Man with master's degree lives in Moab cave without money

MOAB — Daniel Suelo gets the same question, all the time.

"Why?"

The 48-year-old kneels in front of the desert cave he calls home, sips cedar tea from a chipped mug and explains, again, why he has intentionally lived the past nine years without using money.

It's instinctual to live without money; it's the way we were born, he says. It's political. The addiction to money fuels corruption, he says, and he refuses to support a corrupt system. There's also a spiritual basis for his life, a philosophical framework.

"The understanding that, really, we all possess nothing is the cornerstone of all spiritual endeavors and religions," he says.

And there are health reasons. Suelo, who was born with the last name Shellabarger, is unfettered with worries about a mortgage or bills or income. Tanned, with a mop of gray locks framing his Buddy Holly glasses, he is a picture of contentment, his lithe frame stretched in the fall sun amid prickly pear cactus and red rock.

"I think taking things as they come naturally is the key to good health," he says.

A decade ago, Suelo was dizzy with depression. His University of Colorado degree in anthropology wasn't fulfilling. He had just returned from two years as a Peace Corps volunteer in Ecuador. He was disillusioned with his job working at homeless shelters and enclaves for battered women in Denver and Boulder.

Eventually, he concluded his growing despair was tied to fretting over his financial ability to maintain his stuff. Stuff, he realized, he didn't need. So, he gave it all away.

"We use all our energy to maintain our possessions, and it becomes an ugly cycle," he says.

He doesn't barter or work for food or rent. Barter is another form of money, and Suelo doesn't deal with any form of currency. Today, he embraces an ascetic life of "art and philosophizing." He's hardly the growling hermit, instead circling town on his trash bin-built bike, engaging a wide circle of pals.

"He is truly the happiest person I have ever met. He is so deeply peaceful, it's contagious," says Damian Nash, Suelo's college roommate and a high school teacher in Moab. "He is living proof that money can't buy happiness."

Every summer, when the heat in Moab reaches unbearable levels — especially for a cave-dweller — Suelo hits the road, visiting friends and gatherings along the West Coast, where he is known only as "Suelo."

"I have no idea what the future holds, and I don't worry about it. But the longer I do this, it seems absurd to go back," he says. "It would be like going back to slavery. There's just too much of a price to pay."

His cozy cave is an hour's stroll from town.

Maybe 15 feet by 5 feet, the one-man crevice is crammed with buckets holding a few days' worth of rice and beans, books and cooking pots.