Все Женщины - Dreamers,
правда некоторые - более одарённые, чем другие ! Dreamer - это человек,
который умеет себя гипнотизировать и поднимать себя на более высокую
вибрацию, зная или не зная этого. Обычно среди мужчин это : Колдуны,
первопроходцы Роберта Монро, маги, индийские гуру, некоторые монахи и
т.д. У всех Женщин этот дар есть из-за того, что у них есть Матка (если
она не вырезана), но этот дар иеется у очень малого количества мужчин и
этот дар ещё должен быть развит огромным трудом. Dreaming-Awake -
означает быть в самогипнозе, т.е. сознательно или бессознательно
поднимать себя выше, на более высокую вибрацию, не теряя контроль над
собой и исполняя поставленные задачи !
All Women are Dreamers,
though among them there are more gifted, then others. Dreamer is a
person, who can hypnotize herself and lift herself up, to a faster and
higher vibrational level. All Women are Dreamers, but Dreamers among
Men are usually: Sorcerers, Robert Monroe' s Institute explorers, some
magicians, indian gurus, some buddists, some priests/cledgy and so on.
All Women, because of their Womb (if it's still inside), have this
gift, but Men have to work a great deal to develop this ability !
Dreaming-Awake is
self-hypnosis,
means consciously or subconsciously raise herself to a higher
consciousness level (vibration), without loosing control and to perform
certain tasks.
"The
Active Side of Infinity" by Carlos Castaneda
"The Sorcerers'
revolution," he (Don Juan) continued, "is, that they
refuse to honor agreements, in which they did not participate. Nobody
ever asked me if I would
consent to be eaten by beings of a different kind of awareness. My
parents just brought me into
this world to be food, like themselves, and that's the end of the
story."
Syntax (the system of
rules in operation in computer systems and other systems)
A
man, staring at his equations, said , that the Universe had a
beginning. There had
been an explosion, he said. A Bang of Bangs ("Big Bang"), and the
Universe was born. And it is
expanding, he said. He had even calculated the length of its life: ten
billion revolutions of the
Earth around the Sun. The entire Globe cheered;
they found his
calculations to be science. None
thought, that by proposing, that the Universe began, the man had merely
mirrored the syntax (system
of rules in operation) of his mother tongue; a syntax, which demands
beginnings, like birth, and
developments like maturation, and ends, like death, as statement of
facts.
The Universe began and IT'S GETTING OLD, the man assured us, and it
will die, like all things die,
like he himself died after confirming mathematically the syntax of his
mother
tongue.
The Other Syntax
Did
the Universe really begin? Is the theory of the 'Big Bang' true? These
are not
questions, though they sound like they are. Is the syntax, that
requires beginnings, developments
and ends as statements of fact, the only syntax, that exist? That's the
real question. There are
other syntaxes. There is one,
for example, which demands, that
varieties of Intensity be taken as
facts. In that syntax nothing begins and nothing ends; thus birth is
not a clean,
clear-cut event, but a specific type of Intensity, and so is
maturation, and so is
death. A Human of that syntax, looking over
his equations, finds, that he
has calculated enough
varieties of Intensity to say with authority, that the Universe never
began and will never end, but
that it has gone, and is going now, and will go through endless
fluctuations of Intensity.
That man
could very well conclude, that the Universe itself is the chariot of
Intensity and, that one can
board it to journey through changes without end. He will conclude all
that, and much more, perhaps
without ever realizing, that he merely conforming the syntax of his
mother
tongue.
Introduction
1-2
THIS BOOK IS a
collection of the memorable events in my
life. Don Juan revealed to me
as time went by, that the shamans of
ancient Mexico had conceived (form in the mind) of
this collection of memorable events, as a bona-fide device to stir
caches of energy, that exist within the self. They explained these
caches, as being
composed of energy, that
originates in the body itself and becomes displaced, pushed out of
reach by the circumstances of
our daily lives. In this sense, the collection of memorable events was,
for don Juan and the
shamans of his lineage, the means for redeploying (bring force into
action) their unused
energy, gathered them, following
the recommendation of
don Juan Matus, a Yaqui Indian shaman from Mexico who, as a teacher,
endeavored for thirteen years
to make available to me the cognitive world of the shamans, who lived
in Mexico in ancient times.
Don Juan Matus's suggestion, that I gather this collection of memorable
events was made, as if it
were something casual, something, that occurred to him on the spur of
the moment. That was don
Juan's style of teaching. He veiled the importance of certain maneuvers
behind the mundane. He hid,
in this fashion, the sting of finality, presenting it as something no
different from any of the
concerns of everyday life. Don Juan revealed to me, as time went by,
that the shamans of ancient
Mexico had conceived (form in the mind) of this collection of memorable
events, as a
bona-fide device to stir caches of
energy, that exist within the self. They explained these caches, as
being
composed of energy, that
originates in the body itself and becomes displaced, pushed out of
reach by the circumstances of
our daily lives. In this sense, the collection of memorable events
was, for don Juan and the shamans of his
lineage, the means for redeploying their unused energy. The prerequisite
for this collection was the genuine and
all-consuming act of putting together the sum total of one's emotions
and realizations, without
sparing anything. According to don Juan, the shamans of his lineage
were convinced, that
the collection of memorable
events was the vehicle for the emotional and energetic adjustment,
necessary for venturing, in terms
of perception, into the Unknown. Don Juan described the total goal of
the shamanistic knowledge,
that he handled, as the preparation for facing the definitive journey:
the journey, that every human
being has to take at the end of his life. He said, that through their
discipline and resolve,
shamans were capable of retaining their individual awareness and
purpose after death. For them, the
vague, idealistic state, that modern man calls "life after death" was a
concrete region, filled to
capacity with practical affairs of a different order, than the
practical affairs of daily life, yet
bearing a similar functional practicality. Don Juan considered, that to
collect the memorable events
in their lives was, for shamans, the preparation for their entrance
into that concrete region, which
they called the Active Side of Infinity.
Don Juan and I were talking
one afternoon under his
ramada, a loose structure made of thin poles of bamboo. It looked like
a roofed porch, that was
partially shaded from the Sun, but that would not provide protection at
all from the rain. There
were some small, sturdy freight boxes there, that served as benches.
Their freight brands were
faded, and appeared to be more ornament, than identification. I was
sitting on one of them. My back
was against the front wall of the house. Don Juan was sitting on
another box, leaning against
a pole, that
supported the ramada. I had just driven
in a few minutes earlier. It had been a daylong ride
in hot, humid weather. I was nervous, fidgety, and sweaty. Don Juan began
talking to me as soon, as I had comfortably
settled down on the box. With a broad smile, he
commented, that overweight people hardly ever knew how to fight
fatness.
The smile, that played
on his lips, gave me an inkling (hint), that he wasn't being
facetious (elegant). He was just pointing out to me, in a most
direct and at the same time indirect way, that I was overweight.
3-4
I became so nervous, that I tipped over the freight box, on which I was
sitting and my back banged
very hard against the thin wall of the house. The
impact shook the house to its foundations. Don Juan looked at me inquiringly,
but instead of asking me if I was all right,
he assured me, that I had not cracked the house. Then
he expansively explained to me, that his house was a temporary dwellingfor him, that he really
lived somewhere else. When I asked him, where he
really lived,
he stared at me. His look was not
belligerent (aggressive); it was, rather, a firm deterrent to improper
questions. I
didn't comprehend what
he wanted. I was about to ask the same question again,
but he stopped me. "Questions
of that
sort are not asked around here," he said
firmly. "Ask anything you wish about procedures or
ideas. Whenever I'm ready to tell you, where I live, if ever, I will
tell you, without your having
to ask me." I
instantly felt rejected. My face turned red
involuntarily.
I was definitely offended. Don Juan's explosion of
laughter added immensely to my chagrin. Not only had he
rejected me, he had insulted me and then laughed at
me. "I
live here
temporarily," he went on, unconcerned with my
foul mood, "because this is a magical center. In fact,
I live here because of you."
That statement
unraveled (clarified) me. I couldn't believe it. I
thought, that he was probably saying, that to ease my irritation at
being
insulted. "Do you really live here because of me?" I
finally asked him, unable to contain my
curiosity.
"Yes," he said
evenly. "I have to groom you. You are like
me. I will repeat to you now, what I have already told
you: The
quest of every nagual, or leader, in every generation of
shamans, or sorcerers, is to
find a new man or woman,
who, like himself, shows a double
energetic structure; I saw this feature in you when
we were in the bus depot in Nogales. When I See your energy, I See two
balls of
luminosity superimposed,
one on top of the other, and
that feature binds us together.
I can't refuse you any more, than you can refuse me."
His words caused a most strange agitation in me. An instant before I
had been angry, now I wanted to
weep.
He went on, saying, that he wanted to start me
off on something, shamans called the warriors' way, backed by the strength of
the area, where he lived, which was the center
of very strong emotions and
reactions. Warlike people
had lived there for thousands of years, soaking the land with their
concern with war. He lived at that
time in the state of Sonora in northern Mexico, about a hundred miles
south of the city
of Guaymas. I always went there to visit him under the
auspices (support) of conducting my
fieldwork.
"Do I need to enter
into war, don Juan?" I asked, genuinely
worried after he declared, that the concern with war
was something, that I would need someday. I had already learned to take
everything, he
said, with the utmost
seriousness.
"You bet your
boots," he replied, smiling. "When you have
absorbed all there is to be absorbed in this area,
I'll move away."
I had
no grounds to
doubt what he was saying, but I couldn't
conceive (form in the mind) of him as living anywhere else. He was
absolutely part of everything, that surrounded him.
His house, however,
seemed indeed to
be a temporary dwelling. It was a shack typical of the
Yaqui farmers; it was made out of wattle and daub
with a flat, thatched roof; it had one big room for eating and sleeping
and a roofless
kitchen.
"It's
very
difficult to deal with overweight people," he
said. It seemed to be a non sequitur (?), but it wasn't.
Don Juan was simply going back to the subject, he had introduced before
I had interrupted him, by hitting my back on the wall
of his house. "A
minute ago, you
hit my house like a demolition ball," he
said, shaking his head slowly from side to side.
"What an impact! An impact worthy of a portly (fat) man." I had the
uncomfortable feeling, that he was talking to me
from the point of view of someone, who had given up
on me. I immediately took on a defensive attitude. He listened,
smirking, to my frantic explanations,
that my
weight
was normal for my bone
structure.
5-6
"That's right," he conceded facetiously (elegantly). "You have big
bones. You could
probably carry thirty
more pounds
with great ease and noone, I assure you,
no one, would notice. I would not notice." His mocking smile
told me, that I was definitely pudgy (fat). He
asked me then about my health in general, and I went
on talking, desperately trying to get out of any further comment about
my weight. He
changed the subject himself. "What's new about
your eccentricities and aberrations (deviation from proper course)?" he
asked with a deadpan expression. I idiotically
answered, that they were okay. "Eccentricities and aberrations" was how
he labeled my
interest in being a collector. At that time, I had taken up,
with renewed zeal, something, that I had enjoyed doing
all my life: collecting anything collectible. I collected magazines,
stamps, records, World War
II paraphernalia such
as daggers, military helmets,
flags, etc.
"All I can tell
you, don Juan, about my aberrations, is that
I'm trying to sell my collections," I said with the
air of a martyr (person, who endures a great suffering),
who is being forced to do something odious (offensive, hateful).
"To be a collector
is not such a bad idea," he said, as if he
really believed it. "The crux (critical point) of
the matter is not
that you collect, but what you collect. You collect junk, worthless
objects, that imprison you
as surely, as your pet dog does. You can't just get up and
leave, if you have your pet to look after, or if you have to worry
about
what would happen to your collections, if you were
not around."
"I'm seriously
looking for buyers, don Juan, believe me," I
protested.
"No, no, no, don't
feel, that I'm accusing you of anything,"
he retorted. "In fact, I like your collector's
spirit. I just don't like your collections, that's all. I would like,
though, to engage your collector's
eye. I
would like to propose to you a worthwhile
collection." Don Juan paused for a long moment. He
seemed to be in search of words; or perhaps it was only a dramatic, well-placed
hesitation. He looked at me with a deep,
penetrating stare. "Every warrior, as a matter of duty, collects a
special album," don Juan went on, "an album, that reveals the warrior's personality, an album,
that
attests (affirm to be true) to the circumstances of his
life."
"Why do you call
this a collection, don Juan?" I asked in an
argumentative tone. "Or an album, for that
matter?"
"Because it is
both," he retorted. "But above all, it is
like an album of pictures made out of memories,
pictures, made out of the recollection of memorable events."
"Are those
memorable events memorable in some specific way?"
I asked.
"They are
memorable, because they have a special
significance in one's life," he said. "My proposal is, that you
assemble this album, by putting in it the complete account
of various events, that have had profound significance
for you."
"Every event in my
life has had profound significance for
me, don Juan!" I said forcefully, and felt instantly
the impact of my own pomposity.
"Not really," he
replied, smiling, apparently enjoying my
reactions immensely. "Not every event in your life
has had profound significance for you. There are a few, however, that I
would consider
likely to have changed things for you, to have
illuminated your path. Ordinarily, events, that change our path, are
impersonal affairs, and yet are extremely
personal."
"I'm not trying to
be difficult, don Juan, but believe me,
everything, that has happened to me, meets those
qualifications," I said, knowing, that I was lying.
Immediately after voicing
this statement, I wanted to apologize, but don
Juan didn't pay attention to me. It was, as if I
hadn't said a thing.
"Don't think about
this album in
terms of banalities, or in
terms of a trivial rehashing of your life experiences," he said. I
took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and tried to quiet my mind. I was
talking to myself
frantically about my insoluble problem: I most
certainly didn't like to visit don Juan at all. In his presence, I felt
threatened. He verbally accosted (accused) me and didn't
leave me any room
whatsoever to show my worth.
7-8
I detested losing face every time I opened my mouth;
I detested being the fool. But there was another
voice inside me, a voice, that came from a greater depth, more distant,
almost
faint.
In the midst of my barrages (bombardment) of known dialogue, I heard
myself
saying, that it was too late for me to turn back. But
it wasn't really my voice or my thoughts, that I was experiencing; it
was, rather, like an
unknown voice, that said
I was too far gone into don
Juan's world, and that I needed him more, than I needed air. "Say whatever you
wish," the voice seemed to say to me, "but
if you were not the egomaniac, that you are, you
wouldn't be so chagrined."
"That's the voice
of your other mind," don Juan said, just
as if he had been listening to or reading my
thoughts. My body jumped involuntarily. My fright was
so intense, that tears came to my eyes. I confessed to don Juan the whole nature
of my turmoil. "Your
conflict is a
very natural one," he said. "And believe me, I don't exacerbate
(irritate) it that much. I'm not the
type. I have some stories to tell you about what my teacher, the nagual
Julian, used to do
to me. I detested him with my entire being. I was very young,
and I saw how women adored him, gave themselves to him like
anything, and when I tried to say hello to them,
they would turn against me like lionesses, ready to
bite my head off. They hated my guts and loved him. How do you think I
felt?"
"How did you
resolve this conflict, don Juan?" I asked with
more, than genuine interest.
"I didn't resolve
anything," he declared. "It, the conflict
or whatever, was the result of the battle between my
two Minds. Everyone of us, human beings, has two Minds. One is totally
ours, and it is like a
faint voice, that always
brings us order, directness,
purpose. The other mind is a Foreign
Installation. It brings
us conflict,
self-assertion (evaluation), doubts,
hopelessness."
My fixation on my
own mental concatenations (connection in chains) was so intense,
that I completely missed, what don Juan had
said. I could clearly remember every one of his words, but
they had no meaning for me. Don Juan very calmly, and looking directly into my
eyes, repeated what he had just said. I was
still incapable of grasping, what he meant. I couldn't
focus my attention on his words. "For some strange
reason, don Juan, I can't concentrate on
what you're telling me," I said.
"I understand
perfectly, why you can't," he said, smiling
expansively, "and so will you, someday, at the same
time, that you resolve the conflict of whether you like me or not, the
day you cease to be the
'me-me' - center of the world. In the meantime," he continued, "let's
put
the topic of our two Minds
aside and go back to the idea of preparing your album
of memorable events. I should add, that such an album is an exercise in
discipline
and
impartiality. Consider this album to be an act of
war."
Don Juan's
assertion
(evaluation),
that my conflict of both,
liking and
not liking to see him, was going to end whenever I
abandoned my egocentrism, was no solution for me. In fact, that
assertion (evaluation)
made
me angrier;
it frustrated me all the more. And when I
heard don Juan speak of the album as an act of war, I
lashed out at him with all my poison. "The idea, that
this is a collection of events, is already
hard to understand," I said in a tone of protest. "But that on top of
all this, you call it an album and say, that such an
album is an act of war is too much for me. It's too
obscure. Being obscure makes the metaphor lose its meaning."
"How strange! It's
the opposite for me," don Juan replied
calmly. "Such an album, being an act of war, has all
the meaning in the world for me. I wouldn't like my album of memorable
events to be
anything,
but an act of war." I
wanted to argue
my point further and explain to him, that
I did understand the idea of an album of memorable
events. I objected to the perplexing (confusing) way he was describing
it. I
thought of myself in those days, as an advocate of
clarity and functionalism in the use
of language.
9-10
Don
Juan didn't
comment on my belligerent (aggressive) mood. He only shook his head as
if he were
fully agreeing with
me. After a while, I either completely ran out of energy, or I got a
gigantic surge
of it. All of a sudden, without any effort on my
part, I realized the futility of my outbursts. I felt embarrassed no
end.
"What possesses me
to act the way I do?" I asked don Juan in
earnest. I was, at that instant, utterly baffled. I
was so shaken by my realization, that without any volition on my part,
I began to
weep.
"Don't worry about
stupid details," don Juan said
reassuringly. "Every one of us, male and female, is like this."
"Do you mean, don
Juan, that we are naturally petty and
contradictory?"
"No, we are not
naturally petty and contradictory," he
replied. "Our pettiness and contradictions are, rather, the result of a
transcendental (mystical)
conflict, that
afflicts
every one
of us, but of which only Sorcerers are painfully and
hopelessly aware: the conflict of our two Minds." Don
Juan peered at me; his eyes were like two black charcoals.
"You've been telling me on and on about our two Minds," I said, "but my
brain can't register what
you are saying. Why?"
"You'll get to know
why in due time," he said. "For the
present, it will be sufficient, that I repeat to you,
what I have said before about our two Minds. One is our true Mind, the
product of all our
lifeexperiences,
the one, that rarely speaks, because
it has been defeated and relegated to obscurity. The other, the Mind we
use daily for everything we do, is
a Foreign Installation."
"I think, that the
crux (critical
point) of the
matter is, that the
concept
of the Mind, being a Foreign
Installation, is so outlandish, that my Mind
refuses to take it seriously," I
said, feeling, that I had made a real discovery. Don Juan did not
comment on what I had said. He continued
explaining the issue of the two Minds, as if I hadn't
said a word.
"To resolve the
conflict of the two Minds is a matter of Intending
it," he said.
"Sorcerers beckon (signal, summon,
attract) Intent
by voicing the word Intent
loud
and clear. Intent
is a Force,
that exists in the Universe. When
Sorcerers beckon Intent,
it comes to them and sets up the path for attainment (accomplishment,
acquisition), which means, that Sorcerers always accomplish, what they
set out to do."
"Do you mean, don
Juan, that Sorcerers get anything they
want, even if it is something petty and arbitrary (random)?" I
asked.
"No, I didn't mean
that. Intent can
be called, of course, for anything," he replied, "but sorcerers
have found out, the hard way, that Intent
comes to them only for something, that is abstract. That's the
safety valve for Sorcerers; otherwise they would be
unbearable. In your case, beckoning Intent
to resolve
the conflict of your two Minds, or to hear the voice
of your true Mind, is not a petty or arbitrary matter. Quite the
contrary; it is ethereal and abstract, and yet as vital to you,
as anything can be." Don
Juan paused for
a moment; then he began to talk again
about the album. "My
own album,
being an act of war, demanded a super-careful
selection,"
he said. "It is now a precise collection
of the unforgetable moments of my life, and everything, that led me to
them. I have concentrated
in it, what has been and will be meaningful to
me. In my opinion, a warrior's album is something
most concrete, something so to the point, that it is shattering."
I had no clue as to, what don Juan wanted, and yet I did understand him
to perfection. He advised
me to sit down, alone, and let my thoughts, memories,
and ideas come to me freely. He recommended, that I
make an effort to let the voice, from the depths of me, speak out and
tell me, what to select. Don
Juan told me then to go inside the house and lie down
on a bed, that I had there. It was made of wooden boxes and dozens of
empty burlap (woven cloth of fibres of jute) sacks, that served as a
mattress. My
whole body ached, and when I lay on the bed, it was
actually extremely comfortable. I took his
suggestions to heart and began to think about my past, looking for
events, that had left a mark
on me. I soon
realized, that my assertion (evaluation), that every
event in my life had been meaningful, was nonsense.
11-12
As
I pressed myself to recollect, I found, that I didn't
even know, where to start. Through my mind ran endless disassociated
thoughts and memories
of events, that had happened to me, but I couldn't
decide whether or not they had had any meaning for
me. The impression I got was, that nothing had had any significance
whatsoever. It looked, as
if I had gone through
life like a corpse, empowered to
walk and talk, but not to feel anything. Having no
concentration whatsoever to pursue the subject beyond a shallow
attempt, I gave up and fell
asleep.
"Did you have any
success?" don Juan asked me, when I woke up
hours later.
Instead of being at ease after sleeping and resting, I was
again moody and belligerent.
"No, I didn't have
any success!" I barked.
"Did you hear that
voice from the depths of you?" he
asked.
"I think I did," I
lied.
"What did it say to
you?" he inquired in an urgent
tone.
"I can't think of
it, don Juan," I
muttered.
"Ah, you are back
in your daily mind," he said and patted me
forcefully on the back. "Your daily mind has taken
over again. Let's relax it by talking about your collection of
memorable events. I should
tell you, that the selection, of what to put in your
album, is not an easy matter. This is the reason I say, that making
this
album, is an act of war. You have to remake yourself ten
times over, in order to know what to
select."
I clearly
understood then, if only for a second, that I had
two minds; however, the thought was so vague, that I
lost it instantly. What remained was just the sensation of an
incapacity to fulfill don Juan's
requirement. Instead of graciously accepting my
incapacity, though, I allowed it to become a threatening affair. The
driving force of my life, in those days, was to
appear always in a good light. To be incompetent was
the equivalent of being a loser, something, that was thoroughly
intolerable to me.
