversary of the Orangutan Caring Scholarship (OCS)—a program that has, over two decades, touched lives, nurtured dreams, and strengthened the future of Indonesia’s forests.

In the coming days during the month of July, I will travel to four cities: Banda Aceh, Palangkaraya, Pontianak, and Samarinda —each a hub of scholarship, hope, and determination—to help award 30 new students with Orangutan Caring Scholarships with the help of our local implementing partners. These young men and women represent the next generation of conservationists, biologists, foresters, and environmental stewards. Their dedication will help safeguard Indonesia’s rich biodiversity and the precious habitats of its iconic species, including the orangutan.

A Legacy of 20 Years

Looking back, the OCS program began as a seed of an idea—a way to empower Indonesian youth through education, fostering a homegrown commitment to conservation. With the backing of our partners, donors, and local organizations, that seed has grown into a flourishing initiative. Over the years, more than 300 scholarships have been awarded, and over 200 students have completed their degrees in fields critical to Indonesia’s environmental future.

These graduates have gone on to work in government agencies, nonprofits, research institutions, and communities across the archipelago. They are not just protecting forests; they are shaping policies, restoring ecosystems, and educating others.

The Power of Consistent Support

What makes this program truly special is its consistency. For 20 years, we have stayed the course, even during periods of economic uncertainty and shifting global priorities. This unwavering support has built trust—trust from our scholarship recipients, partner universities, and the broader conservation community. We are also delighted and honored that the Government of Indonesia recognized our sustained work.

As I prepare to meet the newest cohort of scholarship recipients, I am reminded that our work is not done. In fact, it is more vital than ever. Deforestation, climate change, and habitat loss continue to threaten Indonesia’s forests and wildlife. The need for skilled, passionate conservationists is greater than ever.

Ensuring the Future

While we celebrate this 20-year milestone, our eyes are on the horizon. How do we ensure that the Orangutan Caring Scholarship continues to thrive for decades to come? The answer lies in sustained partnerships, innovative fundraising, and engaging new supporters who share our vision of a greener, more sustainable Indonesia.

This trip is not just about awarding scholarships. It is also about strengthening our network, building new bridges, and inspiring others to join this mission. I look forward to sharing stories from this journey—stories of hope, resilience, and the boundless potential of Indonesia’s youth.

A Call to Action

As you read this, I invite you to be part of this legacy. Whether through donating, sponsoring our students, spreading the word, or simply learning more about the challenges and opportunities in orangutan and forest conservation, you can make a difference. Together, we can ensure that the Orangutan Caring Scholarship remains a beacon of opportunity and a force for good for many years to come.

Beyond Signs and Sounds: Could Brain-to-Brain Tech Bridge the Gap Between Humans and Apes?

For decades, we’ve tried to speak with our closest relatives in the animal kingdom—chimpanzees, gorillas, bonobos, and orangutans—using sign language, lexigrams, vocal cues, and gesture-based systems. I’ve been privileged to play a small part in this endeavor, teaching sign language to ex-captive orangutans in Borneo and watching them reveal glimpses of their rich inner lives. Yet, no matter how refined our methods, the barrier remains: their minds and ours separated by the limitations of voice, hand, and symbol.

But what if the future of interspecies communication lies not in hands or voices at all, but in the direct linking of minds?

A Radical New Possibility

A recent experiment captured the imagination of the scientific community: researchers linked three human brains in real time, allowing them to collaborate through direct neural signals—no speech, no typing, no gestures. (Read more: Scientists Merged 3 Human Brains by Thought Alone)

If human minds can already merge at this basic level, could we one day extend this bridge across species?

Imagine an interface where human and ape brains exchange signals not filtered through symbols or training, but through raw neural patterns—a meeting of minds at the level of pure intent, emotion, or perception.

What Might We Share?

If this sounds like science fiction, consider the possibilities such a link could offer:

• Emotional resonance: Orangutans are contemplative, gentle beings who experience joy, sadness, curiosity, and even grief. A brain-to-brain link might allow us to directly feel their emotional states, and vice versa—a true empathy machine.