Since I didn't know how to respond to the challenge,
don Juan was
posing, I did the only thing I knew how to do: I got
angry. "I've
got to think
a great deal more about this, don Juan,"
I said. "I've got to give my mind some time to settle
on the idea."
"Of course, of
course," don Juan assured me. "Take all the
time in the world, but hurry." Nothing else was
said about the subject at that time. At
home, I forgot about it completely, until one day
when, quite abruptly, in the middle of a lecture I was attending, the
imperious command to
search for the memorable events of my life hit me
like a bodily jolt, a nervous spasm, that shook my entire body from
head to toe.
I began to work in
earnest. It took me months to rehash experiences in my life, that I
believed were meaningful
to me. However, upon examining my collection, I
realized, that I was dealing only with ideas, that had
no substance whatsoever.
The events, I remembered, were just vague points
of
reference,
that I remembered abstractly. Once again,
I had the most unsettling suspicion, that I had been reared just to act without ever
stopping to feel anything. One of
the vaguest events I recalled, which I wanted to make memorable at any
cost, was the day
I
found
out, I had been admitted to graduate school at
UCLA. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't remember what I had been
doing that day. There was nothing
interesting or unique about that day, except for the
idea, that it had to be memorable. Entering graduate school should have
made me happy or
proud of myself, but it didn't.
Another sample in
my collection was the day I almost got
married to Kay Condor. Her last name wasn't really
Condor, but she had changed it, because she wanted to be an actress.
Her
ticket to fame
was, that she actually looked like Carole Lombard. That day
was memorable in my mind, not so much, because of the
events, that took place, but because she was beautiful and wanted to
marry me. She
was a
head taller, than I was, which made her all the
more interesting to me. I
was thrilled with the
idea of
marrying a tall woman, in a
church ceremony. I rented a gray tuxedo.
13-14
The
pants
were quite wide for my height. They were not
bell-bottoms; they were just wide, and that bothered me no end. Another
thing, that annoyed me immensely was, that the sleeves of the
pink shirt, I had bought for the occasion, were about
three inches too long; I had to use rubber bands to hold them up.
Outside of that, everything
was perfect, until the moment, when the guests and
I found out, that Kay Condor had gotten cold feet and
wasn't going to show up. Being a very proper young
lady, she had sent me a note of apology by motorcycle messenger. She wrote, that she didn't
believe in divorce, and couldn't commit herself
for the rest of her days to someone, who
didn't
quite share her views on life. She reminded me, that I snickered every
time I said the
name "Condor," something, that showed a total lack of
respect for her person. She said, that she had discussed the matter with
her mother. Both of them loved me
dearly, but not enough to make me part of
their
family. She added that, bravely and wisely, we all had to cut our
losses. My state of mind was one of total numbness. When I tried to
recollect
that day, I couldn't remember whether I felt horribly
humiliated at being left standing in front of a lot of people in my
gray, rented tuxedo
with the wide-legged pants, or whether I was crushed,
because Kay Condor didn't marry me. These were the only two
events I was capable of isolating
with clarity. They were meager (scanty, deficient in quantity)
examples, but
after
rehashing them, I had succeeded in re-dressing them as tales of
philosophical acceptance. I thought of myself as a
being, who goes through life with no
real feelings, who has only intellectual views of
everything. Taking don Juan's metaphors as models, I even constructed
one of my own: a
being, who lives his life vicariously (acting in place of someone or
something), in terms of what it
should be. I believed, for instance, that the day, I
was admitted to graduate school at UCLA, should have been a memorable
day. Since it wasn't, I tried my best to imbue (inspire, saturate) it
with an
importance, I was far from feeling. A similar thing
happened with the day I nearly married Kay Condor. It should have been
a devastating day
for me, but it wasn't. At the moment of recollecting it,
I knew, that there was nothing there, and began to
work as hard, as I could, to construct what I should have felt. The next time, I
went to don Juan's house, I presented to him
my two samples of memorable events as soon, as I
arrived.
"This is a pile of
nonsense," he declared. "None of it will
do. The stories are related exclusively to you as a
person, who thinks, feels, cries, or doesn't feel anything at all. The
memorable events of
a shaman's
album are affairs, that will stand the test
of time, because they have nothing to do with him, and
yet he is in the thick of them. He'll always be in the thick of them,
for the duration of his life,
and perhaps beyond, but not quite
personally."
His words left me
feeling dejected, totally
defeated. I sincerely
believed in those days, that don
Juan was
an
intransigent (uncompromising) old man, who found special delight in
making me feel
stupid.
He reminded me of
a master craftsman, I had met at a sculptor's foundry,
where I worked while going to art school. The master
artisan used to criticize and find flaws with everything his advanced
apprentices did, and would
demand, that they
correct their work according to his
recommendations. His apprentices would turn
around and pretend to
correct their work. I remembered the glee of the master, when he would
say, upon being presented with the same work: "Now you have a real
thing!"
"Don't feel bad,"
don Juan said, shaking me out of my
recollection. "In my time, I was in the same spot. For
years, not only did I not know, what to choose, I thought,
I had no
experiences to choose from.
It seemed, that
nothing had ever happened to me. Of
course, everything had happened to me, but in my
effort to defend the idea of myself, I had no time or inclination to
notice
anything."
"Can you tell me,
don Juan, specifically, what is wrong with
my stories? I know, that they are nothing, but the
rest of my life is just like that."
"I will repeat this
to you," he said. "The stories of a
warrior's album are not personal.
15-16
Your story of the day, you were admitted to
school, is nothing, but your assertion (evaluation) about you, as the center of
everything. You feel, you don't
feel; you realize, you don't realize. Do you see, what
I mean? All of the story is just you."
"But how can it be
otherwise, don Juan?" I
asked.
"In your other
story, you almost touch, on what I want, but
you turn it again into something extremely personal.
I know, that you could add more details, but all those details would be
an extension of your person
and nothing else."
"I sincerely cannot
see your point, don Juan," I protested.
"Every story, seen through the eyes of the witness, has
to be, perforce (by necessity, willy-nilly), personal."
"Yes, yes, of
course," he said, smiling, delighted, as usual,
by my confusion. "But then they are not stories for a
warrior's album. They are stories for other purposes. The memorable
events, we are after, have
the dark touch of the
impersonal. That touch permeates them. I don't know how else
to explain this."
I believed then,
that I had a moment of inspiration and,
that I understood, what he meant by the dark touch of
the impersonal. I thought, that he meant something a bit morbid.
Darkness meant that for me. And I related to him a
story from my
childhood. One
of my older cousins was in medical school. He was an
intern, and one day he took me to the morgue. He
assured me, that a young man owed it to himself, to see dead people,
because that sight was very
educational; it
demonstrated the transitoriness of
life. He harangued (pompous speech) me, on and on, in order to convince
me to go. The
more he talked about how unimportant we were in
death, the more curious I
became. I had never seen a
corpse. My curiosity, in the end, to see one, overwhelmed me and I went with him. He showed me
various corpses and succeeded in scaring me stiff. I found nothing
educational
or illuminating
about them. They were, outright, the
most frightening things, I had ever seen.
As he talked
to me, he kept looking at
his watch, as if he were waiting
for someone, who was going to show up at any moment.
He obviously wanted to keep me in the morgue longer, than my strength
permitted.
Being the
competitive creature, that I was, I
believed, that he was testing my endurance, my manhood. I clenched my teeth and made
up my mind to stay, until the bitter
end. The bitter end came in ways, that I had not
dreamed of. A corpse, that was covered with a sheet, actually moved up with a rattle on
the marble table, where all the corpses were
lying, as if it were getting ready to sit up. It made
a burping sound, that was so awful, it burned through me and will
remain in my memory
for the rest of my life.
My cousin, the doctor, the scientist,
explained, that it was the corpse of a man, who had
died of tuberculosis, and, that his lungs had been eaten away by
bacilli, that had left enormous
holes filled with
air, and, that in cases like
this, when the air changed temperature, it sometimes forced the body
to sit up or at least
convulse.
"No, you haven't
gotten it yet," don Juan said, shaking his
head from side to side. "It is merely a story about
your fear. I would have been scared to death myself; however, being
scared like that, doesn't illuminate
anyone's path.
But I'm curious to know, what
happened to you."
"I
yelled like a
banshee (wailing female spirit)," I said. "My cousin called me a
coward, a yellow-belly, for hiding my face against
his chest and for getting sick to my stomach all over him." I had definitely
hooked on to a morbid strand in my life. I
came up with another story about a sixteen-year- old
boy, I knew in high school, who had a glandular disease and grew to a
gigantic height.
His heart
did not grow at the same rate, as the rest of
his body, and one day he died of heart failure. I went with another boy
to the mortuary out of morbid curiosity. The mortician,
who was perhaps more morbid, than the two of us,
opened the back door and let us in. He showed us his masterpiece. He
had put the gigantic boy, who had been over seven feet, seven inches
tall,
into a coffin for a normal person, by sawing off his
legs. He showed us how he had arranged his legs, as if the dead boy
were
holding them
with his arms like two trophies.
17-18
The fright, I experienced, was comparable to the fright, I had
experienced in the morgue as a child, but this new
fright was not a physical reaction; it was a reaction of psychological
revulsion.
"You're
almost
there," don Juan said. "However, your story
is still too personal. It's revolting. It makes me
sick, but I see great potential." Don Juan and I
laughed at the horror, found in situations of
everyday life. By then I was hopelessly lost in the
morbid strands, I had caught and released. I told him then the story of
my best friend, Roy Goldpiss.
He actually had a
Polish surname, but his friends
called him Goldpiss, because whatever he touched, he
turned to gold; he was a great businessman. His
talent for business made him a super-ambitious being. He wanted to be
the richest man in
the
world.
However, he found, that the competition was
too tough. According to him, doing business alone, he
couldn't possibly compete, for instance, with the head of an Islamic
sect, who, at that time, got
paid his weight in gold every year. The head of the
sect would fatten himself as much, as his body allowed him, before he
was weighed. Then my friend Roy lowered his sights to being the richest
man in the
United States. The competition in this sector was
ferocious. He went down a notch. Perhaps he could be the richest man in
California.
He was too late for that, too. He gave up hope that, with
his chains of pizza and ice cream parlors, he could
ever rise in the business world to compete with the established
families, who owned
California. He settled for being the richest man in
Woodland Hills, the suburb of Los Angeles, where he lived.
Unfortunately for him, down the street from his house lived Mr. Marsh,
who owned factories, that
produced
A-one quality
mattresses all over the United States, and he was rich beyond belief.
Roy's frustration knew no limits. His drive to accomplish was so
intense, that
it finally impaired his health. One day he died from
an aneurysm in his brain.
His death brought, as a
consequence, my third visit to a morgue or a mortuary. Roy's wife
begged me, as his best friend, to make sure, that the corpse was
properly dressed.
I went to the funeral parlor, where I was led by a
male secretary to the inner chambers. At the precise moment I arrived,
the
mortician, working on a high marble-topped table, was
forcefully pushing up the corners of the upper lip of
the corpse, which had already entered rigor (attack of shivering)
mortis (cavity), with the index and
little finger of his
right hand, while he held his middle finger against
his palm. As a grotesque smile appeared on Roy's dead face, the
mortician half-turned to me and said in a servile (submissive) tone: "I
hope all this is to your satisfaction, sir."
Roy's
wife, it will never be
known, whether she liked him or
not, decided to bury him with all the garishness, that,
in her opinion, his life deserved. She had bought a very expensive
coffin, a custom made affair,
that looked like a telephone booth; she had gotten
the idea from a movie.
Roy was going to be buried
sitting, as if he were making a business call on the telephone. I
didn't stay for the ceremony. I left in the midst of a most violent
reaction, a mixture of impotence and anger, the kind
of anger, that couldn't be vented on anyone.
"You certainly are
morbid today," don Juan commented,
laughing. "But in spite of that, or perhaps, because of
that, you're almost there. You're touching it." I never ceased to
marvel at the way, in which my mood
changed, every time I went to see don Juan. I always
arrived moody, grouchy, filled with self-assertions (positive
declaration, evaluation) and doubts. After a
while, my mood would
mysteriously change and I
would become more expansive, by
degrees, until I was as calm, as
I had ever been.
However, my new mood was couched in my old vocabulary. My usual way of
talking
was, that
of a totally dissatisfied person, who is
containing himself from complaining out loud, but whose endless
complaints are implied (hint, suggest) at every turn of the
conversation.
"Can you give me an
example of a memorable event from your
album, don Juan?" I asked in my habitual tone of
veiled complaint. "If I knew the pattern, you were after, I might be
able to come up with
something. As it is, I am whistling hopelessly in the
dark."
19-20
"Don't
explain
yourself so much," don Juan said with a stern
look in his eyes. "Sorcerers say, that in every
explanation there is a hidden apology. So, when you are explaining, why
you cannot do this or that,
you're really
apologizing for your shortcomings,
hoping, that, whoever is listening to you, will have the kindness to
understand them."
My most useful
maneuver, when I was attacked, had always
been to turn my attackers off by not listening to
them. Don Juan, however, had the disgusting ability to trap every bit
of my attention. No matter
how he attacked me,
no matter what he said, he always
managed to have me riveted to his every word. On this
occasion, what he was saying about me, didn't please me at all, because
it was the naked
truth. I
avoided his eyes. I felt, as usual, defeated, but it was a peculiar
defeat this time. It didn't
bother me, as it would have, if it had happened in the World of
Everyday Life, or right after I had arrived at his house.
After a very long silence, don Juan spoke to me again.
"I'll do better, than give you an example of a memorable event from my
album," he said. "I'll give you a memorable
event from your own life, one, that should go for
sure in your collection. Or, I should say, if I were you, I would
certainly put it in
my
collection of
memorable events."
I thought don Juan
was joking and I laughed
stupidly. "This is not a laughing matter," he said cuttingly. "I
am serious. You once told me a story, that fits the bill."
"What story
is that, don
Juan?"
"The story of
'figures in front of a mirror,'" he said.
"Tell me that story again. But tell it to me in all the detail you can
remember."
I began to retell
the story in a cursory (hasty, superficial) fashion. He stopped
me and demanded a careful, detailed narration,
starting at the beginning. I tried again, but my rendition (пересказ)
didn't
satisfy him. "Let's
go for a
walk," he proposed. "When you walk, you are
much more accurate, than when you're sitting down. It
is not an idle idea, that you should pace back and forth, when you try
to
relate something."
We had been
sitting, as we usually did during the day, under
the house ramada. I had developed a pattern: whenever
I sat there, I always did it on the same spot, with my back against the
wall. Don Juan
sat in various places under the ramada, but never on
the same spot.
We
went for a hike at the worst time of
the day, noon. He outfitted me with an old straw hat, as he always did,
whenever we went out in the heat of the Sun.
We walked for a
long time in complete silence.
I tried to the best of
my ability to force myself to remember all the details of the story. It
was mid afternoon, when
we sat down under the shade of some tall bushes,
and
I retold the full story.
Years
before, while I was
studying sculpture in a fine arts school in Italy, I had a close
friend, a Scotsman, who was studying art, in order to become an art
critic. What
stood out most vividly in my mind about him, and had
to do with the story, I was telling don Juan, was the bombastic idea he
had of himself; he thought, he was the most licentious (lacking moral
discipline), lusty,
all-around
scholar and craftsman, a man of the Renaissance.
Licentious he was, but lustiness (похоть) was something in complete
contradiction to his
bony, dry,
serious person. He was a vicarious (acting in place of someone)
follower
of the English philosopher Bertrand Russell and dreamed of applying the
principles of logical positivism to art
criticism.
To be an all-around scholar and craftsman
was perhaps his wildest fantasy, because he was a procrastinator
(puting off doing something until future time); work
was his nemesis (retrebutive justice). His
dubious specialty wasn't art criticism, but his personal
knowledge of all the prostitutes of the local bordellos, of which there
were plenty. The colorful and lengthy accounts
he used to give me, in order to keep me, according to
him, up to date, about all the marvelous things he did in the world of
his specialty, were
delightful. It was not surprising to me, therefore,
that one day he came to my apartment, all excited,
nearly out of breath, and told me, that something extraordinary had
happened to him
and,
that he wanted to share it with
me.
21-22
"I
say, old man,
you must see this for yourself!" he said
excitedly in the Oxford accent, he affected every time
he talked to me. He paced the room nervously. "It's hard to describe,
but I know
it's
something you will appreciate. Something, the
impression, of which will last you for a lifetime. I am going to give
you a marvelous gift for life. Do you
understand?"
I understood, that
he was a hysterical Scotsman. It was
always my pleasure to humor him and tag along. I had
never regretted it.
"Calm down, calm down, Eddie," I said. "What are you trying to tell
me?”
He related to me,
that he had been in a bordello, where he
had found an unbelievable woman, who did an incredible
thing she called "figures in front of a mirror."
He assured me
repeatedly, almost stuttering,
that I owed it
to myself to experience this
unbelievable event personally.
"I say, don't worry
about money!" he said, since he knew, I
didn't have any. "I've already paid the price. All
you have to do is go with me. Madame Ludmilla will show you her
'figures in front of a
mirror.' It's a blast!"
In a fit of
uncontrollable glee, Eddie laughed uproariously,
oblivious to his bad teeth, which he normally hid
behind a tight-lipped smile or laugh. "I say, it's absolutely great!"
My curiosity
mounted by the
minute. I was more, than willing
to participate in his new delight. Eddie drove me to
the outskirts of the city. We stopped in front of a dusty, badly kept
building; the paint
was peeling off the walls. It had the air of having
been a hotel at one time, a hotel, that had been turned into an
apartment building. I could see the remnants of a hotel sign, that
seemed to have been ripped to pieces. On the front of
the building there were rows of dirty single balconies filled with
flower pots or draped
with carpets, put out to dry. At the entrance to the building were two
dark, shady-looking men, wearing
pointed black shoes, that seemed too tight on their
feet; they greeted Eddie effusively. They had black, shifty, menacing
eyes. Both of them were wearing shiny light-blue suits, also too tight
for
their bulky bodies. One of them opened the door for
Eddie. They didn't even look at me. We went up two
flights of stairs on a dilapidated staircase, that at one time must
have been luxurious. Eddie
led the way and walked the length of an empty,
hotel like corridor with doors on both sides. All the
doors were painted in the same drab, dark, olive green. Every door had
a brass number,
tarnished with age, barely visible against the
painted wood. Eddie stopped in front of a door. I
noticed the number 112 on it. He rapped repeatedly. The door opened,
and a round, short woman with bleached-blonde hair beckoned us
in without saying a word. She
was wearing a
red silk robe with feathery, flouncy (strip of gathered material)
sleeves and red slippers with furry balls on top. Once we were inside a
small hall and she had closed the door behind us,
she greeted Eddie in terribly accented English. "Hallo, Eddie. You
brought friend, eh?" Eddie shook
her hand, and then kissed it, gallantly. He acted, as if he were most
calm, yet I noticed his unconscious
gestures of
being ill at ease.
"How are you today,
Madame Ludmilla?" he said, trying to
sound like an American and flubbing it. I never
discovered why Eddie always wanted to sound like an American, whenever
he was
transacting
business in those houses of ill
repute. I had the suspicion, that he did it, because Americans were
known to be
wealthy, and he wanted to establish his rich man's bona fides with
them. Eddie turned to me and said in his phony
American accent, "I leave you in good hands, kiddo."
He sounded so awful, so foreign to my ears, that I laughed out loud.
Madame Ludmilla didn't
seem perturbed
at all by my explosion of mirth. Eddie
kissed Madame Ludmilla's hand again and left.
"You speak English,
my boy?" she shouted, as if I were deaf.
"You look Eyipcian, or perhaps Torkish."
23-24
I
assured Madame
Ludmilla, that I was neither, and that I
did speak English. She asked me then, if I fancied her
"figures in front of a mirror." I didn't know what to say. I
just shook my head affirmatively.
"I give you good
show," she assured me. "Figures in front of
a mirror is only foreplay. When you are hot and
ready, tell me to stop."
From the small
hall, where we were standing, we walked into
a dark and eerie room. The windows were heavily
curtained. There were some low-voltage light bulbs on fixtures,
attached
to the wall. The bulbs
were shaped like tubes and protruded straight out at
right angles from the wall. There was a profusion of
objects around the room: pieces of furniture like: small chests of
drawers, antique tables and
chairs; a roll-top desk,
set against the wall and crammed
with papers, pencils, rulers, and at least a dozen
pairs of scissors. Madame Ludmilla made me sit down on an old stuffed
chair. "The
bed is in the
other room, darling," she said, pointing
to the other side of the room. "This is my antisala.
Here I give show to get you hot and ready." She dropped her red
robe, kicked off her slippers, and
opened the double doors of two armoires, standing side
by side against the wall. Attached to the inside of each door was a
full-length
mirror. "And
now the music,
my boy," Madame Ludmilla said, then
cranked (started) a Victrola, that appeared to be in mint (hardly used)
condition, shiny, like new. She put on a record. The music was a
haunting melody, that
reminded me of a circus march.
"And
now my show,"
she said, and
began to twirl around to
the accompaniment of the haunting melody. The skin of
Madame Ludmilla's body was tight, for the most part, and
extraordinarily white, though she was not young. She must have been in
her well-lived late
forties. Her belly sagged, not a great deal, but a
bit, and so did her voluminous breasts. The skin of her face also
sagged into noticeable jowls (flesh under lower jaw). She had a small
nose and heavily painted
red lips. She
wore thick black mascara.
She brought to mind the
prototype of an aging prostitute.
Yet there was something childlike about her, a
girlish abandon and trust, a sweetness, that jolted me.
"And now, figures
in front of a mirror," Madame Ludmilla
announced, while the music continued. "Leg, leg, leg!"
she said, kicking one leg up in the air,
and then the other, in time with the music. She had
her right hand on top of her head, like a little girl, who is not sure,
that she can perform
the movements. "Turn,
turn, turn!"
she said, turning like a
top. "Butt,
butt, butt!"
she said then, showing me her bare
behind like a cancan dancer. She repeated the
sequence over and over, until the music began to fade, when the
Victrola's spring wound
down.
I had the
feeling, that Madame Ludmilla was twirling away
into the distance, becoming smaller
and smaller, as
the music faded. Some despair and loneliness, that
I didn't know
existed in me, came to the surface, from the depths of my very being,
and made me get
up and run out of the room, down the stairs like a
madman, out of the building, into the street. Eddie
was standing outside the door, talking to the two men in light-blue
shiny suits. Seeing me running
like that, he began
to laugh
uproariously. "Wasn't
it a
blast?" he said, still trying to sound like an
American. " 'Figures in front of a mirror is only the
foreplay.' What a thing! What a thing!"
The first time I
had mentioned the story to don Juan, I had
told him, that I had been deeply affected by the
haunting melody and the old prostitute, clumsily twirling to the music.