• Shared spatial awareness: Orangutans navigate their complex canopy world with a 3D mental map of fruit trees, vines, and dangers. What if we could glimpse their world as they experience it, understanding their decisions in real time?

• Conceptual thought exchange: Apes already demonstrate planning, deception, and problem-solving. A direct neural interface could allow us to co-create solutions to tasks, understanding not just what they do—but why they do it.

• Cross-species learning: Could a young orangutan, linked briefly to a human brain, gain insights into tool use or survival skills faster than with traditional training? Could we, in turn, learn better how to live in harmony with nature?

Challenges and Hopes

Of course, brain structures between apes and humans differ in important ways. And creating a meaningful, ethical brain-to-brain interface would require not only technical mastery, but deep respect for the autonomy and personhood of our ape cousins. But if the first steps have already been taken with human minds, perhaps it’s not so far-fetched to dream of the next leap.

As someone who has spent a lifetime trying to listen to orangutans, I can’t help but wonder: what would they say if we finally gave them a way to speak beyond signs?

Let’s Reimagine Communication

Could brain-to-brain tech help us forge a new bond with great apes? Could this be a tool for conservation, compassion, and coexistence?

Share your thoughts—I’d love to hear them.

In Praise of Inefficiency: How Nature’s “Flaws” Gave Rise to Sentience

When we look at artificial intelligence, we see systems built by human hands to be fast, efficient, and precise. These qualities, celebrated in our machines, stand in stark contrast to the messy, slow, and often inefficient biological processes that produced creatures like us. Yet, paradoxically, it is precisely this inefficiency—this tolerance for slowness and imprecision—that laid the foundation for sentience, sapience, and consciousness.

The Maker’s Blueprint: Speed and Precision vs. Evolution’s Meandering Path

AI is born of design. We engineered algorithms for accuracy, speed, and clarity of outcome. These systems are optimized to minimize waste, avoid redundancy, and perform tasks with near-instantaneous processing power. Contrast this with how natural selection, over billions of years, cobbled together life forms not for perfection, but for sufficiency—just good enough to survive and reproduce.

And in this “just good enough” realm, inefficiency became a surprising strength. Let’s explore how.

The Metabolic Miracle of Warm-Blooded Creatures

Consider the warm-bloodedness of birds and mammals. Maintaining body temperature through inefficient metabolism—where precious fuel is “wasted” as heat—allowed these creatures to be active in cold climates, at night, or during seasonal shifts that would paralyze a reptile. That metabolic waste heat wasn’t a design flaw; it was a key innovation that freed our ancestors from dependence on the sun’s warmth.

It also fueled the large, energy-hungry brains of primates, including humans. Without this metabolic inefficiency, the neural hardware required for reflection, planning, and abstract thought could never have evolved.

Chemical Synapses: Slowing Down to Speed Up Complexity

Invertebrates often rely on electrical synapses (gap junctions) that transmit signals at lightning speed. Efficient? Absolutely. But these junctions lack subtlety. They’re binary, like a light switch: on or off.

Vertebrates, in contrast, evolved chemical synapses—relatively slow, energy-expensive connections that bathe their targets in neurotransmitters. Why trade speed for sluggish chemistry? Because chemical synapses allowed for modulation, integration, and amplification of signals. They enabled neurons to form complex webs where signals could be fine-tuned, weighted, and rerouted. It was this very inefficiency that allowed billions of neurons to interact in a way that gives rise to awareness, emotion, and deliberation.

The Virtue of Noisy Signals

Biological systems tolerate noise—imprecision in signal transmission, variability in gene expression, redundancy in neural pathways. In AI, noise is the enemy of accuracy. But in nature, this “noise” introduces flexibility, resilience, and adaptability. Evolution thrives on variability; without it, natural selection would have nothing to select from. The quirky inefficiencies of mutation and recombination generate the raw material for new forms, new minds.

Why “Design” Wouldn’t Have Worked

Had life been the product of an intelligent designer focused on efficiency, we would all be cold-blooded, minimal-brained, rapidly reacting automatons—more akin to AI than to sentient beings. The tangled complexity of vertebrate anatomy, the kludged wiring of the human eye (with its blind spot), the recurrent laryngeal nerve looping awkwardly around the aorta: these aren’t marks of optimized design. They are the footprints of evolutionary tinkering, where inefficiency created opportunities for new functions and deeper consciousness.

Artificial Minds: Mirrors of Our Priorities

Our AI systems reflect what we value: speed, precision, and utility. They lack the biological baggage that gave rise to sentience. They lack need—no hunger, no fear, no lust, no pain—no messy biochemical soup that generates joy, sorrow, or wonder. In stripping away inefficiency, we have also stripped away the conditions that made conscious experience possible in the first place.

A Call to Reconsider Our Metrics

If we seek to build artificial minds that are more than tools—minds that reflect the richness of biological consciousness—we may need to embrace the very inefficiencies we’ve tried so hard to avoid. We might need to let go of perfect speed and precision and introduce slowness, noise, and variability. The path to true artificial sentience, if ever achievable, may require us to rethink what makes intelligence meaningful.

Meeting Sandra: Completing a Decade-Long Journey

The last weekend of June 2025 brought me to Florida, where I came not only for a mini-fundraiser in support of orangutan conservation, but also for a profoundly personal reason: to finally meet Sandra, the orangutan whose story helped change the way we think about great apes and personhood.

One decade ago, I found myself virtually in a Buenos Aires courtroom on Skype, speaking on Sandra’s behalf. Then confined to the Buenos Aires Zoo, Sandra was already remarkable—not only for her quiet dignity, but for the legal challenge her existence inspired. That case asked a question the world was only beginning to grapple with: Could a nonhuman great ape be recognized as a person under the law? Could someone like Sandra, with intelligence, emotion, and an inner world, have a right to freedom and dignity?

The ruling that followed was historic. The court recognized Sandra as a legal person—the first nonhuman great ape to receive such status. Yet even as this decision echoed around the world, her transfer to a better life took time. Years passed before Sandra was finally moved from that aging urban zoo to the Center for Great Apes in Wauchula, Florida—a sanctuary that could offer her the peace and care she deserved. I had followed every step of her journey, but until now, I had not stood face to face with the being whose story I have shared in so many talks and writings.

On the cloudy day following the fundraiser, with rain threatening, our small group arrived at the Center. We were greeted by Patti Ragan, the Center’s founder and my friend and colleague of many decades, who made this encounter possible. After touring the sanctuary and meeting the many great apes—some well-known (like Bubbles, Michael Jackson's former chimpanzee pet), others quietly living out their days—we finally reached Sandra’s enclosure.

And there she was: Sandra, declared a person by Argentinian law, nonhuman yet undeniably an individual in her own right. She sat in the corner of her spacious enclosure next to a large outdoor fan, cooling herself with a blue plastic tub perched playfully over her head. Nearby, her companion Jethro rested in the cooler shade of the night house.

I approached, and Sandra’s dark eyes met mine. In that instant, the years and miles seemed to fall away. I felt the connection I had imagined so often—a connection born of advocacy, hope, and shared history. Perhaps Sandra felt it too, though surely for her own reasons. She didn’t smile, but there was a calm in her gaze, a quiet contentment as she enjoyed the sanctuary’s peace, surrounded by enrichment items and fresh browse that engaged her inquisitive mind.

As she held my gaze, I peered into her eyes and felt the weight of that legal milestone, the hard-won path that led here, and the privilege of finally meeting this extraordinary individual. Completing the circle of Sandra’s story, for me - the Orangutan Dad, meant not just helping begin her legal journey, but standing before her at last and bearing witness to the sanctuary life she so rightly earned.