And I had been deeply affected
also by the
realization of how callous (insensitive) my friend
was. When
I had finished retelling my story to don
Juan, as we sat in the hills of a range of mountains in Sonora, I was
shaking, mysteriously affected by something quite
undefined.
25
"That story," don Juan said, "should go in your album of
memorable events. Your friend, without having any
idea, of what he was doing, gave you, as he himself said, something,
that will indeed last you
for a lifetime."
"I see this as a
sad story, don Juan, but that's all," I
declared.
"It's indeed a sad story, just like your other stories," don Juan
replied, "but what makes it different and
memorable to me is, that it touches every one of us -
human beings, not just you, like your other tales. You see, like Madame
Ludmilla, every
one of us, young and old alike, is
making figures in front of a mirror in one way or another. Tally
(reckon) what
you know about people. Think of any Human Being on this Earth, and you
will know,
without the shadow of a
doubt, that no matter,
who they are,
or what they think of themselves, or what they do,
the result of their actions is always the same: senseless figures in
front of a
mirror."
A Tremor in the Air
- A Journey of Power
29
At the time I met don Juan, I was a fairly studious anthropology
student, and I wanted to begin my career as a
professional anthropologist by publishing as much, as possible. I was
bent on climbing the academic ladder,
and in my calculations, I had determined, that the first step
was to
collect data on the uses of medicinal plants by the Indians of the
south-western United States. I first asked a professor of anthropology,
who had worked in that area,
for advice about my project.
He was a prominent ethnologist, who had published extensively in the
late thirties and early forties on the
California Indians and the Indians of the South-west and Sonora,
Mexico.
He patiently listened to my
exposition (precise definition). My idea was to write a paper, call it
"Ethnobotanical
Data," and publish it in a journal, that
dealt exclusively with anthropological issues of the south-western
United States. I proposed to collect medicinal plants, take the samples
to the Botanical Garden at UCLA, to be
properly identified, and then describe, why and how the Indians of the
South-west used them. I
envisioned collecting thousands of entries.
30-31
I even envisioned publishing a small encyclopedia on the
subject. The professor smiled forgivingly at me. "I don't want to
dampen your enthusiasm," he said in a tired
voice, "but I can't help commenting negatively on your eagerness.
Eagerness is welcome in
anthropology, but it must be properly channeled. We are still in the
golden age of anthropology. It was
my luck to study with Alfred Krober and Robert Lowie, two pillars of
social science. I haven't
betrayed their trust. Anthropology is still the master discipline.
Every other discipline should stem
from anthropology. The entire field of history, for example, should be
called 'historical anthropology,'
and the field of philosophy should be called 'philosophical
anthropology.' Man should be the measure
of everything. Therefore, anthropology, the study of man, should be the
core of every other discipline.
Someday, it will." I looked at him, bewildered. He was, in my
estimation, a totally
passive, benevolent old professor, who
had recently had a heart attack. I seemed to have struck a chord of
passion in him. "Don't you think that you should pay more attention to
your formal
studies?" he continued. "Rather
than doing fieldwork, wouldn't it be better for you to study
linguistics? We have in the department
here one of the most prominent linguists in the world. If I were you,
I'd be sitting at his feet, catching
any drift emanating from him. We also have a superb authority in
comparative religions. And there
are some exceptionally
competent anthropologists here, who have done work on kinship systems
in
cultures all over the world,
from the point of view of linguistics and from the point of view of
cognition. You need a lot of
preparation. To think, that you could do fieldwork now, is a travesty
(grotesque parody).
Plunge into your books, young
man. That's my advice." Stubbornly, I took my proposition to another
professor, a younger one.
He wasn't in any way more
helpful. He laughed at me openly. He told me, that the paper, I wanted
to
write, was a Mickey Mouse
paper, and that it wasn't anthropology by any stretch of the
imagination. "Anthropologists nowadays," he said professorially, "are
concerned with
issues, that have relevance.
Medical and pharmaceutical scientists have done endless research on
every possible medicinal plant in
the world. There's no longer any bone to chew on there. Your kind of
data collecting belongs to the
turn of the nineteenth century. Now it's nearly two hundred years
later. There is such a thing as
progress, you know." He proceeded to give me, then, a definition and a
justification of
progress and perfectibility, as two
issues of philosophical discourse (conversation), which, he said, were
most relevant
to
anthropology. "Anthropology is the only discipline in existence,"
he
continued,
"which can clearly substantiate (verify, confirm) the
concept of perfectibility and progress. Thank God, that there's still a
ray of hope in the midst of the
cynicism of our times. Only anthropology can show the actual
development of culture and social
organization. Only anthropologists can prove to mankind beyond the
shadow of a doubt the progress
of human knowledge. Culture evolves, and only anthropologists can
present samples of societies, that
fit definite cubbyholes in a line of progress and perfectibility.
That's anthropology for you! Not some
puny fieldwork, which is not fieldwork at all, but mere masturbation."
It was a blow on the head to me. As a last resort, I went to Arizona to
talk to anthropologists, who were
actually doing field-work there. By then, I was ready to give up on the
whole idea.
I understood, what
the two professors were trying to tell me. I couldn't have agreed with
them more. My attempts at doing
fieldwork were definitely simple minded. Yet I wanted to get my feet
wet
in the field; I didn't want to
do only library research. In Arizona, I met with an extremely seasoned
anthropologist, who had
written copiously on the Yaqui
Indians of Arizona as well, as those of Sonora, Mexico. He was
extremely
kind. He didn't run me
down, nor did he give me any advice. He only commented, that the Indian
societies of the South-west
were extremely isolationist, and that foreigners, especially those of
Hispanic origin, were distrusted,
even abhorred (hated), by those Indians.
32-33
A younger colleague of his, however, was more outspoken. He said, that
I
was better off reading
herbalists' books. He was an authority in the field and his opinion
was,
that anything, to be known about
medicinal plants from the Southwest, had already been classified and
talked about in various
publications. He went as far, as to say, that the sources of any Indian
curer of the day were precisely
those publications, rather than any traditional knowledge. He finished
me off with the assertion (positive
declaration, evaluation), that if
there still were any traditional curing practices, the Indians would
not divulge (reveal) them to a stranger. "Do something worthwhile," he
advised me. "Look into urban
anthropology. There's a lot of money
for studies on alcoholism among Indians in the big city, for example.
Now that's something, that any
anthropologist can do easily. Go and get drunk with local Indians in a
bar. Then arrange whatever you
find out about them in terms of statistics. Turn everything into
numbers. Urban anthropology is a real
field."
There was nothing else for me to do except to take the advice of those
experienced social scientists. I
decided to fly back to Los Angeles, but another anthropologist, friend
of mine, let me know then, that he
was going to drive throughout Arizona and New Mexico, visiting all the
places, where he had done
work in the past, renewing in this fashion his relationships with the
people, who had been his
anthropological informants. "You're welcome to come with me," he said.
"I'm not going to do any
work. I'm just going to visit with
them, have a few drinks with them, bullshit with them. I bought gifts
for them: blankets, booze,
jackets, ammunition for twenty-two-caliber rifles. My car is loaded
with goodies. I usually drive alone
whenever I go to see them, but by myself I always run the risk of
falling asleep.
You could keep me
company, keep me from dozing off, or drive a little bit, if I'm too
drunk."
I felt so despondent (dishearted, dejected), that I turned him down.
"I'm very sorry, Bill," I said. "The trip won't do for me, I see no
point in pursuing this idea of
fieldwork any longer."
"Don't
give up without a fight," Bill said in a tone of paternal
concern. "Give all you have to the fight,
and if it licks you, then it's okay to give up, but not before.
Come
with me and see how you like the
South-west." He put his arm around my shoulders. I couldn't help
noticing how
immensely heavy his arm was. He
was tall and husky, but in recent years his body had acquired a strange
rigidity. He had lost his boyish
quality. His round face was no longer filled, youthful, the way it had
been. Now it was a worried face.
I believed, that he worried because he was losing his hair, but at
times,
it seemed to me, that it was
something more, than that.
And it wasn't, that he was fatter; his body
was heavy in ways, that were
impossible to explain. I noticed it in the way, that he walked, and got
up, and sat down.
Bill seemed to
me to be fighting gravity with every fiber of his being, in everything
he did. Disregarding my feelings of defeat, I started on a journey with
him.
We visited every place in Arizona
and New Mexico, where there were Indians. One, of the end results of
this
trip, was that I found out, that
my anthropologist friend had two definite facets to his person. He
explained to me, that his opinions, as
a professional anthropologist, were very measured, and congruous
(harmonious, appropriate) with
the anthropological thought of
the day, but that as a private person, his anthropological fieldwork
had given him a wealth of experiences,
that he never talked about. These experiences were not congruous (harmonious,
appropriate) with
the anthropological
thought of the day, because they were events, that were impossible to
catalog. During the course of our trip, he would invariably have some
drinks with his ex-informants, and feel
very relaxed afterward.
I would take the wheel then and drive, as he sat
in the passenger seat taking
sips from his bottle of thirty-year-old Ballantine's. It was then, that
Bill would talk about his
uncataloged experiences. "I have never believed in ghosts," he said
abruptly one day. "I never
went in for apparitions and
floating essences, voices in the dark, you know. I had a very
pragmatic, serious upbringing. Science
had always been my compass.
34-35
But then, working in the field, all kinds of weird crap began to filter
through to me. For instance, I went with some Indians one night on a
vision quest. They were going to
actually initiate me by some painful business of piercing the muscles
of my chest. They were
preparing a sweat lodge in the woods. I had resigned myself to
withstand the pain. I took a couple of
drinks to give me strength. And then the
man, who was going to intercede (mediator in dispute)
for me with the people, who,
actually, performed the ceremony, yelled in horror and pointed at a
dark, shadowy figure walking
toward us. "When the shadowy figure came closer to me," Bill went on,
"I noticed,
that what, I had in front of me,
was an old Indian, dressed in the weirdest getup, you could imagine. He
had the paraphernalia of
shamans. The man,
I was with that night, fainted shamelessly at the sight
of the old man.
The old man
came to me and pointed a finger at my chest. His finger was just skin
and bone.
He babbled
incomprehensible (unintelligible,
boundless, without limits) things to me. By
then, the rest of the people had seen
the old man, and started to
rush silently toward me. The old man turned to look at them, and every
one of them froze. He
harangued (pompous
speech) them
for a
moment. His voice was something unforgettable. It
was, as if he were talking
from a tube, or as if he had something attached to his mouth, that
carried the words out of him. I swear
to you, that I saw the man, talking inside his body, and his mouth
broadcasting the words, as a
mechanical apparatus. After haranguing the men, the old man continued
walking, past me, past them,
and disappeared, swallowed by the darkness." Bill said, that the plan
to have an initiation ceremony went to pot; it
was never performed; and the
men, including the shamans in charge, were shaking in their boots. He
stated, that they were so
frightened, that they disbanded and left. "People, who had been friends
for years," he went on, "never spoke to
each other again. They claimed,
that, what they had seen, was the apparition of an incredibly old
shaman,
and that it would bring bad
luck to talk about it among themselves. In fact, they said, that the
mere act of setting eyes on one
another, would bring them bad luck. Most of them moved away from the
area."
"Why did they feel that talking to each other or seeing each other
would bring them bad luck?" I asked
him.
"Those are their beliefs," he replied. "A vision of that nature means
to them, that the apparition spoke
to each of them individually. To have a vision of that nature is, for
them, the luck of a lifetime."
"And what was the individual thing, that the vision told each of them?"
I asked.
"Beats me," he replied. "They never explained anything to me. Every
time I asked them, they entered
into a profound state of numbness. They hadn't seen anything, they
hadn't heard anything. Years after
the event, the man, who had fainted next to me, swore to me, that he
had
just faked the faint, because he
was so frightened, that he didn't want to face the old man, and that,
what he had to say, was understood
by everybody at a level other, than language comprehension." Bill said,
that in his case, what, the apparition voiced to him, he
understood, as having to do with his
health and his expectations in life.
"What do you mean by that?" I asked him.
"Things are not that good for
me," he confessed. "My body
doesn't feel well."
"But do you know what is really the matter with you?" I asked. "Oh,
yes," he said nonchalantly (cool, indifferent). "Doctors have told me.
But I'm not gonna worry about it, or even think
about it." Bill's revelations left me feeling thoroughly uneasy. This
was a facet
of his person, that I didn't know. I
had always thought, that he was a tough old cookie. I could never
conceive (form in the mind) of him as vulnerable. I
didn't like our exchange. It was, however, too late for me to retreat.
Our trip continued.
On another occasion,
he confided, that the shamans of the South-west were
capable of transforming
themselves into different entities, and that the categorization schemes
of "bear shaman" or "mountain
lion shaman," etc., should not be taken as euphemisms or metaphors,
because they were not.
36-37
"Would you believe it," he said in a tone of great admiration, "that
there are some shamans, who
actually become bears, or mountain lions, or eagles? I'm not
exaggerating, nor am I fabricating
anything, when I say, that once I witnessed the transformation of a
shaman, who called himself 'River
Man," or 'River Shaman,' or 'Proceeding from River, Returning to
River.' I was out in the mountains of
New Mexico with this shaman. I was driving for him; he trusted me, and
he was going in
search of his
origin, or so he said. We were walking along a river, when he suddenly
got very excited. He told me to
move away from the shore to some high rocks, and hide there, put a
blanket over my head and
shoulders, and peek through it, so I would not miss, what he was about
to
do."
"What was he going to do?" I asked him, incapable of containing myself.
"I didn't know," he said. "Your guess would have been as good, as mine.
I had no way of conceiving, of
what he was going to do. He just walked into the water, fully dressed.
When the water reached him at
mid-calf, because it was a wide, but shallow river, the shaman simply
vanished, disappeared. Prior to
entering the water,
he had whispered in my ear that I should go
downstream and wait for him. He told
me the exact spot to wait. I, of course, didn't believe a word, of what
he was saying, so at first I
couldn't remember, where he had said, I had to wait for him, but then I
found the spot and I saw the
shaman coming out of the water. It sounds stupid to say 'coming out of
the water.' I saw the shaman
turning into water and then being remade out of the water. Can you
believe that?"
I had no comments on his stories. It was impossible for me to believe
him, but I could not disbelieve
him either. He was a very serious man. The only possible explanation,
that I could think of, was that, as
we continued our trip, he drank more and more every day. He had in the
trunk of the car a box of
twenty-four bottles of Scotch for only himself. He actually drank like
a fish. "I have always been partial (biased) to the esoteric mutations
of shamans," he
said to me another day. "It's not,
that I can explain the mutations, or even believe, that they take
place,
but, as an intellectual exercise, I
am very interested in considering, that mutations into snakes and
mountain lions are not as difficult, as
what the water shaman did. It is at moments like this, when I engage my
intellect in such a fashion,
that I cease to be an anthropologist and I begin to react, following a
gut feeling. My gut feeling is, that
those shamans certainly do something, that can't be measured
scientifically or even talked about
intelligently. For instance, there are cloud shamans, who turn into
clouds, into mist.
I have never seen this happen,
but I knew a cloud shaman. I never saw him disappearing or turning into
mist in front of my eyes, as I
saw that other shaman, turning into water right in front of me. But I
chased that cloud shaman once,
and he simply vanished in an area, where there was no place for him to
hide. Although I didn't see him
turning into a cloud, he disappeared. I couldn't explain, where he
went.
There were no rocks or
vegetation around the place, where he ended up. I was there half a
minute after he was, but the shaman
was gone. I chased that man all over the place for information," Bill
went on.
"He wouldn't give me the time of
day. He was very friendly to me, but that was all." Bill told me
endless other stories about strife (dispute, conflict) and political
factions
among Indians in different Indian
reservations, or stories about personal vendettas, animosities (active
hostility),
friendships, etc., etc., which did not
interest me in the least. On the other hand, his stories about shamans'
mutations and apparitions had
caused a true emotional upheaval in me. I was at once both fascinated
and appalled by them. However, when I tried to think about, why I was
fascinated or appalled,
I couldn't tell. All, I could
have said, was that his stories about shamans hit me at an unknown,
visceral (derived from intuition) level. Another realization, brought
by this trip, was that I verified for myself,
that the Indian societies of the
South-west were indeed closed to outsiders.
38-39
I finally came to accept,
that I did need a great
deal of preparation in the science of anthropology, and that it was
more functional to do
anthropological fieldwork in an area, with which I was familiar, or
one,
in which I had an entree.
When the journey ended, Bill drove me to the Greyhound bus depot in
Nogales, Arizona, for my
return trip to Los Angeles. As we were sitting in the waiting area
before the bus came, he consoled (comfort) me
in a paternal manner, reminding me, that failures were a matter of
course in anthropological fieldwork,
and that they meant only the hardening of one's purpose or the coming
to maturity of an
anthropologist. Abruptly, he leaned over and pointed with a slight
movement of his chin
to the other side of the room.
"I think, that old man, sitting on the bench by the corner over there,
is
the man, I told you about," he
whispered in my ear. "I am not quite sure, because I've had him in
front
of me, face-to-face, only
once."
"What man is that? What did you tell me about him?" I asked.
"When we were talking about shamans and shamans' transformations, I
told you, that I had once met a
cloud shaman."
"Yes, yes, I remember that," I said. "Is that man the cloud shaman?"
"No," he said emphatically. "But I think, he is a companion or a
teacher
of the cloud shaman. I saw
both of them together in the distance various times, many years ago."
I did remember Bill mentioning, in a very casual manner, but not in
relation to the cloud shaman, that
he knew about the existence of a mysterious old man, who was a retired
shaman, an old Indian
misanthrope (who hates humans) from Yuma, who had once been a
terrifying sorcerer. The
relationship of the old man to
the cloud shaman was never voiced by my friend, but obviously it was
foremost (paramount) in Bill's mind, to the
point, where he believed, that he had told me about him.
A
strange anxiety suddenly possessed me and made me jump out of my
seat. As if I had no volition of
my own, I approached the old man and immediately began a long tirade
on,
how much I knew about
medicinal plants and shamanism among the
American Indians of the plains and their Siberian ancestors. As a
secondary theme, I mentioned to the
old man, that I knew, that he was a shaman. I concluded by assuring
him,
that it would be thoroughly
beneficial for him to talk to me at length. "If nothing else," I said
petulantly (unreasonably irritable), "we could swap stories. You tell
me yours and I'll tell you mine."
The old man kept his eyes lowered, until the last moment. Then he
peered
at me. "I am Juan Matus," he
said, looking me squarely in the eyes. My tirade shouldn't have ended
by any means, but for no reason, that I
could discern, I felt, that there
was nothing more I could have said. I wanted to tell him my name. He
raised his hand to the height of
my lips, as if to prevent me from saying it. At that instant, a bus
pulled up to the bus stop. The old man muttered,
that it was the bus, he had to
take, then he earnestly asked me to look him up, so we could talk with
more ease and swap stories.
There was an ironic smirk on the comer of his mouth, when he said that.
With an incredible agility for
a man his age, I figured he must have been in his eighties, he
covered,
in a few leaps, the fifty yards
between the bench, where he was sitting, and the door of the bus. As if
the bus had stopped just to pick
him up, it moved away as soon, as he had jumped in and the door had
closed. After the old man left, I went back to the bench, where Bill
was sitting.
"What did he say, what did he say?" he asked excitedly.
"He told me to look him up and come to his house to visit," I said. "He
even said, that we could talk
there."
"But what did you say to him, to get him to invite you to his house?"
he
demanded. I told Bill, that I had used my best sales pitch, and that I
had
promised the old man to reveal to him
everything I knew, from the point of view of my reading, about
medicinal plants.
Bill obviously didn't believe me. He accused me of holding out on him.
"I know the people around this
area," he said belligerently (aggressively), "and that old
man is a very strange fart.
He doesn't talk to anybody,
Indians included.
40-41
Why would he talk to you, a perfect stranger? You're
not even cute!" It was obvious, that Bill was annoyed with me.
I couldn't figure out why
though. I didn't dare ask him
for an explanation. He gave me the impression of being a bit jealous.
Perhaps he felt, that I had
succeeded, where he had failed. However, my success had been so
inadvertent (negligent), that it didn't mean
anything to me. Except for Bill's casual remarks, I didn't have any
conception of how difficult it was
to approach that old man, and I couldn't have cared less. At the time,
I found nothing remarkable in the
exchange. It baffled me, that Bill was so upset about it.
"Do you know where his house is?" I asked him.
"I haven't the foggiest idea," he answered curtly. "I have heard people
from this area say, that he
doesn't live anywhere, that he just appears here and there,
unexpectedly, but that's a lot of horse-shit.
He probably lives in some shack in Nogales, Mexico."
"Why is he so important?" I asked him. My question made me gather
enough courage to add, "You
seem to be upset, because he talked to me. Why?"
Without any ado (fuss), he admitted, that he was chagrined, because he
knew, how
useless it was to try to talk
to that man. "That old man is as rude, as anyone can be," he added. "At
best, he stares at you without
saying a word, when you talk to him. At other times, he doesn't even
look at you; he treats you, as if
you didn't exist. The one time I tried to talk to him, he brutally
turned me down. Do you know what he
said to me? He said, 'If I were you, I wouldn't waste my energy opening
my mouth. Save it. You need
it.' If he weren't such an old fart, I would have punched him in the
nose."
I pointed out to Bill, that to call him an "old" man was more a figure
of
speech, than an actual
description. He didn't really appear to be that old, although he was
definitely old. He possessed a
tremendous vigor and agility. I felt, that Bill would have failed
miserably, if he had tried to punch him
in the nose. That old Indian was powerful. In fact, he was downright
scary. I didn't voice my thoughts. I let Bill go on telling me, how
disgusted
he was at the nastiness of that old
man, and how he would have dealt with him, had it not been for the
fact,
that the old man was so
feeble.
"Who do you think could give me some information about where he might
live?" I asked him.
"Perhaps some people in Yuma," he replied, a bit more
relaxed. "Maybe
the people, I introduced you to,
at the beginning of our trip. You wouldn't lose anything by asking
them. Tell them, that I sent you to
them."
I changed my plans right then and, instead of going back to Los
Angeles,
went directly to Yuma,
Arizona. I saw the people, to whom Bill had introduced me.
They didn't
know where the old Indian
lived, but their comments about him inflamed my curiosity even more.
They said, that he was not from
Yuma, but from Sonora, Mexico, and that in his youth, he had been a
fearsome sorcerer, who did
incantations and put spells on people, but that he had mellowed with
age, turning into an ascetic
hermit. They remarked, that although he was a Yaqui Indian, he had once
run around with a group of
Mexican men, who seemed to be extremely knowledgeable about bewitching
practices. They all agreed,
that they hadn't seen those men in the area for ages. One of the men
added, that the old man was contemporaneous with his
grandfather, but that while his
grandfather was senile and bedridden, the sorcerer seemed to be more
vigorous, than ever. The same
man referred me to some people in Hermosillo, the capital of Sonora,
who might know the old man
and be able to tell me more about him. The prospect of going to Mexico
was not at all appealing to
me. Sonora was too far away from my area of interest. Besides, I
reasoned, that I was better off doing
urban anthropology after all and I went back to Los Angeles. But before
leaving for Los Angeles, I
canvassed (went through) the area of Yuma, searching tor information
about the old
man. Noone knew anything
about him. As the bus drove to Los Angeles, I experienced a unique
sensation.
42
On
the one hand, I felt totally
cured of my obsession with fieldwork or my interest in the old man. On
the other hand, I felt a strange
nostalgia. It was, truthfully, something I had never felt before. Its
newness struck me profoundly. It
was a mixture of anxiety and longing, as if I were missing something of
tremendous importance. I had
the clear sensation, as I approached Los Angeles, that, whatever had
been
acting on me around Yuma,
had begun to fade with distance; but its fading only increased my
unwarranted (groundless) longing.
The
Intent of Infinity
43
I WANT YOU to think deliberately about every detail of what transpired
between you and those two
men, Jorge Campos and Lucas Coronado," don Juan said to me, "who are
the ones, who really
delivered you to me, and then tell me all about it."
I found his request very difficult to fulfill, and yet I actually
enjoyed remembering everything, those
two had said to me. He wanted every detail possible, something, that
forced me to push my memory to
its limits. The story, don Juan wanted me to recollect, began in the
city of Guaymas,
in Sonora, Mexico. In Yuma,
Arizona, I had been given the names and addresses of some people, who,
I
was told, might be able to
shed light on the mystery of the old man, I had met in the bus depot.
The people, I went to see, not only
didn't know any retired old shaman, they even doubted, that such a man
had ever existed. They were
all filled to the brim, however, with scary stories about Yaqui
shamans, and about the belligerent (aggressive) general
mood of the Yaqui Indians.
44-45
They insinuated, that perhaps in Vicam, a railroad-station
town between the cities of Guaymas and Ciudad
Obregon, I might find
someone, who could perhaps steer me in the proper direction. "Is there
anyone in particular, I could look up?" I asked.
"Your best
bet would be to talk to a field
inspector of the official government bank," one of the men suggested.
"The bank has a lot of field
inspectors. They know all the Indians of the area, because the bank is
the government institution, that
buys their crops, and every Yaqui is a farmer, the proprietor of a
parcel of land, that
he can call his own
as long, as he cultivates it."
"Do you know any field inspectors?" I
asked. They looked at each other
and smiled apologetically at me. They didn't know any, but strongly
recommended, that
I should
approach one of those men on my own and put my case to him. In Vicam
Station, my attempts at making contact with the field
inspectors of the government bank
were a total disaster. I met three of them, and when I told them, what
I
wanted, every one of them
looked at me with utter distrust. They immediately suspected, that I
was
a spy, sent there by the
Yankees, to cause problems, that they could not clearly define, but
about
which they made wild
speculations, ranging from political agitation to industrial espionage.
It was the unsubstantiated belief
of everyone around, that there were copper deposits in the lands of the
Yaqui Indians and, that the
Yankees coveted (desired) them. After this resounding (reveberated)
failure, I retreated to the
city of Guaymas and stayed at a hotel, that was very
close to a fabulous restaurant. I went there three times a day. The
food was superb. I liked it so much,
that I stayed in Guaymas for over a week. I practically lived
in the restaurant, and became, in this
manner, acquainted with
the owner, Mr. Reyes. One afternoon, while I was eating, Mr. Reyes came
to my table with
another man, whom he
introduced to me as Jorge Campos, a full-blooded Yaqui Indian
entrepreneur, who had lived in Arizona
in his youth, who spoke English perfectly, and who was more American,
than any American. Mr. Reyes
praised him, as a true example of, how hard work and dedication could
develop a person into an
exceptional man. Mr. Reyes left and Jorge Campos sat down next to me
and immediately
took over. He pretended to be
modest and denied all praise, but it was obvious, that
he was as pleased,
as punch, with what Mr. Reyes
had said about him. At first sight, I had the clear impression, that
Jorge Campos was an entrepreneur of
the particular kind, that one finds in bars or on crowded corners of
main streets, trying to sell an idea or
simply trying to find a way to con people out of their savings.
Mr.
Campos was very pleasant looking, around six feet tall and lean,
but with a high pot belly like a
habitual drinker of hard liquor. He had a very dark complexion, with a
touch of green to it, and wore
expensive blue jeans and shiny cowboy boots with pointed toes and
angular heels, as if he needed to
dig them into the ground, to stop being dragged by a lassoed steer. He
was wearing an impeccably ironed gray plaid shirt; in its right
pocket was a plastic pocket guard,
into which he had inserted a row of pens. I had seen the same pocket
guard among office workers, who
didn't want to stain their shirt pockets with ink. His attire also
included an expensive-looking fringed
reddish-brown suede jacket and a tall Texas-style cowboy hat. His round
face was expressionless. He
had no wrinkles, even though
he seemed to be in his early fifties. For
some unknown reason, I believed,
that he was dangerous. "Very pleased to meet you, Mr. Campos," I said
in Spanish, extending my hand
to him.
"Let's dispense with the formalities," he responded, also in Spanish,
shaking my hand vigorously. "I
like to treat young people as equals, regardless of age differences.
Call me Jorge."
He was quiet for a moment, no doubt assessing my reaction. I didn't
know, what to say. I certainly
didn't want to humor him, nor did
I want to take him seriously. "I'm curious to know, what you're doing
in Guaymas," he went on
casually. "You don't seem to be a
tourist, nor do you seem to be interested in deep-sea fishing."
46-47
"I am
an anthropology student," I said,
"and I am trying to establish my credentials with the local Indians, in
order to do some field research."
"And I am a businessman," he said. "My business is to supply
information, to be the go-between. You
have the need, I have the commodity. I charge for my services. However,
my services are guaranteed.
If you don't get satisfaction, you don't have to pay
me."
"If your business is to supply information," I said, "I will gladly
pay you, whatever you charge."
"Ah!" he exclaimed. "You certainly need a guide, someone with more
education, than the average
Indian here, to show you around. Do you have a grant from the United
States government or from
another big institution?"
"Yes," I lied. "I have a grant from the Esoterical Foundation of Los
Angeles." When I said that, I actually saw a glint of greed in his
eyes.
"Ah!" he
exclaimed again. "How big is
that institution?"
"Fairly big," I said.
"My goodness! Is that so?" he said, as if my words were an explanation,
that he had wanted to hear.
"And now, may I ask you, if you don't mind, how big is your grant? How
much money did they give
you?"
"A few thousand dollars to do preliminary fieldwork," I lied again, to
see what he would say.
"Ah! I like people, who are direct," he said, relishing his words. "I
am
sure, that you and I are going to
reach an agreement. I offer you my services, as a guide and as a key,
that can open many secret doors
among the Yaquis. As you can see by my general appearance, I am a man
of taste and means."
"Oh, yes, definitely you are a man of good taste," I asserted (positive
declaration, evaluation).
"What I
am saying to you," he said, "is
that for a small fee, which you will find most reasonable, I will steer
you to the right people, people, to
whom you could ask any question you want. And for some very little
more, I will translate their words
to you, verbatim (word for word), into Spanish or English. I can also
speak French and
German, but I have the feeling,
that those languages do not interest you."
"You are right, you are so very right," I said. "Those languages don't
interest me at all. But how much
would your fees be?"
"Ah! My fees!" he said, and took a leather-covered notebook out of his
back pocket and flipped it
open in front of my face; he scribbled quick notes on it, flipped it
closed again, and put it in his pocket
with precision and speed. I was sure, that he wanted to give me the
impression of being efficient and
fast at calculating figures.
"I will charge you fifty dollars a day," he said, "with transportation,
plus my meals. I mean, when you
eat, I eat. What do you say?"
At that moment, he leaned over to me and, almost in a whisper, said,
that we should shift into English,
because he didn't want people to know the nature of our transactions.
He began to speak to me then in
something, that wasn't English at all. I was at a loss. I didn't know
how to respond. I began to fret
nervously, as the man kept on talking gibberish with the most natural
air. He didn't bat an eyelash. He
moved his hands in a very animated fashion and pointed around him, as
if
he were instructing me. I
didn't have the impression, that he was speaking in tongues; I thought,
perhaps he was speaking the
Yaqui language. When people came around our table and looked at us, I
nodded and said
to Jorge Campos, "Yes, yes,
indeed." At one point I said, "You could say that again," and this
sounded so funny to me, that
I broke
into a belly laugh. He also laughed heartily, as if I had said the
funniest thing possible. He must have noticed, that I was finally at my
wits' end, and, before
I
could get up and tell him to get
lost, he started to speak Spanish again. "I don't want to tire you with
my silly observations," he said. "But if
I'm going to be your guide, as I
think, I am going to be, we will be spending long hours chatting.
48-49
I was
testing you just now, to see, if
you are a good conversationalist. If I'm going to spend time with you
driving, I need someone by me,
who could be a good receptor and initiator. I'm glad to tell you, that
you are both." Then he stood up, shook my hand, and left. As if on cue,
the owner came
to my table, smiling and
shaking his head from side to side like a little bear.
"Isn't he a fabulous guy?" he asked me. I didn't want to commit myself
to a statement, and Mr. Reyes
volunteered, that Jorge Campos was at
that moment a go-between in an extremely delicate and profitable
transaction. He said, that some
mining companies in the United States were interested in the iron and
copper deposits, that belonged to
the Yaqui Indians, and, that Jorge Campos was there, in line to
collect perhaps a five-million-dollar
fee. I knew then, that Jorge Campos was a con man. There were no iron
or
copper deposits on the lands,
owned by the Yaqui Indians. If there had been any, private enterprises
would have already moved the
Yaquis out of those lands and relocated them somewhere else.
"He's fabulous," I said. "Most wonderful guy I ever met. How can I get
in touch with him again?"
"Don't worry about that," Mr. Reyes said. "Jorge asked me all about
you. He has been watching you
since you came. He'll probably come and knock on your door later today
or tomorrow." Mr. Reyes was right. A couple of hours later, somebody
woke me from my
afternoon nap. It was Jorge
Campos. I had intended to leave Guaymas in the early evening and drive,
all night, to California. I
explained to him, that I was leaving, but that I would come back in a
month or so.
"Ah! But you must stay now, that I have decided to be your
guide," he said.
"I'm sorry, but we will have to wait for this, because my time is very
limited now," I replied. I knew, that Jorge Campos was a crook, yet I
decided to reveal to him,
that I already had an informant,
who was waiting to work
with me, and that I had met him in Arizona. I described the old man and
said, that his name was Juan
Matus, and, that other people had characterized him as a shaman. Jorge
Campos smiled at me broadly.
I asked him, if he knew the old man.
"Ah, yes, I know him," he said jovially. "You may say, that we are good
friends." Without being
invited, Jorge Campos came into the room and sat down at the table just
inside the balcony.
"Does he live around here?" I asked.
"He certainly does," he assured me.
"Would you take me to him?"
"I don't see why not," he said. "I would need a couple of days to make
my own inquiries, just to make
sure, that he is there, and then we will go and see him."
I knew, that he was lying, yet I didn't want to believe it. I even
thought, that my initial distrust had
perhaps been ill-founded. He seemed so convincing at that moment.
"However," he continued, "in order to take you to see the man, I will
charge you a flat fee. My
honorarium will be two hundred dollars." That amount was more, than I
had at my disposal. I politely declined and
said, that I didn't have enough
money with me. "I don't want to appear mercenary," he said with his
most winning
smile, "but how much money can
you afford? You must take into consideration, that I have to do a
little
bribing. The Yaqui Indians are
very private, but there are always ways; there are always doors, that
open with a magical key-money." In spite of all my misgivings
(apprehensions), I was convinced, that Jorge Campos was my
entry not only into the
Yaqui world, but to finding the old man, who had intrigued me so much.
I
didn't want to haggle (bargain) over
money. I was almost embarrassed to offer him the fifty dollars, I had
in
my pocket.
"I am at the end of my stay here," I said as a sort of apology, "so I
have nearly run out of money. I
have only fifty dollars left."
Jorge Campos stretched his long legs under the table and crossed his
arms behind his head, tipping his
hat over his face.
50-51
"I'll take your fifty dollars and your watch," he said shamelessly.
"But for that money, I will take you
to meet a minor shaman. Don't get impatient," he warned me,
as if I
were going to protest. "We must
step carefully up the ladder, from the lower ranks to the man himself,
who, I assure you, is at the very
top."
"And when could I meet this minor shaman?" I asked, handing him the
money and my watch.
"Right now!" he replied, as he sat up straight and eagerly grabbed the
money and the watch. "Let's go!
There's not a minute to waste!"
We got into my car and he directed me to head off for the town of
Potam, one of the traditional Yaqui
towns along the Yaqui River. As we drove, he revealed to me, that we
were going to meet Lucas
Coronado, a man, who was known for his sorcery feats, his shamanistic
trances, and for the
magnificent masks, that he made for the Yaqui festivities of Lent. Then
he shifted the conversation to the old man, and, what he said, was
in total contradiction to what
others had said to me about the man. While they had described him as a
hermit and retired shaman,
Jorge Campos portrayed him as the most prominent curer and sorcerer of
the area, a man, whose fame
had turned him into a nearly inaccessible figure. He paused, like an
actor, and then he delivered his
blow: He said, that to talk to the old man on a steady basis, the way
anthropologists like to do, was
going to cost me at least two thousand dollars. I was going to protest
such a drastic hike in price, but he anticipated
me.
"For two hundred dollars, I could take you to him," he said. "Out of
those two hundred dollars, I
would clear about thirty. The rest would go for bribes. But to talk to
him at length will cost more. You
yourself could figure that out. He has actual bodyguards, people, who
protect him. I have to sweet-talk
them and come up with dough for them. In the end," he continued, "I
will give you a total account with
receipts and everything for your taxes. Then you will know,
that my commission for setting it all up, is minimal."
I felt a wave of admiration for him. He was aware of everything, even
receipts for income tax. He was
quiet for a while, as if calculating his minimal profit. I had nothing
to say. I was busy calculating
myself, trying to figure out a way to get two thousand dollars. I even
thought of really applying for a
grant.
"But are you sure, the old man would talk to me?" I asked.
"Of course," he assured me. "Not only would he talk to you, he's going
to perform sorcery for you, for
what you pay him. Then you could work out an agreement with him, as to
how much you could pay
him for further lessons." Jorge Campos kept silent again for a while,
peering into my eyes. "Do you think, that you could pay me the two
thousand dollars?" he asked
in a tone so purposefully
indifferent, that I instantly knew, it was a sham.
"Oh, yes, I can easily afford that," I lied reassuringly.
He could not disguise his glee. "Good boy! Good boy!" he cheered.
"We're going to have a ball!"
I tried to ask him some general questions about the old man; he
forcefully cut me off. "Save all this for
the man himself. He'll be all yours," he said, smiling. He began to
tell me then about his life in the United States and about
his business aspirations, and to
my utter bewilderment, since I had already classified him as a phony,
who didn't speak a word of
English, he shifted into English.
"You do speak English!" I exclaimed without any attempt at hiding my
surprise.
"Of course I do, my boy," he said, affecting a Texan accent, which he
carried on for the duration of
our conversation. "I told you, I wanted to test you, to see, if you are
resourceful. You are. In fact, you
are quite clever, I may say." His command of English was superb, and he
delighted me with jokes and
stories. In no time at all, we
were in Potam.
52-53
He directed me to a house on the outskirts of town. We
got out of the car. He led the
way, calling loudly in Spanish for Lucas Coronado. We heard a voice
from the back of the house, that said, also in Spanish,
"Come over here."
There was a man behind a small shack, sitting on the ground, on a
goatskin. He was holding a piece of
wood with his bare feet, while he worked on it with a chisel (metal
sharpening tool) and a
mallet (short-handed hammer). By holding the piece of
wood in place with the pressure of his feet, he had fashioned a
stupendous potter's turning wheel, so to
speak. His feet turned the piece, as his hands worked the chisel. I had
never seen anything like this in
my life. He was making a mask, hollowing it with a curved chisel. His
control, of his feet in holding
the wood and turning it around, was remarkable. The man was very thin;
he had a thin face with angular features, high
cheekbones, and a dark,
copperish complexion. The skin of his face and neck seemed to be
stretched to the maximum. He
sported a thin, droopy mustache, that gave his angular face a
malevolent
slant. He had an aquiline nose
with a very thin bridge, and fierce black eyes. His extremely black
eyebrows appeared, as if they had
been drawn on with a pencil, and so did his jet black hair, combed
backward on his head. I had never
seen a more hostile face. The image, that came to mind,
looking
at him,
was that of an Italian poisoner
of the era of the Medicis. The words "truculent" and "saturnine" seemed
to be the most apt
descriptions, when I focused my attention on Lucas Coronado's face. I
noticed, that while he was sitting on the ground, holding the piece of
wood with his feet, the bones of
his legs were so long, that his knees came to his shoulders. When we
approached him, he stopped
working and stood up. He was taller, than Jorge Campos, and as thin, as
a rail. As a gesture of
deference (honour) to us, I suppose, he put on his gwraches.
"Come in, come in," he said without smiling. I had a strange feeling
then, that Lucas Coronado didn't know how to
smile.
"To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" he asked Jorge Campos.
"I've brought this young man here, because he wants to ask you some
questions about your art," Jorge
Campos said in a most patronizing tone. "I vouched, that
you would
answer his questions truthfully."
"Oh, that's no problem, that's no problem," Lucas Coronado assured me,
sizing me up with his cold
stare. He shifted into a different language then, which I presumed to
be
Yaqui. He and Jorge Campos got
into an animated conversation, that lasted for some time. Both of them
acted, as if I did not exist. Then
Jorge Campos turned to me.
"We have a little problem here," he said. "Lucas has just informed me,
that this is a very busy season
for him, since the festivities are approaching, so he won't be able to
answer all the questions, that you
ask him, but he will at another time."
"Yes, yes, most certainly," Lucas Coronado said to me in Spanish. "At
another time, indeed; at another
time."
"We have to cut our visit short," Jorge Campos said, "but I'll bring
you back again." As we were leaving, I felt moved to express to Lucas
Coronado my
admiration for his stupendous
technique of working with his hands and feet. He looked at me, as if I
were mad, his eyes widening
with surprise.
"You've never seen anyone working on a mask?" he hissed through
clenched teeth. "Where are you
from? Mars?"
I felt stupid. I tried to explain, that his technique was quite new to
me. He seemed ready to hit me on
the head. Jorge Campos said to me in English, that I had offended Lucas
Coronado with my comments. He had understood my praise, as a veiled way
of making fun of his
poverty; my words had been to him
an ironic statement of how poor and helpless he was. "But it's the
opposite," I said. "I think he's magnificent!"
"Don't try to tell him anything like that," Jorge Campos retorted.
"These people are trained to receive
and dispense insults in a most covert form.
54-55
He thinks, it's odd, that you
run him down, when you don't
even know him, and make fun of the fact, that he cannot afford a vise
(tool) to
hold his sculpture."
I felt totally at a loss. The last thing I wanted was to foul up my
only possible contact. Jorge Campos
seemed to be utterly aware of my chagrin.
"Buy one of his masks," he advised me. I told him, that I intended to
drive to Los Angeles in one lap, without
stopping, and that I had just
sufficient money to buy gasoline and food. "Well, give him your leather
jacket," he said matter-of-factly, but in a
confidential, helpful tone. "Otherwise, you're going to anger him, and
all,
he'll remember about you,
will be your insults. But don't
tell him, that his masks are beautiful. Just buy one."
When I told Lucas Coronado, that I wanted to trade my leather jacket
for
one of his masks, he grinned
with satisfaction. He took the jacket and put it on. He walked to his
house, but before he entered, he
did some strange gyrations (circles). He knelt in front of some sort of
religious
altar and moved his arms, as if
to stretch them, and rubbed his hands on the sides of the jacket. He
went inside the house and brought out a bundle wrapped in
newspapers, which he handed to me. I
wanted to ask him some questions. He excused himself, saying, that he
had to work, but added, that if I
wanted, I could come back at another time. On the way back to the city
of Guaymas, Jorge Campos asked me to open
the bundle. He wanted to
make sure, that Lucas Coronado had not cheated me. I didn't care to
open
the bundle; my only concern
was the possibility, that I could come back by myself to talk to Lucas
Coronado. I was elated.
"I must see, what you have," Jorge Campos insisted. "Stop the car,
please. Not under any conditions or
for any reasons whatsoever would I endanger my clients. You paid me to
render
(cause to become) some services to you. That
man is a genuine shaman, therefore very dangerous. Because you
have offended him, he may
have given you a witchcraft bundle. If that's the case, we have to bury
it quickly in this area."
I felt a wave of nausea and stopped the car. With extreme care, I took
out the bundle. Jorge Campos
snatched it out of my hands and opened it. It contained three
beautifully made traditional Yaqui masks.
Jorge Campos mentioned, in a casual, disinterested tone, that it would
be only proper, that I give him
one of them.
I reasoned, that since he had not yet taken me to see the
old man, I had to preserve my
connection with him. I gladly gave him one of the masks.
"If you allow me to choose, I would rather take that one," he said,
pointing. I told him to go ahead. The masks didn't mean anything to me;
I had
gotten, what I was after. I would
have given him the other two masks as well, but I wanted to show them
to my anthropologist friends.
"These masks are nothing extraordinary," Jorge Campos declared. "You
can buy them in any store in
town. They sell them to tourists there."
I had seen the Yaqui masks, that were sold in the stores in town. They
were very rude masks in
comparison to the ones I had, and Jorge Campos had indeed picked out
the best. I left him in the city and headed for Los Angeles. Before I
said
good-bye, he reminded me, that I
practically owed him two thousand dollars, because
he was going to start
his bribing and working
toward taking me to meet the big man. "Do you think, that you could
give me my two thousand dollars the next
time you come?" he asked
daringly. His question put me in a terrible position. I believed, that
to tell him
the truth, that I doubted it, would
have made him drop me. I was convinced then, that in spite of his
patent (obvious)
greed, he was my usher (leader).
"I will do my best to have the money," I said in a noncommittal tone.
"You gotta do better, than that, boy," he retorted forcefully, almost
angrily. "I'm going to spend money
on my own, setting up this meeting, and I must have some reassurance on
your part. I know, that you
are a very serious young man.
56-57
How much is your car worth? Do you have
the pink slip?" I told him what my car was worth, and that I did have
the pink slip,
but he seemed satisfied only when
I gave him my word, that I would bring him the money in cash on my next
visit.
Five months later, I went back to Guaymas to see Jorge Campos. Two
thousand dollars at that time
was a considerable amount of money, especially for a student.
I thought,
that if perhaps he were
willing to take partial payments, I would be more, than happy to commit
myself to pay that amount in
installments. I couldn't find Jorge Campos anywhere in Guaymas. I asked
the owner of
the restaurant. He was as
baffled, as I was, about his disappearance. "He has just vanished," he
said.
"I'm sure, he went back to Arizona, or
to Texas, where he has
business."
I took a chance and went to see Lucas Coronado by myself. I arrived at
his house at midday. I couldn't
find him either. I asked his neighbors if they knew, where
he might be.
They looked at me belligerently (aggressively)
and didn't dignify me with an answer. I left, but went by his house
again in the late afternoon. I didn't
expect anything at all. In fact, I was prepared to leave for Los
Angeles immediately. To my surprise,
Lucas Coronado was not only there, but was extremely friendly to me. He
frankly expressed his
approval on seeing, that I had come without Jorge Campos, who he said
was an outright pain in the ass. He complained, that Jorge Campos, to
whom he referred as a renegade
Yaqui Indian, took delight in
exploiting his fellow Yaquis. I gave Lucas Coronado some gifts, that I
had brought him and bought from
him three masks, an
exquisitely carved staff, and a pair of rattling leggings, made out of
the cocoons of some insects from
the desert, leggings, which the Yaquis used in their traditional
dances.
Then I took him to Guaymas for
dinner. I saw him every day for the five days, that I remained in the
area, and
he gave me endless amounts of
information about the
Yaquis-their history and social organization, and the meaning and
nature of their festivities. I was
having such fun as a field-worker, that I even felt reluctant to ask
him,
if he knew anything about the
old shaman. Overcoming second thoughts, I finally asked Lucas Coronado,
if he knew the old man,
whom Jorge Campos had assured me, was such a prominent shaman. Lucas
Coronado seemed
perplexed. He assured me, that to his knowledge, no such man had ever
existed in that part of the
country and that Jorge Campos was a crook, who only wanted to cheat me
out of my money. Hearing Lucas Coronado deny the existence of that old
man, had a
terrible, unexpected impact on me. In one instant, it became evident to
me, that I really didn't give a
damn about field-work. I only cared
about finding that old man. I knew then, that meeting the old shaman
had
indeed been the culmination
of something, that had nothing to do with my desires, aspirations, or
even thoughts, as an
anthropologist. I wondered more, than ever, who in the hell that old
man was. Without any
inhibitory checks, I began to
rant and yell in frustration. I stomped on the floor. Lucas Coronado
was quite taken aback by my
display. He looked at me, bewildered, and then started to laugh. I had
no idea, that he could laugh. I
apologized to him for my outburst of anger and frustration. I couldn't
explain, why I was so out of
sorts. Lucas Coronado seemed to understand my quandary (dilemma,
predicament).
"Things like that happen in this area," he said. I had no idea, to what
he was referring, nor did I want to ask him. I
was deadly afraid of the easiness,
with which
he took offense. A peculiarity of the Yaquis was the
facility, they had to feel offended. They
seemed to be perennially on their toes, looking out for insults, that
were too subtle to be noticed by
anyone else. "There are magical Beings, living in the mountains around
here," he
continued, "and they can act on
people. They make people go veritably mad.
58-59
People rant and rave under
their influence, and when
they finally calm down, exhausted, they don't have any clue, as to why
they exploded."
"Do you think, that's what happened to me?" I asked.
"Definitely," he replied with total conviction. "You already have a
predisposition to going bonkers at
the drop of a hat, but you are also very contained. Today,
you weren't
contained. You went bananas
over nothing."
"It isn't over nothing," I assured him. "I didn't know it, until now,
but to me that old man is the driving
force of all my efforts." Lucas Coronado kept quiet, as if in deep
thought. Then he began to pace
up and down. "Do you know any old man, who lives around here, but is
not quite from
this area?" I asked him. He didn't understand my question. I had to
explain to him, that the old
Indian, I had met, was perhaps
like Jorge Campos, a Yaqui, who had lived somewhere else. Lucas
Coronado
explained, that the
surname "Matus" was quite common in that area, but that he didn't know
any Matus, whose first name
was Juan. He seemed despondent (dishearted,
dejected).
Then he had a moment of
insight and
stated, that because the man
was old, he might have another name, and that, perhaps, he had given me
a
working name, not his real
one.
"The only old man I know," he went on, "is Ignacio Flores's father. He
comes to see his son from time
to time, but he comes from Mexico City. Come to think of it,
he's
Ignacio's father, but he doesn't seem
that old. But he's old. Ignacio's old, too. His father seems younger,
though." He laughed heartily at his realization. Apparently,
he had never
thought about the youth of the old man,
until that moment. He kept on shaking his head, as if in disbelief. I,
on the other hand, was elated
beyond measure.
"That's the man!" I yelled without knowing why.
Lucas Coronado didn't know, where Ignacio Flores actually lived, but he
was very accommodating and
directed me to drive to a nearby Yaqui town, where he found the man for
me. Ignacio Flores was a big, corpulent (fat) man, perhaps in his
mid-sixties.
Lucas Coronado had warned me,
that the big man had been a career soldier in his youth, and that he
still had the bearing of a military
man. Ignacio Flores had an enormous mustache; that and the fierceness
of his eyes made him for me
the personification of a ferocious soldier. He had a dark complexion.
His hair was still jet black in
spite of his years. His forceful, gravelly voice seemed to be trained
solely to give commands. I had the
impression, that he had been a cavalry man. He walked, as if he were
still wearing spurs, and for some
strange reason, impossible to fathom, I heard the sound of spurs, when
he walked. Lucas Coronado introduced me to him and said, that I had
come from
Arizona to see his father, whom I
had met in Nogales. Ignacio Flores didn't seem surprised at all. "Oh
yes," he said. "My father travels a great deal." Without any other
preliminaries,
he directed us, to
where we could find his father. He didn't come with us, I thought out
of politeness. He excused
himself and marched away, as if he were keeping step in a parade. I
prepared myself to go to the old man's house with Lucas Coronado.
Instead, he politely declined; he
wanted me to drive him back to his house.
"I think you found the man, you were looking for, and I feel, that you
should be alone," he said. I marveled at how extraordinarily polite
these Yaqui Indians were, and
yet, at the same time, so fierce. I had been told, that the Yaquis were
savages, who had no qualms (doubts) about
killing anyone; as far as I was
concerned, though, their most remarkable feature was their politeness
and consideration. I drove to the house of Ignacio Flores's father, and
there I found the
man, I was looking for.
"I wonder, why Jorge Campos lied and told me, that he knew you," I said
at the end of my account.
"He didn't lie to you," don Juan said with the conviction of someone,
who was condoning (forgiving) Jorge
Campos's behavior.
60-61
"He didn't even misrepresent himself. He thought, you
were an easy mark and was
going to cheat you. He couldn't carry out his plan, though, because
Infinity overpowered him. Do you
know, that
he disappeared, soon after he met you, never to be found? Jorge Campos
was a most meaningful personage for you," he continued.
"You will find, in whatever
transpired between the two of you, a sort of guiding blueprint, because
he is the representation of your
life."
"Why? I'm not a crook!" I protested. He laughed, as if he knew
something, that I didn't.
The
next thing I
knew, I found myself in the midst
of an extensive explanation of my actions, my ideals, my expectations.
However, a strange thought
urged me to consider with the same fervor, with which I was explaining
myself, that under certain
circumstances, I might be like Jorge Campos. I found the thought
inadmissible, and I used all my
available energy to try to disprove it. However, down in the depths of
myself, I didn't care to apologize,
if I were like Jorge Campos. When I voiced my dilemma, don Juan laughed
so hard, that he choked, many
times. "If I were you," he commented, "I'd listen to my inner voice.
What
difference would it make, if you
were like Jorge Campos: a crook! He was a cheap crook. You are more
elaborate. This is the power of
the recounting. This is why sorcerers use it. It puts you into contact
with something, that you didn't
even suspect, existed in you." I wanted to leave right then. Don Juan
knew exactly how I felt. "Don't listen to the superficial (false)
voice, that makes you angry," he said
commandingly. "Listen to that
deeper voice, that is going to guide you from now on, the voice, that
is
laughing. Listen to it! And laugh
with it. Laugh! Laugh!" His words were like a hypnotic command to me.
Against my will, I began
to laugh. Never had I been
so happy. I felt free, unmasked. "Recount to yourself the story of
Jorge Campos, over and over,"
don Juan said. "You will find endless wealth in it. Every detail is
part of a map. It is the nature of Infinity, once we cross a certain
threshold, to put a blueprint in
front of us." He peered at me for a long time. He didn't merely glance
as before, but
he gazed intently at me. "One
deed, which Jorge Campos couldn't avoid performing," he finally said,
"was to put you in contact with
the other man: Lucas Coronado, who is as meaningful to you, as Jorge
Campos himself, maybe even
more. In the course of recounting the story of those two men, I had
realized, that I had spent more time with
Lucas Coronado, than with Jorge Campos; however, our exchanges had not
been as intense, and were
marked by enormous lagoons of silence. Lucas Coronado was not
by
nature
a talkative man, and by
some strange twist, whenever he was silent, he managed to drag me with
him into that state. "Lucas Coronado is the other part of your map,"
don Juan said. "Don't
you find it strange, that he is a
sculptor, like yourself, a super-sensitive artist, who was, like
yourself, at one time, in search of a
sponsor for his art? He looked for a sponsor, just like you looked for
a
woman, a lover of the arts, who
would sponsor your creativity."
I entered into another terrifying struggle. This time my struggle was
between my absolute certainty,
that I had not mentioned this aspect of my life to him, the fact, that
all of it was true, and the fact, that I
was unable to find an explanation, for how he could have obtained this
information. Again, I wanted to
leave right away.
But once more, the impulse was overpowered by a voice,
that came from a deep
place. Without any coaxing (persuasion, urge), I began to laugh
heartily. Some part of me,
at a profound level, didn't give
a hoot about finding out how don Juan had gotten that information. The
fact, that he had it, and had
displayed it in such a delicate, but conniving manner, was a delightful
maneuver to witness. It was of
no consequence that the superficial (artificial, foreign) part of me
got angry and wanted to
leave.
62-63
"Very good," don Juan said to me, patting me forcefully on the back,
"very good." He was pensive (deeply thoughtful) for a moment, as if he
were, perhaps, Seeing things,
invisible to the average eye. "Jorge Campos and Lucas Coronado are the
two ends of an axis," he said.
"That axis is you, at one end
a ruthless, shameless, crass (coarse, stupid) mercenary, who takes care
of himself;
hideous, but indestructible. At the
other end - a super-sensitive, tormented artist, weak and vulnerable.
That should have been the map of
your life, were it not for the appearance of another possibility, the
one, that opened up, when you
crossed the threshold of Infinity. You searched for me, and you found
me; and so, you did cross the
threshold. The Intent of Infinity told me to look for someone like you.
I found you, thus crossing the
threshold myself." The conversation ended at that point. Don Juan went
into one of his
habitual long periods of total
silence. It was only at the end of the day, when we had returned to his
house and, while we were sitting
under his ramada, cooling off from the long hike, we had taken, that he
broke his silence. "In your recounting of what happened between you and
Jorge Campos, and
you and Lucas Coronado,"
don Juan went on, "I found, and I hope you did, too, a very disturbing
factor. For me, it's an omen. It
points to the end of an era, meaning, that whatever was standing there,
cannot remain. Very flimsy
elements brought you to me. None of them could stand on their own. This
is what I drew from your
recounting." I remembered, that don Juan had revealed to me one day,
that Lucas
Coronado was terminally ill. He
had some health condition, that was slowly consuming him. "I have sent
word to him through my son Ignacio, about what he should do
to cure himself," don Juan
went on, "but he thinks it's nonsense and doesn't want to hear it. It
isn't Lucas's fault.
The entire human
race doesn't want to hear anything. They hear only, what they want to
hear."
I remembered, that I had prevailed (persuaded) upon don Juan to tell
me,
what I could say to Lucas Coronado, to help him alleviate his physical
pain and mental anguish. Don
Juan not only told me, what to tell him, but asserted (positive
declaration, evaluation), that if Lucas
Coronado wanted to, he could easily
cure himself. Nevertheless, when I delivered don Juan's message, Lucas
Coronado looked at me, as if I
had lost my mind. Then he shifted into a brilliant, and, had I been a
Yaqui, deeply insulting, portrayal
of a man, who is bored to death by someone's unwarranted insistence. I
thought, that only a Yaqui
Indian could be so subtle.
"Those things don't help me," he finally said defiantly, angered by my
lack of sensibility. "It doesn't
really matter. We all have to die. But don't you dare believe, that
I
have lost hope. I'm going to get
some money from the government bank. I'll get an advance on my crops,
and then I'll get enough
money to buy something, that will cure me, ipso facto. It's name is
Vi-ta-mi-nol."
"What is Vitaminol?" I had asked.
"It's something, that's advertised on the radio," he said with the
innocence of a child. "It cures
everything. It's recommended for people, who don't eat meat or fish or
fowl every day. It's recommended
for people like myself, who can barely keep body and soul together."
In my eagerness to help Lucas Coronado, I committed right then the
biggest blunder (error) imaginable in a
society of such hypersensitive beings, as the Yaquis:
I offered to give
him the money to buy Vitaminol. His cold stare was the measure of how
deeply I had hurt him. My
stupidity was unforgivable. Very
softly, Lucas Coronado said, that he was capable of affording Vitaminol
himself. I went back to don Juan's house. I felt like weeping. My
eagerness had
betrayed me.
"Don't waste your energy worrying about things like that," don Juan
said coldly. "Lucas Coronado is
locked in a vicious cycle, but so are you. So is everyone. He has
Vitaminol, which he trusts will cure
everything, and resolve every one of his problems. At the moment, he
can't afford it, but he has great
hopes, that he eventually will be able to."
64
Don Juan peered at me with
his piercing eyes. "I told you,
that Lucas Coronado's acts are the map of your life," he said. "Believe
you me, they are. Lucas
Coronado pointed out Vitaminol to you, and he did it so powerfully and
painfully, that he hurt you and
made you weep." Don Juan stopped talking then. It was a long and most
effective pause.
"And don't tell me, that you
don't understand, what I mean," he said. "One way or another, we all
have our own version of
Vitaminol."
Who
Was Juan Matus, Really?
65
THE PART OF my account of meeting don Juan, that he didn't want to hear
about, was my feelings
and impressions
on that fateful day, when I walked into
his house: the contradictory clash between my expectations and the
reality of the situation, and the effect, that was
caused in me by a cluster of the most extravagant
ideas
I had ever heard.
"That is more in
the line of confession, than in the line of
events," he had said to me once, when I tried to tell
him about all this.
"You couldn't be
more wrong, don Juan," I began, but I
stopped. Something, in the way he looked at me, made me
realize, that he was right. Whatever, I was going to say, could have
sounded only like
lip service,
flattery. What had taken place on our
first real meeting, however, was of transcendental (mystical) importance to me, an
event of ultimate consequence.
66-67
During my first encounter with don Juan, in the bus depot in Nogales,
Arizona, something of
an
unusual
nature had happened to me, but it had come
to me cushioned in my concerns with the presentation
of the self. I had wanted to impress don Juan, and, in attempting to do
so, I had focused all my
attention on the act of
selling my wares, so to speak. It
was only months later, that a strange residue of
forgotten events began to appear. One day, out of
nowhere, and with no coaxing or coaching on my part, I recollected with
extraordinary clarity
something, that had completely bypassed me during my
actual encounter with don Juan. When he had stopped
me from telling him my name, he had peered into my eyes and had numbed
me with his
look. There was infinitely more, that I could have said to him about
myself.
I could have expounded
(elucidated, explained, interpreted) on my knowledge
and
worth for hours, if his look hadn't completely cut me off. In light of
this new realization, I reconsidered everything, that had
happened to me on that occasion. My unavoidable
conclusion was, that I had experienced the interruption of some
mysterious flow, that
kept me going, a flow,
that
had never been interrupted
before, at least not in the manner, in which don Juan
had done it. When I tried to describe to any of my friends, what I had
physically experienced,
a strange perspiration began to cover my entire body,
the same perspiration, that I had experienced, when don
Juan had given me that look; I had been, at that moment, not only
incapable of voicing a
single word, but incapable of having a single
thought. For some time after, I dwelled on the
physical sensation of this interruption, for which I found no rational
explanation. I argued for a while, that don Juan must have
hypnotized me, but then my memory told me, that he
hadn't given any hypnotic commands, nor had he made any movements, that could
have trapped my attention. In fact, he had merely glanced at me.
It was the intensity of that glance, that had made it
appear, as if he had stared at me for a long time. It had obsessed me,
and had rendered
(cause to
become) me
discombobulated
(confused) at a deep physical level. When I finally had don Juan
in front of me again, the first thing, I
noticed about him, was, that he
didn't look at all, as I had imagined him during all
the time, I had tried to find him. I had fabricated an image of the
man,
I had met at the bus depot, which I perfected every day by
allegedly remembering more details.
In my mind, he was
an old man, still very strong and nimble, yet almost frail. The man,
facing me, was muscular and decisive. He moved with agility, but not
nimbleness.
His steps were firm and, at the same time, light. He
exuded (emitted) vitality and purpose. My composite memory was not at
all in
harmony with the real thing. I thought he had short, white hair and an
extremely
dark complexion. His hair was longer, and not as
white, as I had imagined. His complexion was not that dark either. I
could have sworn,
that his features were birdlike, because of his age. But that was
not so either. His face was full, almost round. In
one glance, the most outstanding feature of the man, looking at me, was
his dark eyes, which
shone with a peculiar, dancing glow. Something, that had
bypassed me completely in my prior
assessment of him, was the fact, that his total countenance
(appearance) was, that of
an athlete. His shoulders were broad, his
stomach flat; he seemed to be planted firmly on the
ground. There was no feebleness to his knees, no tremor in his upper
limbs. I had imagined
detecting a slight tremor in his head and arms, as
if he were nervous and unsteady. I had also imagined him to be
about five feet six inches tall, three
inches shorter, than his actual height. Don Juan
didn't seem surprised to see me. I wanted to tell him how difficult it
had been for me to
find him.
I would have liked to be congratulated by
him on my titanic efforts, but he just laughed at me, teasingly.
"Your efforts are
not important," he said. "What's important
is, that you found my place. Sit down, sit down," he
said, enticing me, pointing to one of the freight boxes under his
ramada and patting me on my
back; but it wasn't a
friendly pat.
It felt like he had
slapped me on the back, although he never
actually touched me. His quasi-
slap
created a strange,
unstable sensation, which appeared abruptly and disappeared, before I
had time to grasp,
what it was.
68-69
What, was left in me instead, was a strange peace. I felt at ease. My
mind was crystal
clear. I had no expectations, no desires. My usual
nervousness and sweaty hands, the marks of my existence, were suddenly
gone. "Now
you will
understand everything, I am going to say to
you," don Juan said to me, looking into my eyes,
as he
had done in the bus depot. Ordinarily, I would have
found his statement perfunctory (superficial, act with little
interest), perhaps rhetorical, but when he said
it,
I could only assure him repeatedly and sincerely, that I would
understand
anything, he said to me. He looked me in the eyes again
with a ferocious intensity.
"I am Juan Matus,"
he said, sitting down on another freight
box, a few feet away, facing me. "This is my name,
and I voice it, because with it, I am making a bridge for you to cross
over, to where I am." He
stared at me for an
instant, before he started talking
again.
"I am a sorcerer," he went on. "I belong to a
Lineage of Sorcerers, that has lasted for twenty-seven generations.
I am the
Nagual of my generation." He explained to me,
that the leader of a party of Sorcerers,
like himself, was called the "Nagual," and, that this
was a generic term, applied to a Sorcerer in each generation, who had
some specific
energetic configuration,
that set him apart from the
others. Not in terms of superiority or inferiority, or anything of the
like, but in terms of the capacity to be
responsible. "Only the Nagual,"
he said, "has the energetic capacity to
be responsible for the fate of his cohorts. Every one
of his cohorts knows this, and they accede (agree to become a party). The
Nagual can be a Man or a Woman. In the time of the Sorcerers, who were
the founders
of my Lineage, Women were, by rule, the Naguals. Their natural
pragmatism - the product of their femaleness, led my Lineage
into pits of practicalities, from which they could
barely emerge. Then, the Males took over, and led my Lineage into pits
of
imbecility, from which we are barely
emerging now. Since the time of the Nagual Lujan, who
lived about two hundred years ago," he went on, "there has been a joint
nexus (connected group) of effort, shared by a Man and a Woman (one united
Androgynous Being, LM).
The Nagual Man brings sobriety; the Nagual
Woman brings innovation."
I
wanted to
ask him at this point, if there was a Woman in his life, who was the
Nagual, but the depth of my
concentration didn't
allow me to formulate the question.
Instead, he himself formulated it for me. "Is there a Nagual
Woman in my life?" he asked. "No, there
isn't any. I am a solitary Sorcerer. I have my
cohorts, though.
At the moment, they are not around." A thought came with
uncontainable vigor into my mind. At
that instant, I remembered, what some people in Yuma
had told me about don Juan running with a party of Mexican men, who
seemed to be
very versed in sorcery maneuvers. "To be a sorcerer,"
don Juan continued, "doesn't mean to
practice witchcraft, or to work to affect people, or
to be possessed by demons. To be a sorcerer means to reach a level of
Awareness, that makes inconceivable
(unbelievable)
things
available. The
term 'sorcery' is
inadequate to express, what sorcerers do, and so is the term
'shamanism.' The actions of Sorcerers are exclusively in
the
realm of the abstract, the
impersonal.
Sorcerers
struggle to reach a goal, that has nothing to do with the quests of an
average man. Sorcerers' aspirations are to reach Infinity, and to be
conscious
of it."
Don Juan continued,
saying, that the task of sorcerers was
to face Infinity, and that they plunged into it daily, as a fisherman
plunges into the sea. It was such an overwhelming
task, that Sorcerers had to state their names, before
venturing into it. He reminded me that, in Nogales, he had stated his
name, before any
interaction had taken place between us. He had, in this
manner, asserted
(positive
declaration, evaluation) his individuality in front
of the
Infinite. I understood with unequaled clarity, what he
was explaining. I didn't have to ask him for clarifications.
My
keenness of thought should have surprised me, but it didn't at all. I
knew at that moment, that I
had always been crystal clear, merely playing dumb
for someone else's benefit.
70-71
"Without
you,
knowing anything about it," he continued, "I started you on a
traditional quest. You are the man, I was looking for.
My quest ended, when I found you,
and yours, when you found me now."
Don Juan explained to me
that, as the Nagual of his generation, he was
in search of an individual,
who had a specific energetic configuration, adequate
to ensure the continuity of his Lineage. He said, that at a given
moment, the Nagual of each generation for twenty-seven
successive generations, had entered into the most
nerve-racking experience of their lives: the search for succession.
Looking me straight in the eyes, he stated, that what made human beings
into Sorcerers, was their capacity
to perceive energy
directly, as it flows in the Universe, and that when Sorcerers perceive
a human being in this fashion, they see a Luminous Ball, or
a Luminous
Egg-shaped figure. His contention (verbal struggling) was, that human
beings are not only capable of Seeing
Energy directly, as it flows in
the Universe, but
that they actually do see it, although they are not
deliberately conscious of Seeing
it. He
made right
then the most crucial distinction for Sorcerers, the one between the
general state of being
aware and the particular state of being deliberately
conscious of something. He categorized all human
beings, as possessing Awareness, in a general sense, which permits them
to See Energy
directly, and he categorized Sorcerers as the only
human beings, who were deliberately conscious of Seeing Energy
directly. He then defined "Awareness", as Energy and "Energy" as
constant Flux, a Luminous Vibration,
that was never
stationary, but always moving of its own accord. He asserted
(positive declaration), that when a human
being was Seeng, he was
perceived as a conglomerate of Energy Fields, held together by the most
mysterious Force in the Universe: a binding, agglutinating, Vibratory
Force, that holds Energy Fields together in a
cohesive unit (of AQUAMARINE VIBRATION. LM). He further explained, that
the Nagual was a specific
Sorcerer in
each generation, whom the other Sorcerers were able to
See, not as a single Luminous Ball, but as a set of two Spheres of
Luminosity fused, one over the
other. "This
feature of
Doubleness," he continued,
"permits the Nagual to perform maneuvers, that are rather difficult for
an average Sorcerer. For example, the Nagual is a
connoisseur (знаток) of the Force, that holds us together, as a
cohesive
unit. The Nagual could place his full attention,
for a fraction of a second, on that Force, and numb
the other person. I did that to you at the bus depot, because I wanted
to stop your barrage (bombardment) of
me, me, me, me, me,
me, me. I wanted you to find
me and cut the crap. The Sorcerers of my Lineage
maintained, that the presence of a Double Being - a Nagual, is
sufficient to clarify things for us. What's odd about it is,
that the presence of the Nagual clarifies things in a
veiled fashion. It happened to me, when I met the Nagual Julian, my
teacher. His presence baffled me for years, because every time I was
around him, I
could think clearly, but when he moved away, I became
the same idiot, that I had always been. I had the
privilege of actually meeting and dealing with two Naguals. For six
years, at the request of the Nagual Elias, the Teacher of the Nagual
Julian, I went to live with him. He is the one, who
reared me, so to speak. It was a rare privilege.
I had a ringside seat
for watching, what a Nagual really is. The
Nagual Elias and the Nagual Julian
were two men of tremendously different temperaments.
The Nagual Elias was quieter, and lost in the darkness of his silence.
The Nagual Julian was bombastic, a compulsive
talker. It seemed, that he lived
to dazzle Women. There were more Women in his life,
than one would care to think about. Yet both of them were astoundingly
alike in
that:
there was nothing inside them. They were empty.
The Nagual Elias was a collection of astounding, haunting stories of
regions
unknown. The Nagual Julian was a collection
of stories, that would have anybody
in stitches,
sprawled on the ground laughing. Whenever I tried to pin down the man
in them, the real man, the way I could pinpoint the man in my father,
the man in
everybody, I knew, I found nothing. Instead of a real
person inside them, there was a bunch of stories about persons unknown.
72-73
Each of the two Men had his
own flair, but the end result was just the
same: emptiness, an
emptiness, that
reflected not the
World, but
Infinity." Don Juan went on explaining, that the moment one
crosses a peculiar
Threshold in Infinity,
either deliberately or, as in my case, unwittingly,
everything, that happens to one, from then on, is no longer exclusively
in one's own domain, but enters into the realm of
Infinity. "When we met in Arizona, both of us crossed a
peculiar Threshold,"
he
continued. "And this
Threshold was not decided by either one of us, but by
Infinity itself. Infinity is everything, that surrounds us." He said
this and made a broad gesture with his arms." The Sorcerers of my
Lineage call it Infinity, the Spirit, the Dark Sea of
Awareness, and say, that it is something, that exists out there and
rules our
lives." I was
truly
capable of comprehending everything he was saying, and yet,
I didn't know what the
hell, he
was talking about. I asked, if crossing the Threshold had been an
accidental event, born of unpredictable
circumstances,
ruled by chance. He answered, that his steps and mine were
guided by Infinity,
and that
circumstances, that seemed to be ruled by chance,
were, in essence, ruled by the Active Side of
Infinity. He called it Intent.
"What
put you and me together,"
he
went on, "was the Intent of Infinity. It is impossible to
determine, what this
Intent of Infinity is, yet it is there, as
palpable, as you and I are. Sorcerers say, that it is a tremor
in the air. The advantage of sorcerers
is to know, that the tremor in the air exists, and
to acquiesce
(comply passively, assent)
to it without any further ado (fuss). For sorcerers, there's no
pondering, wondering, or speculating. They know, that
all they have, is the possibility
of merging with the intent of
infinity, and they just do it." Nothing could have
been clearer to me, than those
statements. As far, as I was concerned, the truth, of what he was telling me, was
so self-evident, that
it didn't permit me to
ponder, how such absurd assertions
(evaluation, positive declaration) could have
sounded
so rational. I knew, that everything, that don Juan was saying, was
not only
a truism, but I could
corroborate (confirm) it by referring to my own
being. I knew about everything, that he was saying. I had
the sensation, that I had lived every twist of his
description. Our
interchange ended then.
Something seemed to deflate inside me. It
was at that instant, that the thought crossed my
mind, that I was losing my marbles. I had been blinded by weird
statements and had
lost every conceivable
sense of objectivity. Accordingly, I left don
Juan's house in a real hurry, feeling threatened to
the core, by an unseen enemy. Don Juan walked me to my car, fully
cognizant (conscious, aware), of what was going on inside
me: "Don't
worry," he said, putting his hand on my shoulder. You're not
going crazy. What you felt, was a gentle tap of
Infinity."
As time went by, I
was able to corroborate (confirm), what don Juan had
said about his two teachers. Don Juan Matus was
exactly, as he had described those two men to be. I would go as far, as
saying, that he was
an extraordinary blend of both of them: on the one
hand, extremely quiet and introspective; on the other, extremely open and funny.
The most accurate statement about, what a
Nagual is, which he voiced the day I found him, was
that a Nagual is empty,
and that that emptiness doesn't reflect the
world, but reflects
Infinity. Nothing could have been more true, than this,
in reference to don Juan Matus. His emptiness reflected Infinity. There was no
boisterousness on his part, or assertions (evaluation, positive declaration) about
the self. There was not a speck of a need to have
either grievances or remorse. His was the
emptiness of a warrior-traveler, seasoned to the
point, where he doesn't take anything for granted. A warrior-traveler,
who doesn't underestimate
or overestimate anything. A quiet, disciplined
fighter, whose elegance is so extreme, that noone, no matter how hard they try to look,
will ever find the seam, where all that
complexity has come together.
The
End of an Era
The Deep Concerns of Everyday Life
77
I went to Sonora to see don Juan. I had to discuss with him the most
serious event of that moment
in my life. I needed his advice. When I arrived at his house,
I barely
went through the formality of
greeting him. I sat down and blurted out my turmoil.
"Calm down, calm down," don Juan said. "Nothing can be that bad!"
"What's happening to me, don Juan?" I asked. It was a rhetorical
(showy)
question on my part.
"It is the workings of infinity," he replied. "Something happened to
your way of perceiving, the day
you met me. Your sensation of nervousness is due to the subliminal
realization, that your time is up. You are aware of it, but not
deliberately conscious of it. You feel the
absence of time, and that makes
you impatient.
I know this, for it happened to me and to all the
sorcerers of my lineage. At a given
time, a whole era in my life, or their lives, ended. Now it's your
turn. You have simply run out of
time."
78-79
He demanded then a total account of, whatever had happened to me.
He said, that it had to be a
full account, sparing no details. He wasn't after sketchy descriptions.
He wanted me to air the full
impact, of what was troubling me. "Let's have this talk, as they say in
your world, by the book," he
said. "Let us enter into the realm of
formal talks." Don Juan explained, that the shamans of ancient Mexico
had developed the
idea of formal versus
informal talks, and used both of them, as devices for teaching and
guiding their disciples. Formal talks
were, for them, summations, that they made from time to time, of
everything, that they had taught or
said to their disciples. Informal talks were daily elucidations, in
which things were explained without
reference to anything, but the phenomenon itself under scrutiny.
"Sorcerers keep nothing to themselves," he continued. "To empty
themselves in this fashion is a
sorcerers' maneuver. It leads them to abandon the fortress of the self."
I began my story, telling don Juan, that the circumstances of my life
have never permitted me to be
introspective (given to a private thought). As far back in my past, as
I can remember, my daily life
has been filled to the brim with
pragmatic problems, that have clamored (make vigorous
demands/complaints) for immediate resolution. I
remember my favorite uncle
telling me, that he was appalled at having found out, that I had never
received a gift for Christmas or
for my birthday. I had come to live in my father's family's home, not
too long before he made that
statement. He commiserated (sympathised) with me about the unfairness
of my
situation. He even apologized,
although it had nothing to do with him. "It is disgusting, my boy," he
said, shaking with feeling. "I want you
to know, that I am behind you one
hundred percent, whenever the moment comes to redress wrong-doings." He
insisted over and over, that I had to forgive the people, who had
wronged me. From what he said, I
formed the impression, that he wanted me to confront my father with his
finding and accuse him of
indolence (habitully lazy) and neglect, and then, of course, forgive
him. He failed to
see, that I didn't feel wronged at
all. What, he was asking me to do, required an introspective (given to a
private thought) nature,
that
would make me respond to the
barbs (?) of psychological mistreatment, once they were pointed out to
me. I
assured my uncle, that I was
going to think about it, but not at the moment, because at that very
instant, my girlfriend, from the
living room, where she was waiting for me, was signaling me desperately
to hurry up. I never had the opportunity to think about it, but my
uncle must have
talked to my father, because I
got a gift from him, a package neatly wrapped up, with ribbon and all,
and a little card, that said
"Sorry." I curiously and eagerly ripped the wrappings. There was a
cardboard box, and inside it there
was a beautiful toy, a tiny boat with a winding key, attached to the
steam pipe. It could be used by
children to play with, while they took baths in the bathtub. My father
had thoroughly forgotten, that I
was already fifteen years old and, for all practical purposes, a man.
Since I had reached my adult years, still incapable of serious
introspection, it was quite a novelty when
one day, years later, I found myself in the throes (agonising
pain/struggle) of a strange emotional
agitation, which seemed to
increase, as time went by.
I discarded it, attributing it to natural
processes of the mind or the body, that
enter into action periodically, for no reason at all, or are perhaps
triggered by biochemical processes
within the body itself. I thought nothing of it. However, the agitation
increased and its pressure forced
me to believe, that I had arrived at a moment in life, when, what I
needed,
was a drastic change. There
was something in me, that demanded a rearrangement of my life. This
urge,
to rearrange everything, was
familiar. I had felt it in the past, but it had been dormant for a long
time. I was committed to studying anthropology, and this commitment was
so
strong, that, not to study
anthropology, was never part of my proposed drastic change. It didn't
occur to me, to drop out of school
and do something else. The first thing, that came to mind, was that I
needed to change schools and go
somewhere else, far away from Los Angeles. Before I undertook a change
of that magnitude,
I wanted to test the
waters, so to speak.
80-81
I
enrolled in a
full summer load of classes at a school in another city. The most
important course, for me, was a class
in anthropology, taught by a foremost authority on the Indians of the
Andean region. It was my belief,
that if I focused my studies on an area, that was emotionally
accessible
to me, I would have a better
opportunity to do anthropological field-work in a serious manner, when
the time came. I conceived (form in the mind, formulate) of my
knowledge of South America, as giving me a better entree into any
given Indian society there. At the same time, that I registered for
school, I got a job as a
research assistant to a psychiatrist,
who
was the older brother of one of my friends. He wanted to do a content
analysis of excerpts from some
innocuous (harmless) tapes of question-and-answer sessions with young
men and
women about their problems,
arising from overwork in school, unfulfilled expectations, not being
understood at home, frustrating
love affairs, etc. The tapes were over five years old and were going to
be destroyed, but before they
were, random numbers were allotted (destributed) to each reel,
and, following a table
of random numbers, reels were
picked by the psychiatrist and his research assistants, and scanned for
excerpts, that could be analyzed. On the first day of class in the new
school, the anthropology professor
talked about his academic bona
fides and dazzled his students with the scope of his knowledge and his
publications. He was a tall,
slender man in his mid-forties, with shifty blue eyes. What struck me
the most about his physical
appearance, was, that his eyes were rendered (cause to become) enormous
behind glasses for
correcting far-sightedness,
and each of his eyes gave the impression, that it was rotating in an
opposite direction from the other,
when he moved his head, as he spoke. I knew, that that couldn't be
true;
it was, however, a very
disconcerting image. He was extremely well dressed for an
anthropologist, who, in my day, were
famous for their super-casual attire. Archaeologists, for example, were
described by their students, as
creatures, lost in carbon-14 dating, who never took a bath. However,
for reasons unbeknownst to me, what really set him apart,
wasn't his physical appearance, or
his erudition, but his speech pattern. He pronounced every word as
clearly, as anyone I had ever heard,
and emphasized certain words by elongating (extending) them. He had a
markedly
foreign intonation, but I knew,
that it was an affectation (pretence). He pronounced certain phrases
like an
Englishman and others like a
revivalist- preacher. He fascinated me from the start, despite his
enormous pomposity. His
self-importance was so blatant,
that it ceased to be an issue, after the first five minutes of his
class, which were always bombastic
displays of knowledge, cushioned in wild assertions about himself (positive
declaration, evaluation). His
command of the audience was
sensational. None, of the students I talked to, felt anything, but
supreme
admiration for this
extraordinary man. I earnestly thought, that everything was moving
along
nicely, and that, this move to
another school in another city, was going to be easy and uneventful,
but
thoroughly positive. I liked my
new surroundings. At my job, I became completely engrossed in listening
to the tapes, to
the point, where I would sneak
into the office and listen not to excerpts, but to entire tapes. What
fascinated me beyond measure, at
first, was the fact, that I heard myself speaking in every one of those
tapes. As the weeks went by and
I
heard more tapes, my fascination turned to sheer horror. Every line,
that was spoken, including the
psychiatrist's questions, was mine. Those people were speaking from the
depths of my own being. The
revulsion, that I experienced, was something unique for me. Never had I
dreamed, that I could be
repeated endlessly in every man or woman, I heard speaking on the
tapes.
My sense of individuality,
which had been ingrained in me from birth, tumbled down hopelessly
under the impact of this colossal
discovery. I began then an odious process, of trying to restore myself.
I
unconsciously made a ludicrous (foolish) attempt at
introspection (given
to a
private thought);
I tried to
wriggle out of my predicament by endlessly
talking to myself. I rehashed (repeated) in
my mind all the possible rationales, that would support my sense of
uniqueness, and then talked out
loud to myself about them. I even experienced something quite
revolutionary to me:
82-83
waking
myself up
many times by my loud talking in my sleep, discoursing about my value
and distinctiveness. Then, one horrifying day, I suffered another
deadly blow. In the wee
hours of the night, I was woken
up by an insistent knocking on my door. It wasn't a mild, timid knock,
but what my friends called a
"Gestapo knock." The door was about to come off its hinges. I jumped
out of bed and opened the
peephole. The person, who was knocking on the door, was my boss, the
psychiatrist. My being his
younger brother's friend seemed to have created an avenue of
communication with him. He had
befriended me without any hesitation, and there he was on my doorstep.
I turned on the light and
opened the door. "Please come in," I said. "What happened?" It was
three o'clock in the morning, and by his livid expression, and
his sunken eyes, I knew, that he
was deeply upset. He came in and sat down. His pride and joy, his black
mane of longish hair, was
falling all over his face. He didn't make any effort to comb his hair
back, the way he usually wore it. I
liked him very much, because he was an older version of my friend in
Los
Angeles, with black, heavy
eyebrows, penetrating brown eyes, a square jaw, and thick lips. His
upper lip seemed to have an extra
fold inside, which at times, when he smiled in a certain way, gave the
impression, that he had a double
upper lip. He always talked about the shape of his nose, which he
described, as an impertinent (impudent, presumptious), pushy
nose. I thought, he was extremely sure of himself, and opinionated
beyond belief. He claimed, that in
his profession those qualities were winning cards. "What happened!" he
repeated with a tone of mockery, his double upper
lip trembling uncontrollably." Anyone can tell, that everything has
happened to me tonight." He sat down in a chair. He seemed dizzy,
disoriented, looking for
words. He got up and went to the
couch, slumping down on it. "It's not only, that I have the
responsibility of my patients," he went
on, "but my research grant, my
wife and kids, and now another fucking pressure has been added to it,
and, what burns me
up, is that it was my own fault, my own stupidity for putting my trust
in a stupid cunt! I'll tell you, Carlos," he continued, "there's
nothing more appalling,
disgusting, fucking nauseating,
than the insensitivity of women. I'm not a woman hater, you know that !
But at this moment, it seems to
me, that every single cunt, is just a cunt ! Duplicitous
(double-dealer) and vile (disgusting)!" I didn't know, what to say.
Whatever, he was telling me, didn't need
affirmation or contradiction. I
wouldn't have dared to contradict him anyway. I didn't have the
ammunition for it. I was very tired. I
wanted to go back to sleep, but he kept on talking, as if his life
depended on it. "You know Theresa Manning, don't you?" he asked me in a
forceful,
accusatory manner. For an instant, I believed, that he was accusing me
of having something
to do with his young, beautiful
student-secretary. Without giving me time to respond, he continued
talking." Theresa Manning is an asshole. She's a schnook (stupid dupe)!
A stupid,
inconsiderate woman, who has no
incentive (motivating to action) in life other, than balling
(cooperating with) anyone with a bit of fame and
notoriety. I thought, she was
intelligent and sensitive. I thought, she had something, some
understanding, some empathy, something,
that one would like to share, or hold, as precious, all to oneself. I
don't know, but that's the picture, that
she painted for me, when in reality she's lewd (lustful) and
degenerate, and,
I
may add, incurably gross." As he kept on talking, a strange picture
began to emerge. Apparently,
the psychiatrist had just had a
bad experience, involving his secretary. "Since the day she
came to work for me," he went on, "I knew, that she
was attracted to me sexually,
but she never came around to saying it. It was all in the innuendos and
the looks. Well, fuck it! This
afternoon I got sick and tired of pussyfooting around and I came right
to the point. I went up to her
desk and said,
'I know what you want, and you know, what I want.'"
84-85
He went into a great, elaborate rendition (interpretation, пересказ), of how
forcefully he had told
her, that he expected her in his
apartment across the street from school at 11:30 P.M., and, that he did
not alter his routines for
anybody, that he read and worked and drank wine, until one o'clock, at
which time he retired to the
bedroom. He kept an apartment in town as well, as the house, he and his
wife and children lived in in
the suburbs. "I was so confident, that the affair was going to pan out (turn
out), turn into
something memorable," he said and
sighed. His voice acquired the mellow tone of someone, confiding
something intimate. "I even gave
her the key to my apartment," he said, and his voice cracked. "Very
dutifully, she came at eleven-thirty," he went on. "She let
herself in with her own key, and
sneaked into the bedroom like a shadow. That excited me terribly. I
knew, that she wasn't going to be
any trouble for me. She knew her role. She probably fell asleep on the
bed. Or maybe she watched TV. I became engrossed in my work, and I
didn't care, what the fuck she did.
I knew, that I had her in the
bag. But the moment I came into the bedroom," he continued, his voice
tense
and constricted, as if he
were morally offended, "Theresa jumped on me like an animal and went
for my dick. She didn't even
give me time to put down the bottle and the two glasses I was carrying.
I had enough presence of mind
to put my two Baccarat glasses on the floor without breaking them. The
bottle flew across the room,
when she grabbed my balls, as if they were made out of rocks. I wanted
to hit her. I actually yelled in
pain, but that didn't faze (bother) her. She giggled insanely, because
she
thought, I was being cute and sexy. She
said so, as if to placate (pacify) me." Shaking his head with contained
rage, he said, that the woman was so
friggin' eager and utterly selfish,
that she didn't take into account, that a man needs a moment's peace,
he
needs to feel at ease, at home,
in friendly surroundings. Instead of showing consideration and
understanding, as her role demanded,
Theresa Manning pulled his sexual organs out of his pants with the
expertise of someone, who had
done it hundreds of times. "The result of all this shit," he said,
"was, that my sensuality
retreated in horror. I was emotionally
emasculated (deprived of vigour). My body abhorred (reject vehemently),
that fucking woman, instantly. Yet my
lust prevented me from
throwing her out in the street." He said, that he decided then, that
instead of losing face by his
impotence, miserably, the way he was
bound to, he would have oral sex with her, and make her have an
orgasm, put her at his mercy, but his
body had rejected the woman so thoroughly, that he couldn't do it. "The
woman was not even beautiful anymore," he said, "but plain.
Whenever she's dressed up, the
clothes, that she wears, hide the bulges of her hips. She actually
looks
okay. But when she's naked, she's
a sack of bulging white flesh! The slenderness, that she presents, when
she's clothed, is fake. It doesn't
exist." Venom poured out of the psychiatrist in ways, that I would
never have
imagined. He was shaking with
rage. He wanted desperately to appear cool, and kept on smoking
cigarette after cigarette. He said, that the oral sex was even more
maddening and disgusting, and
that he was just about to vomit,
when the friggin' woman actually kicked him in the belly, rolled him
out of his own bed onto the floor,
and called him an impotent faggot (male homosexual). At this point in
his narration, the psychiatrist's eyes were burning
with hatred. His mouth was
quivering. He was pale. "I have to use your bathroom," he said. "I want
to take a bath. I am
reeking (stinking). Believe it or not, I have
pussy breath."
He was actually weeping, and I would have given anything in the world
not to be there. Perhaps, it was
my fatigue, or the mesmeric quality of his voice, or the inanity
(absurd remark/act) of the
situation, that created the illusion,
that I was listening not to the psychiatrist, but to the voice of a
male
supplicant (maker of humble petition) on one of his tapes,
complaining about minor problems, turned into gigantic affairs, by
talking obsessively about them. My
ordeal ended around nine o'clock in the morning. It was time for me to
go to class and time for the
psychiatrist to go and see his own shrink (psychiatrist/psychoanalist). I went to
class then, highly charged with a burning anxiety and a
tremendous sensation of discomfort
and uselessness.
86-87
There, I received the final blow, the blow, that caused
my attempt, at a drastic change,
to collapse. No volition of my own was involved in its collapse, which
just happened not only, as if it
had been scheduled, but as if its progression had been accelerated by
some unknown hand. The anthropology professor began his lecture about a
group of Indians
from the high plateaus of
Bolivia and Peru, the aymara'. He called them the
"ey-MEH-ra," elongating the name, as if his pronunciation of it was the
only accurate one in existence.
He said, that the making of chicha, which is pronounced "CHEE-cha," but
which he pronounced
"CHAHI-cha," an alcoholic beverage, made from fermented corn, was in
the
realm of a sect of priestesses,
who were considered semidivine by the aymara’. He said, in a
tone of
revelation, that those
women were in charge of making the cooked corn into a mush, ready for
fermentation by chewing and
spitting it, adding in this manner an enzyme found in human saliva. The
whole class shrieked with
contained horror at the mention of human saliva. The professor seemed
to be tickled pink. He laughed in little spurts.
It was the chuckle of a nasty
child. He went on to say, that the women were expert chewers, and he
called them the "chahi-cha
chewers." He looked at the front row of the classroom, where most of
the young women were sitting,
and he delivered his punch line. "I was p-r-r-rivileged," he said with
a strange quasi-foreign
intonation, "to be asked to sleep with one
of the chahi-cha chewers. The art of chewing the chahi-cha mush makes
them develop the muscles
around their throat and cheeks to the point, that they can do wonders
with them." He looked at his bewildered audience and paused for a long
time,
punctuating the pause with his
giggles. "I'm sure you get my drift," he said, and went into fits of
hysterical laughter. The class went wild with the professor's innuendo.
The lecture was
interrupted by at least five minutes
of laughter and a barrage
(bombardment) of questions,
that the professor declined to answer, emitting more silly
giggles. I felt so compressed by the pressure of the tapes, the
psychiatrist's
story, and the professor's "chahi-cha
chewers", that in one instantaneous sweep I quit the job, quit school,
and drove back to L.A.
"Whatever happened to me with the psychiatrist and the professor of
anthropology," I said to don
Juan, "has plunged me into an unknown emotional state. I can only call
it introspection. I've been
talking to myself without stop."
"Your malady is a very simple one," don Juan said, shaking with
laughter. Apparently my situation delighted him. It was a delight, I
could not
share, because I failed to see the
humor in it. "Your world is coming to an end," he said. "It is the end
of an era for
you. Do you think, that the
world, you have known all your life, is going to leave you peacefully,
without any fuss or muss (mess)? No!
It will wriggle underneath you, and hit you with its tail."
The
View I Could Not Stand
88-89
Los Angeles has always been home for me. My choice of Los Angeles had
not been
volitional. To me, staying in Los Angeles, has always been the
equivalent of having been born
there, perhaps even more, than that. My emotional attachment to it has
always been total. My love
for the city of Los Angeles has always been so intense, so much a part
of me, that I have never
had to voice it. I have never had to review it or renew it, ever. I had, in Los
Angeles, my family of friends. They were to me part of my immediate
milieu (surroundings),
meaning, that I had accepted them totally, the way I had accepted the
city.
One of my friends
made the statement once, half in fun, that all of us hated each other
cordially (sincerely, stimulating). Doubtless, they
could afford feelings like that themselves, for they had other
emotional arrangements at their disposal,
like parents and wives and husbands. I had only my friends in Los
Angeles.
For whatever reason, I was each one's confidant. Every one of them
poured out to me their
problems and vicissitudes (alterating changes). My friends were so
close to me, that
I had
never acknowledged their
problems or tribulations as anything, but normal. I could talk for
hours
to them about the very
same things, that had horrified me in the psychiatrist and his
tapes.
Furthermore, I had never realized, that every one of my friends was
astoundingly similar to the
psychiatrist and the professor of anthropology. I had never noticed how
tense my friends were.
All of them smoked compulsively, like the psychiatrist, but it had
never been obvious to me,
because
I smoked just as much myself and was just as tense. Their
affectation (pretence)
in speech was
another thing, that had never been apparent to me, although it was
there. They always affected a
twang (notably nasal tone of voice, a peculiarity of certain regional
accents) of the western United States, but they were very aware, of
what
they were doing. Nor had I
ever noticed their blatant innuendos about a sensuality, that they were
incapable of feeling, except
intellectually.
The real confrontation with myself began, when I was faced with the
dilemma of my friend Pete.
He came to see me, all
battered (beaten up). He had a swollen mouth and a red and
swollen left eye, that had
obviously been hit and was turning blue already. Before I had time to
ask him, what had happened
to him, he blurted out, that his wife, Patricia, had gone to a real
estate brokers' convention over the
weekend, in relation to her job, and that something terrible had
happened to her. The way Pete
looked, I thought, that perhaps Patricia had been injured, or even
killed, in an accident.
"Is she all right?"
I asked, genuinely concerned.
"Of course she's
all right," he barked. "She's a bitch and a whore, and
nothing happens to bitch, whores
except, that they get fucked, and they like it!" Pete was rabid (raging).
He was shaking, nearly convulsing. His bushy, curly
hair was sticking out every
which way. Usually, he combed it carefully and slicked (neat, shrewd) his natural
curls into place. Now, he
looked as wild, as a Tasmanian devil. "Everything was normal
until today," my friend continued.
90-91
"Then, this
morning, after I came out
of the shower, she snapped a towel at my naked butt, and that's what
made me aware of her shit! I
knew instantly, that she'd been fucking someone else." I was puzzled by his line
of reasoning. I questioned him further, I
asked him how snapping a towel
could reveal anything of this sort to anybody. "It wouldn't reveal
anything to assholes!" he said with pure venom in
his voice. "But I know Patricia,
and on Thursday, before she went to the brokers' convention, she could
not snap a towel ! In fact, she
has never been able to snap a towel in all the time we've been married.
Somebody must have taught
her to do it, while they were naked! So I grabbed her by the throat and
choked the truth out of her! Yes! She's fucking her
boss!"
Pete said, that he went to Patricia's office to have it out with her
boss, but the man was heavily
protected by bodyguards. They threw him out into the parking lot. He
wanted to smash the windows
of the office, throw rocks at them, but the bodyguards said, that if he
did that, he'd land in jail, or even
worse, he'd get a bullet in his head.
"Are they the ones,
who beat you up, Pete?" I asked him.
"No," he said,
dejected (dishearted). "I walked down the street and went into the
sales office of a used car lot. I
punched the first salesman, who came to talk to me. The man was
shocked,
but he didn't get angry. He
said, 'Calm down, sir, calm down! There's room for negotiation.' When I
punched him again in the
mouth, he got pissed off. He was a big guy, and he hit me in the mouth
and the eye and knocked me
out. When I came to my senses," Pete continued, "I was lying on the
couch in their office. I heard an
ambulance approaching. I knew they were coming for me, so I got up and
ran out. Then I came to see
you."
He began to weep
uncontrollably. He got sick to his stomach. He was a
mess. I called his wife, and in
less, than ten minutes she was in the apartment. She kneeled in front
of
Pete and swore, that she loved
only him, that everything else she did was pure imbecility, and that
theirs was a love, that was a matter
of life or death: the others were nothing. She didn't even remember
them. Both of them wept to their
hearts' content, and of course they forgave each other. Patricia was
wearing sunglasses to hide the
hematoma by her right eye, where Pete had hit her, Pete was
left-handed.
Both of them were oblivious
to my presence, and when they left, they didn't even know, I was there.
They just walked out, leaving
the door open, hugging each other. Life seemed to continue
for me, as it always had. My friends acted with
me, as they always did. We
were, as usual, involved in going to parties, or the movies, or just
simply "chewing the fat," or looking
for restaurants, where they offered "all you can eat" for the price of
one meal. However, despite this
pseudo-normality, a strange new factor seemed to have entered my life.
As the subject, who was
experiencing it, it appeared to me that, all of a sudden, I had become
extremely narrow-minded. I had
begun to judge my friends in the same way,
I had judged the psychiatrist
and the professor of
anthropology. Who was I, anyway, to set myself up in judgment of anyone
else?
I felt an immense sense of guilt.
To judge my friends, created a mood,
previously unknown to me. But
what, I considered to be even worse, was that not only was I judging
them, I was finding their problems
and tribulations astoundingly banal. I was the same man; they were my
same friends. I had heard their
complaints and renditions (interpretation, пересказ) of their situations
hundreds of times, and I
hadn't ever felt anything, except a
deep identification (recognition of oneself in another character), with
whatever I was listening to. My horror, at
discovering this new mood in
myself, was staggering.
The aphorism (saying,
adage), that when it rains, it pours, couldn't have been more true
for me at that moment in my
life. The total disintegration of my way of life came, when my friend
Rodrigo Cummings asked me
to take him to the Burbank airport; from there he was going to fly to
New York. It was a very
dramatic and desperate Maneuver on his part. He considered it his
damnation to be caught in Los
Angeles. For the rest of his friends, it was a big joke, the fact, that
he had tried to drive across
country to New York various times, and every time he had tried to do
it, his car had broken
down.
92-93
Once, he had gone as far, as Salt Lake City, before his car
collapsed; it needed a new motor. He had to junk it there.
Most of the time, his cars petered out (diminished gradually)
in the
suburbs of Los Angeles.
"What happens to
your cars, Rodrigo?" I asked him once, driven by
truthful curiosity.
"I don't know," he
replied with a veiled sense of guilt. And then, in a
voice, worthy of the
professor of anthropology in his role of revivalist preacher, he said,
"Perhaps it is, because when I
hit the road, I accelerate, because I feel free. I usually open all my
windows. I want the wind to
blow on my face. I feel, that I'm a kid in search of something new."
It was obvious to
me, that his cars, which were always jalopies (old, dilapidated), were
no
longer capable of
speeding, and he just simply burned their motors out. From Salt Lake City,
Rodrigo had returned to Los Angeles, hitchhiking.
Of course, he could have
hitchhiked to New York, but it had never occurred to him. Rodrigo
seemed to be afflicted (cause great distress) by the
same condition, that afflicted me: an unconscious passion for Los
Angeles, which he wanted to
refuse at any cost.
Another time, his car was
in excellent mechanical condition. It could
have made the whole trip
with ease, but Rodrigo was apparently not in any condition to leave Los
Angeles. He drove as far,
as San Bernardino, where he went to see a movie - "The Ten
Commandments".
This movie, for
reasons known only to Rodrigo, created in him an unbeatable nostalgia
for L.A. He came back,
and wept, telling me how the fucking city of Los Angeles had built a
fence around him, that didn't
let him go through. His wife was delighted, that he hadn't gone, and
his
girlfriend, Melissa, was
even more delighted, although also chagrined, because she had to give
back the dictionaries, that
he had given her.
His last desperate attempt to reach New York by plane was rendered (cause to
become) even
more dramatic, because
he borrowed money from his friends to pay for the ticket. He said, that
in this fashion, since he
didn't intend to repay them, he was making sure, that he wouldn't come
back.
I put his suitcases in the trunk of my car and headed with him for the
Burbank airport. He
remarked, that the plane didn't leave until seven o'clock. It was early
afternoon, and we had plenty
of time to go and see a movie. Besides, he wanted to take one last look
at
Hollywood Boulevard, the center of our lives and activities. We went to see an epic in
Technicolor and Cinerama. It was a long,
excruciating movie, that
seemed to rivet Rodrigo's attention. When we got out of the movie, it
was already getting dark. I
rushed to Burbank in the midst of heavy traffic. He demanded, that we
go
on surface streets, rather
than the freeway, which was jammed at that hour. The plane was just
leaving, when we reached
the airport. That was the final straw. Meek and defeated, Rodrigo went
to a cashier and presented
his ticket to get his money back. The cashier wrote down his name,
gave him a receipt and
said, that his money would be sent within six to twelve weeks from
Tennessee, where the
accounting offices of the airline were located. We drove back to the
apartment building, where we both lived. Since he
hadn't said good-bye to
anybody this time, for fear of losing face, nobody had ever noticed,
that he had tried to leave one
more time. The only drawback was, that he had sold his car. He asked me
to drive him to his
parents' house, because his dad was going to give him the money, he had
spent on the ticket. His
father had always been, as far back, as I could remember, the man, who
had bailed Rodrigo out of
every problematic situation, that he had ever gotten into. The father's
slogan was "Have no fear,
Rodrigo Senior is here!" After he heard Rodrigo's request for a loan to
pay his other loan, the
father looked at my friend with the saddest expression, that I had ever
seen. He was having
terrible financial difficulties himself. Putting his arm around his
son's shoulders, he said, "I can't help you
this time, my boy. Now you
should have fear, because Rodrigo Senior is no longer here."
I wanted
desperately to identify with my friend, to feel his drama, the
way I always had, but I
couldn't. I only focused on the father's statement.
94
It sounded to me so
final, that it galvanized me. I sought don Juan's
company avidly. I left everything pending in Los
Angeles and made a trip to
Sonora. I told him about the strange mood, that I had entered into with
my friends. Sobbing with
remorse, I said to him, that I had begun to judge them.
"Don't get so
worked up over nothing," don Juan said calmly. "You
already know, that a whole era
in your life is coming to an end, but an era doesn't really come to an
end, until the king dies."
"What do you mean
by that, don Juan?"
"You are the king,
and you are just like your friends. That is the
truth, that makes you shake in
your boots. One thing, you can do, is to accept it at face value,
which,
of course, you can't do. The
other thing, you can do, is to say, 'I am not like that, I am not like
that,' and repeat to yourself,, that
you are not like that. I promise you, however, that a moment will come,
when you will realize, that
you are like that."
The
Unavoidable Appointment
95
THERE WAS SOMETHING, that kept nagging at me in the back of my mind: I
had to answer a
most important letter I'd received, and I had to do it at any cost.
What had prevented me, from
doing it, was a mixture of indolence (habitully lazy) and a deep
desire to please. My
anthropologist friend, who
was responsible for my meeting don Juan Matus, had written me a letter
a
couple of months
earlier. He wanted to know, how I was doing in my studies of
anthropology, and urged me to pay
him a visit. I composed three long letters. On rereading each of them,
I found them
so trite (lacking originality) and
obsequious (obidient, dutiful), that I tore them up.
I couldn't express in them the depth of
my gratitude, the depth of
my feelings for him. I rationalized my delay in answering with a
genuine
resolve to go to see him
and tell him personally, what I was doing with don Juan Matus, but I
kept postponing my
imminent trip, because I wasn't sure, what it was, that I was doing
with
don Juan. I wanted someday
to show my friend real results.
96-97
As
it was, I had only vague sketches of
possibilities, which, in his
demanding eyes, wouldn't have been anthropological fieldwork anyway.
One day I found out, that he had died. His death brought to me one of
those dangerous silent
depressions. I had no way to express, what I felt, because, what I was
feeling, was not fully formulated
in my mind. It was a mixture of dejection (dishearted), despondency
(dispair), and abhorrence (reject
vehemently)
at myself, for not having
answered his letter, for not having gone to see him. I paid a visit to
don Juan Matus soon after that. On arriving at his
house, I sat down on one of the
crates under his ramada and tried to search for words, that would not
sound banal to express my sense
of dejection over the death of my friend. For reasons incomprehensible
(unintelligible, boundless, without limits)
to me, don Juan knew the
origin of my turmoil and the overt reason for my visit to him.
"Yes," don Juan said dryly. "I know, that your friend, the
anthropologist, who guided you to meet me,
has died. For whatever reasons, I knew exactly the moment,
he died. I
saw it." His statements jolted me to my foundations. "I saw it coming a
long time ago. I even told you about it, but you
disregarded, what I said. I'm sure,
that you don't even remember it." I remembered every word, he had said,
but it had no meaning for me at
the time, he had said it. Don
Juan had stated, that an event, deeply related to our meeting, but not
part of it, was the fact, that he had
seen my anthropologist friend, as a dying man. "I saw death, as an
outside force, already opening your friend," he had
said to me. "Every one of us has
an energetic fissure, an energetic crack below the navel. That crack,
which sorcerers call the gap, is
closed when a man is in his prime." He had said that, normally, all,
that is discernible to the sorcerer's
eye, is a tenuous (slender form) discoloration in the
otherwise whitish Glow of the Luminous Sphere. But when a man is close
to dying, that gap becomes
quite apparent. He had assured me, that my friend's gap was wide open.
"What is the significance of all this, don Juan?" I had asked
perfunctorily (superficial, little interest or care).
"The significance is a deadly one," he had replied. "The spirit was
signaling to me, that something was
coming to an end. I thought, it was my life, that was coming to an end,
and I accepted it as gracefully, as
I could. It dawned on me much, much later, that
it wasn't my life, that was coming to an end, but my entire lineage."
I didn't know, what he was talking about. But how could I have taken
all
that seriously? As far, as I was
concerned, it was, at the time he said it, like everything else in my
life: just talk. "Your friend himself told you, though, not in so many
words, that he was
dying," don Juan said. "You
acknowledged, what he was saying, the way you acknowledged, what I
said,
but in both cases, you
chose to bypass it." I had no comments to make. I was overwhelmed, by
what he was saying. I
wanted to sink into the crate,
I was sitting on, to disappear, swallowed up by the Earth. "It's not
your fault, that you bypass things like this," he went on.
"It's youth. You have so many things
to do, so many people around you. You are not alert. You never learned
to be alert, anyway." In the vein (tendency, streak) of defending the
last bastion of myself, my idea, that I was
watchful, I pointed out to don
Juan, that I had been in life-and-death situations, that required my
quick wit and vigilance (watchfulness). It wasn't, that
I lacked the capacity to be alert, but that I lacked the orientation
for setting an appropriate list of
priorities; therefore, everything was either important or unimportant
to me.
"To be alert doesn't mean to be watchful," don Juan said. "For
sorcerers, to be alert means: to be aware
of the fabric of the everyday world, that seems extraneous (foreign,
coming from outside) to the
interaction of the moment. On the trip,
that you took with your friend before you met me, you noticed only the
details, that were obvious. You
didn't notice, how his death was absorbing him, and yet, something in
you
knew it." I began to protest, to tell him, that what, he was saying,
wasn't true. "Don't hide yourself behind banalities," he said in an
accusing tone.
98-99
"Stand up. If only for the moment,
you are with me, assume responsibility for what you know. Don't get
lost in the extraneous (foreign, coming
from outside) fabric
of
the world around you, extraneous to what's going on. If you hadn't been
so concerned with yourself
and your problems, you would have known, that that was his last trip.
You would have noticed, that he
was closing his accounts, seeing the people, who helped him, saying
good-bye to them. Your anthropologist friend talked to me
once," don
Juan went on. "I
remembered him so clearly, that I
wasn't surprised at all, when he brought you to me at that bus depot. I
couldn't help him, when
he talked
to me. He wasn't the man, I was looking for, but I wished him well from
my sorcerer's emptiness, from
my sorcerer's silence. For this reason, I know, that on his last trip,
he was saying thank you to the
people, who counted in his life." I admitted to don Juan, that he was
so very right, that there had been
so many details, that I had been
aware of, but that they hadn't meant a thing to me at the time, such
as, for instance, my friend's ecstasy
in watching the scenery around us. He would stop the car just to watch,
for hours on end, the
mountains in the distance, or the riverbed, or the desert. I discarded
this as the idiotic sentimentality of
a middle-aged man. I even made vague hints to him, that perhaps he was
drinking too much. He told
me, that in dire (extreme, calamitous) cases a drink would allow a man
a moment of peace and
detachment, a moment long
enough to savor something unrepeatable. "That was, for a fact, the trip
for his eyes only," don Juan said.
"Sorcerers take such a trip and, in it,
nothing counts, except what their eyes can absorb. Your friend was
unburdening himself of everything
superfluous (false)."
I
confessed to don Juan, that I had disregarded, what he had said to me
about my dying friend, because,
at an unknown level, I had known, that it was true.
"Sorcerers
never say things idly," he said. "I am most careful about,
what I say to you or to anybody
else. The difference between you and me is, that I don't have any time
at all, and I act accordingly. You,
on the other hand, believe, that you have all the time in the world,
and
you act accordingly. The end
result of our individual behaviors is, that I measure everything I do
and say, and you don't." I conceded, that he was right, but I assured
him, that whatever, he was
saying, did not alleviate my
turmoil, or my sadness. I blurted out then, uncontrollably, every
nuance of my confused feelings. I told
him, that I wasn't in search of advice. I wanted him to prescribe a
sorcerer's way to end my anguish. I
believed, I was really interested in getting from him some natural
relaxant, an organic Valium, and I
said so to him. Don Juan shook his head in bewilderment. "You are too
much," he said. "Next, you're going to ask for a sorcerer's
medication, to remove
everything annoying from you, with no effort at all on your part, just
the effort of swallowing, whatever
is given. The more awful the taste, the better the results. That's your
Western man's motto. You want
results: one potion and you're cured. "Sorcerers face things in a
different way," don Juan continued. "Since
they don't have any time to
spare,
they give themselves fully, to what's in front of them. Your
turmoil is the result of your lack of
sobriety. You didn't have the sobriety to thank your friend properly.
That happens to every one of us. We never express, what we feel, and
when we want to, it's too late,
because we have run out of time. It's not only your friend,
who ran out of time. You, too, ran out of it.
You should have thanked him
profusely in Arizona. He took the trouble to take you around, and
whether you understand it or not, in
the bus depot he gave you his best shot. But the moment when you should
have thanked him, you
were angry with him: you were judging him, he was nasty to you,
whatever. And then you postponed
seeing him. In reality, what you did, was to postpone thanking him. Now
you're stuck with a ghost on
your tail.
You'll never be able to pay, what you owe him." I understood the
immensity, of what he was saying. Never had I faced my
actions in such a light. In
fact, I had never thanked anyone, ever. Don Juan pushed his barb even
deeper.
100-101
"Your friend knew, that
he was dying," he said. "He wrote you one final letter, to find out
about your doings. Perhaps unbeknownst
to him, or to you, you were his last thought." The weight of
don Juan's words was too much for my shoulders. I
collapsed. I felt, that I had to lie
down. My head was spinning. Maybe it was the setting. I had made the
terrible mistake of arriving at
don Juan's house in the late afternoon.
The setting Sun seemed
astoundingly golden, and the reflections
on the bare mountains to the east of don Juan's house were gold and
purple. The sky didn't have a
speck of a cloud. Nothing seemed to move. It was, as if the whole world
were hiding, but its presence
was overpowering. The quietness of the Sonoran desert was like a
dagger. It went to the marrow of my
bones. I wanted to leave, to get in my car and drive away. I wanted to
be in the city, get lost in its
noise.
"You are
having a
taste of Infinity," don Juan said with
grave finality. "I know it, because I have been in
your shoes. You want to run away, to plunge into something human, warm,
contradictory,
stupid, who cares? You want to forget the death of
your friend. But Infinity won't let you." His voice mellowed. "It has gripped
you in its merciless
clutches."
"What can I do now,
don Juan?" I asked.
"The only thing you
can do," don Juan said, "is to keep the
memory of your friend fresh, to keep it alive for the
rest of your life and perhaps even beyond. Sorcerers express, in this
fashion, the
thanks, that
they can no longer voice. You may
think it is a silly way, but that's the best Sorcerers can do." It was my own
sadness, doubtless, which made me believe,
that the ebullient (overflowing with excitement) don Juan was as sad,
as I was. I
discarded the thought immediately.
"That couldn't be possible. Sadness, for
Sorcerers, is not personal," don Juan said,
again erupting into my thoughts. "It is not quite sadness. It's a wave
of energy, that comes from
the depths of the cosmos, and hits sorcerers, when they are receptive,
when they are like radios,
capable of catching radio waves. The Sorcerers of olden times, who gave
us the entire format of
Sorcery, believed, that there is sadness in the Universe, as a Force, a
condition, like light, like
Intent, and that this perennial Force acts especially on Sorcerers,
because they no longer have any
defensive shields. They cannot hide behind their friends or their
studies. They cannot hide behind
love, or hatred, or happiness, or misery. They can't hide behind
anything. The condition of
Sorcerers," don Juan went on, "is that sadness, for them, is abstract.
It doesn't come from
coveting or lacking something, or from self-importance. It doesn't come
from me. It comes from
Infinity. The sadness you feel for not thanking your friend, is already
leaning in that direction.
My teacher, the Nagual
Julian," he went on, "was a fabulous actor. He
actually worked
professionally in the theater. He had a favorite story, that he used to
tell in his theater
sessions. He used to push me into terrible outbursts of anguish with
it. He said, that it was a
story for warriors, who had everything and yet felt the sting of the
Universal Sadness. I always
thought, he was telling it for me, personally." Don Juan then
paraphrased his teacher, telling me, that the story
referred to a man, suffering from
profound melancholy. He went to see the best doctors of his day and
every one of those doctors failed
to help him. He finally came to the office of a leading doctor, a
healer of the soul. The doctor
suggested to his patient, that perhaps, he could find solace, and the
end
of his melancholy, in love. The
man responded, that love was no problem for him, that he was loved
perhaps like no one else in the
world. The doctor's next suggestion was, that maybe the patient should
undertake a voyage and see
other parts of the world. The man responded that, without exaggeration,
he had been in every corner of
the world. The doctor recommended hobbies like the arts, sports, etc.
The man responded to every one
of his recommendations in the same terms: He had done that and had had
no relief. The doctor
suspected, that the man was possibly an incurable liar. He couldn't
have
done all those things, as he
claimed. But being a good healer, the doctor had a final insight.
102
"Ah!"
he exclaimed. "I have the
perfect solution for you, sir. You must attend a performance of the
greatest comedian of our day. He
will delight you to the point, where you will forget every twist of
your
melancholy. You must attend a
performance of the Great Garrick!" Don Juan said, that the man looked
at the doctor with the saddest look,
you can imagine, and said,
"Doctor, if that's your recommendation, I am a lost man. I have no
cure. I am the Great Garrick."
The
Breaking Point
103
Don Juan defined Inner Silence, as a peculiar state of being, in which
thoughts were canceled out
and one could function from a level other, than that of Daily
Awareness.
He stressed, that Inner Silence
meant the suspension of the internal dialogue, the perennial companion
of thoughts, and was therefore
a state of profound quietude. "The old sorcerers," don
Juan said, "called it Inner Silence, because it
is a state, in which perception
doesn't depend on the senses. What is at work, during Inner Silence, is
another faculty, that man has, the
faculty, that makes him a magical being, the very faculty, that has
been
curtailed, not by man himself,
but by some extraneous (foreign, coming
from outside) influence."
"What is this
extraneous influence, that curtails the magical faculty of
man?" I asked.
"That is the topic for a future explanation," don Juan replied, "not
the subject of our present
discussion, even though it is indeed the most serious aspect of the
sorcery of the shamans of ancient
Mexico. Inner
silence," he continued, "is the stand, from which everything
stems in sorcery.
104-105
In other words,
everything, we do, leads to that stand, which, like everything else in
the world of sorcerers, doesn't
reveal itself unless something gigantic shakes us." Don Juan said, that the
sorcerers of ancient Mexico devised endless ways
to shake themselves or other
sorcery practitioners at their foundations, in order to reach that
coveted state of Inner Silence. They
considered the most far-fetched acts, which may seem totally unrelated
to the pursuit of Inner Silence,
such as, for instance, jumping into waterfalls or spending nights
hanging upside down from the top
branch of a tree, to be the key points, that brought it into being. Following the rationales
of the sorcerers of ancient Mexico, don Juan
stated categorically, that Inner Silence was accrued (accumulate),
accumulated. In my case, he struggled to guide me
to construct a core of Inner Silence in myself, and then add to it,
second by second, on every
occasion I practiced it. He explained,
that the sorcerers of ancient Mexico discovered, that each individual
had a different threshold of Inner Silence in terms of time, meaning,
that Inner Silence must be kept by
each one of us for the length of
time of our specific threshold, before it can work.
"What did those
sorcerers consider the sign, that Inner Silence is
working, don Juan?" I asked.
"Inner
Silence works from the moment you begin to accrue (accumulate)
it," he
replied. "What the old sorcerers
were after was the final, dramatic, end result of reaching that
individual threshold of Silence. Some
very talented practitioners need only a few minutes of Silence to reach
that coveted goal. Others, less
talented, need long periods of Silence, perhaps more, than one hour of
complete quietude, before they
reach the desired result. The desired result is, what the old sorcerers
called Stopping the World, the
moment, when everything around us, ceases to be, what it's always been.
"This is the
moment, when sorcerers return to the true nature of man,"
don Juan went on. "The old
sorcerers also called it total freedom. It is the moment, when man -
the
slave becomes man - the
free being, capable of feats of perception, that defy (challenge) our
linear
imagination."
Don Juan assured me, that Inner
Silence is the avenue, that leads to a
true suspension of judgment, to a
moment, when sensory data, emanating from the universe at large, ceases
to
be interpreted by the
senses;
a
moment, when cognition ceases to be the force, which, through
usage and repetition, decides
the nature of the world.
"Sorcerers need a breaking point for the workings of Inner Silence to
set in," don Juan said. "The
breaking point is like the mortar (mixture of cement), that a mason
puts between bricks.
It's only when the mortar hardens,
that the loose bricks become a structure."
From the beginning of our association, don Juan had drilled into me the
value, the necessity, of Inner Silence. I did my
best to follow his suggestions by accumulating Inner Silence second by
second. I had
no means to measure the effect of this accumulation, nor did I have any
means to judge, whether or not
I had reached any threshold. I simply aimed doggedly at accruing it,
not just to please don Juan, but
because the act, of accumulating it, had become a challenge in itself.
One day, don Juan
and I were taking a leisurely stroll in the main
plaza of Hermosillo. It was the early
afternoon of a cloudy day. The heat was dry, and actually very
pleasant. There were lots of people
walking around. There were stores around the plaza. I had been to
Hermosillo many times, and yet I
had never noticed the stores. I knew, that they were there, but their
presence was not something, I had
been consciously aware of. I couldn't have made a map of that plaza, if
my life depended on it. That
day, as I walked with don Juan, I was trying to locate and identify the
stores. I searched for something
to use, as a mnemonic (assisting) device, that would stir my
recollection for later
use.
"As I have told you
before, many times," don Juan said, jolting me out
of my concentration, "every
sorcerer I know, male or female, sooner or later arrives at a breaking
point in their lives."
"Do you mean, that
they have a mental breakdown or something like that?"
I asked.
106-107
"No,
no," he said, laughing. "Mental breakdowns are for persons, who
indulge in themselves. Sorcerers
are not persons. What I mean is, that at a given moment the continuity
of their lives has to break, in
order for Inner Silence to set in and become an active part of their
structures. It's
very, very important, that you yourself
deliberately arrive at that breaking
point, or that you create it artificially, and intelligently."
"What do you mean
by that, don Juan?" I asked, caught in his intriguing
reasoning.
"Your
Breaking Point" he said, "is to discontinue your life, as you know
it. You have done everything, I
told you, dutifully and accurately. If you are talented,
you never show
it. That seems to be your style. You're not slow, but you act, as if
you were. You're very sure of
yourself, but you act, as if you were
insecure.
You're not timid, and yet you act, as if you were afraid of
people. Everything, you do, points at
one single spot: your need to break all that, ruthlessly."
"But in what way,
don Juan? What do you have in mind?" I asked,
genuinely frantic.
"I think everything
boils down to one act," he said. "You must leave
your friends. You must say goodbye
to them, for good. It's not possible for you to continue on the
warriors' path, carrying your personal
history with you, and unless you discontinue your way of life, I won't
be able to go ahead with my
instruction."
"Now, now, now, don
Juan," I said, "I have to put my foot down. You're
asking too much of me. To be
frank with you, I don't think, I can do it. My friends are my family,
my
points of reference."
"Precisely,
precisely," he remarked. "They are your points of
reference. Therefore, they have to go. Sorcerers have only one
point of reference: Infinity."
"But how do you
want me to proceed, don Juan?" I asked in a plaintive (mournful,
melancholy)
voice. His request was driving
me up the wall.
"You must simply
leave," he said matter-of-factly. "Leave any way you
can."
"But where would I
go?" I asked.
"My recommendation
is, that you rent a room in one of those chintzy (trashy, cheap)
hotels you know," he said. "The
uglier the place, the better. If the room has drab (dull, faded) green
carpet, and
drab green drapes, and drab green
walls, so much the better, a place, comparable to that hotel, I showed
you
once in Los Angeles."
I laughed nervously
at my recollection of a time, when I was driving
with don Juan through the
industrial side of Los Angeles, where there were only warehouses and
dilapidated hotels for transients. One hotel, in particular,
attracted don Juan's attention, because of its
bombastic name: Edward the
Seventh. We stopped across the street from it for a moment, to look at
it. "That
hotel over there," don Juan said, pointing at it, "is to me the
true representation of life on Earth
for the average person. If you are lucky, or ruthless, you will get a
room with a view of the street,
where you will see this endless parade of human misery. If you're not
that lucky, or that ruthless, you
will get a room on the inside, with windows to the wall of the next
building. Think of spending a
lifetime torn between those two views, envying the view of the street,
if you're inside, and envying the
view of the wall, if you're on the outside, tired of looking out." Don Juan's metaphor
bothered me no end, for I had taken it all in. Now, faced with the
possibility of having to rent a room in a hotel
comparable to the Edward the
Seventh, I didn't know, what to say or which way to go.
"What do you want
me to do there, don Juan?" I asked.
"A sorcerer uses a
place, like that, to die," he said, looking at me with
an unblinking stare. "You have
never been alone in your life. This is the time to do it. You will stay
in that room, until you die."
His request scared me, but at the same time, it made me laugh.
"Not that I'm going
to do it, don Juan," I said, "but what would be the
criteria to know, that I'm
dead? - unless you want me to actually die physically."
108-109
"No,"
he said, "I don't want your body to die physically. I want your
person to die. The two are very
different affairs. In essence, your person has very little to do with
your body. Your person is your
mind, and believe you me, your mind is not yours."
"What is this
nonsense, don Juan, that my mind is not mine?" I heard
myself asking with a nervous
twang (nasal sound) in my voice.
"I'll tell you
about that subject someday," he said, "but not while
you're cushioned by your friends. The criteria, that
indicates, that a sorcerer is dead," he went on, "is
when it makes no difference to him,
whether he has company or whether he is alone. The day you don't covet
(crave)
the company of your friends,
whom
you use as shields, that's the day, that your person has died. What
do you say? Are you game?"
"I can't do it, don
Juan," I said. "It's useless that I try to lie to
you. I can't leave my friends."
"It's perfectly all
right," he said, unperturbed. My statement didn't
seem to affect him in the least. "I
won't be able to talk to you anymore, but let's say, that during our
time together, you have learned a
great deal. You have learned things, that will make you very strong,
regardless of whether you come
back or you stray away."
He patted me on the
back and said good-bye to me. He turned around and
simply disappeared among
the people in the plaza, as if he had merged with them.
For an instant,
I had the strange sensation, that
the people in the plaza were like a curtain, that he had opened and
then
disappeared behind. The end
had come, as did everything else in don Juan's world: swiftly and
unpredictably. Suddenly, it was on
me, I was in the throes (agonising
pain/struggle) of it, and I didn't even
know, how I had gotten
into it.
I should have been crushed. Yet I wasn't. I don't know why, I was
elated. I marveled at the facility, with
which everything had ended. Don Juan was indeed an elegant being. There
were no recriminations (mutual accusation) or
anger or anything of that sort, at all. I got in my car and drove, as
happy, as a lark. I was ebullient (overflowing with excitement). How extraordinary, that
everything had ended so swiftly, I thought, so
painlessly.
My trip home was uneventful. In Los Angeles, being in my familiar
surroundings, I noticed, that I had
derived (obtained) an enormous amount of energy from my last exchange
with don
Juan. I was actually very
happy, very relaxed, and I resumed, what I considered to be my
normal life with renewed zest. All my
tribulations with my friends, and my realizations about them,
everything, that I had said to don Juan in
reference to this, were thoroughly forgotten. It was as if something
had erased all that from my mind. I
marveled a couple of times at the facility, I had in forgetting
something, that had been so meaningful,
and in forgetting it so thoroughly. Everything was as
expected. There was one single inconsistency in the
otherwise neat paradigm of my
new old life: I distinctly remembered don Juan saying to me, that my
departing from the sorcerers'
world was purely academic, and that I would be back. I
had remembered and written down every word
of our exchange. According to my normal linear reasoning and memory,
don Juan had never made
those statements. How could I remember things, that had never taken
place? I
pondered
uselessly. My
pseudo-recollection was strange enough to make a case for it, but then
I
decided, that there was no point
to it. As far, as I was concerned, I was out of don Juan's milieu
(surroundings).
Following don Juan's suggestions in reference to my behavior with
those,
who had favored me in any
way, I had come to an earthshaking decision for me: that of honoring
and saying thank you to my
friends, before it was too late. One case in point was my friend
Rodrigo
Cummings. One incident,
involving my friend Rodrigo, however, toppled my new paradigm and sent
it tumbling down to its
total destruction.
My attitude toward him changed radically, when I vanquished (defeat,
subjugate, subdue) my
competitiveness with him.
I found
out, that it was the easiest thing in the world for me to project 100
percent into whatever Rodrigo did.
In fact, I was exactly like him, but I didn't know it, until
I stopped
competing with him. Then the truth
emerged for me with maddening vividness.
110-111
One of Rodrigo's foremost
wishes was to finish college.
Every semester, he registered for school and took as many courses, as
was permitted. Then, as the
semester progressed, he dropped them one by one. Sometimes he would
withdraw from school
altogether. At other times he would keep one three-unit course all the
way through to the bitter end. During his last semester,
he kept a course in sociology, because he
liked it. The final exam was
approaching. He told me, that
he had three weeks to study, to read the
textbook for the course. He
thought, that that was an exorbitant amount of time to read merely six
hundred pages.
He considered
himself something of a speed reader, with a high level of retention; in
his opinion, he had a nearly 100
percent photographic memory. He thought,
he had a great deal of time before the exam, so he asked me,
if I would help him
recondition his car for his paper route. He wanted to take the right
door off, in order to throw the paper
through that opening with his right hand, instead of over the roof with
his left. I pointed out to him, that
he was left-handed, to which he retorted, that among his many
abilities,
which none of his friends
noticed, was that of being ambidextrous (use both hands equally well).
He was right about that; I had
never noticed it myself. After I
helped him to take the door off, he decided to rip out the roof lining,
which was badly torn. He said,
that his car was in optimum mechanical condition, and he would take it
to Tijuana, Mexico, which, as
a good Angeleno of the day, he called "TJ," to have it relined for a
few bucks. "We
could use a trip,"
he said with glee. He even selected the friends
he would like to take. "In TJ, I'm
sure, that you'll go to look for used books, because you're an asshole.
The rest of us will go to a
bordello. I know quite a few."
It took us a week
to rip out all the lining and sand the metal surface
to prepare it for its new lining. Rodrigo had two weeks left
to study then, and he still considered, that
to be too much time. He engaged
me then, in helping him paint his apartment and redo the floors. It
took
us over a week to paint it and
sand the hardwood floors. He didn't want to paint over the wallpaper in
one room. We had to rent a
machine, that removed wallpaper by applying steam to it. Naturally,
neither Rodrigo, nor
I knew how to
use the machine properly, and we botched (ruin through clumsiness) the
job horrendously. We ended
up having to use Topping, a
very fine mixture of plaster of paris and other substances, that gives
a
wall a smooth surface.
After all these endeavors,
Rodrigo ended up having only two days left
to cram (stuff, prepare hastily) six hundred pages into
his head. He went frantically into an all-day and all-night reading
marathon, with the help of
amphetamines. Rodrigo did go to school the day of the exam, and did sit
down at his desk, and did get
the multiple-choice exam sheet. What he didn't do was stay
awake to take the exam. His body slumped
forward, and his head hit the
desk with a terrifying thud. The exam had to be suspended for a while.
The sociology teacher became
hysterical, and so did the students sitting around Rodrigo. His body
was stiff and icy cold. The whole
class suspected the worst; they thought, he had died of a heart attack.
Paramedics were summoned to
remove him. After a cursory (hasty,
superficial) examination, they
pronounced Rodrigo
profoundly asleep and took him
to a hospital to sleep the effect of the amphetamines off. My projection into Rodrigo
Cummings was so total, that it frightened me.
I was exactly like him. The
similarity became untenable (incapable of being maintained) to me.
In an act of, what I considered to be
total, suicidal nihilism, I rented
a room in a dilapidated hotel in Hollywood. The carpets were green and
had terrible cigarette burns, that had
obviously been snuffed out (extinguished), before
they turned into full-fledged fires. It had green drapes and drab green
walls. The blinking sign of the
hotel shone all night through the window. I ended up doing exactly,
what don Juan had requested, but in a
round-about way. I didn't do it to fulfill
any of don Juan's requirements or with the intention of patching up our
differences. I did stay in that
hotel room for months on end, until my person, like don Juan had
proposed, died.
112-113
Until it truthfully
made no difference to me, whether I had company or I was alone. After leaving the hotel, I
went to live alone, closer to school. I
continued my studies of anthropology,
which had never been interrupted, and I started a very profitable
business with a lady partner. Everything seemed
perfectly in order, until one day, when the realization
hit me like a kick in the head,
that I was going to spend the rest of my life worrying about my
business, or worrying about the
phantom choice between being an academic or a businessman, or worrying
about my partner's foibles (fault, weakness)
and shenanigans (mischief, prankishness, deceit). True desperation
pierced the depths of my being. For
the first time in my life, despite
all the things, that I had done and seen, I had no way out. I was
completely lost.
I seriously began to
toy with the idea of the most pragmatic and painless way to end my days. One morning, a loud and
insistent knocking woke me up. I thought, it was
the landlady, and I was sure,
that if I didn't answer, she would enter with her passkey. I opened the
door, and there was don Juan! I
was so surprised, that I was numb. I stammered and stuttered, incapable
of saying a word. I wanted to
kiss his hand, to kneel in front of him. Don Juan came in and sat down
with great ease on the edge of
my bed. "I
made the trip to Los Angeles," he said, "just to see you." I wanted to take him to
breakfast, but he said, that he had other things
to attend to, and that he had only
a moment to talk to me. I hurriedly told him about my experience in the
hotel. His presence had
created such havoc, that not for a second did it occur to me to ask
him,
how he had found out, where I
lived. I told don Juan how intensely I regretted, having said, what I
had,
in Hermosillo. "You
don't have to apologize," he assured me. "Every one of us does the
same thing. Once, I ran away
from the sorcerers' world myself, and I had to nearly die, to realize
my
stupidity. The important issue is
to arrive at a breaking point, in whatever way, and that's exactly,
what
you have done. Inner silence is
becoming real
for you. This is the reason, I am here in front of you, talking to you.
Do you see what I mean?"
I thought I understood,
what he meant. I thought, that he had intuited or
read, the way he read things in
the air, that I was at my wits' end and that he had come to bail me
out. "You
have no time to lose," he said. "You must dissolve your business
enterprise within an hour,
because one hour is all I can afford to wait, not because I don't want
to wait, but because Infinity is
pressing me mercilessly. Let's say, that Infinity is giving you one
hour
to cancel yourself out. For Infinity, the only worthwhile enterprise of
a warrior, is freedom. Any
other enterprise is fraudulent. Can
you dissolve everything in one hour?" I didn't have to assure
him, that I could. I knew, that I had to do it.
Don Juan told me then, that once I
had succeeded in dissolving everything, he was going to wait for me at
the marketplace in a town in
Mexico. In my effort to think about the dissolution of my business, I
overlooked, what he was saying. He repeated it and, of
course, I thought he was joking.
"How can I reach
that town, don Juan? Do you want me to drive, to take
a plane?" I asked.
"Dissolve your business first," he commanded. "Then the solution will
come. But remember, I'll be
waiting for you only for an hour."
He left the
apartment, and I feverishly endeavored to dissolve,
everything I had. Naturally, it took me
more, than an hour, but I didn't stop to consider this, because once I
had set the dissolution of the
business in motion, its momentum carried me. It was only when I was
through, that the real dilemma
faced me. I knew then, that
I had failed hopelessly. I was left with no
business, and no possibilities of
ever reaching don Juan. I
went to my bed and sought
the only solace I could think of: quietude,
silence. In order to facilitate
the advent (arriving) of Inner Silence, don Juan had taught me a way to
sit down
on my bed, with the knees bent
and the soles of the feet touching, the hands pushing the feet together
by holding the ankles. He had
given me a thick dowel (round woden pin/rod fits tightly into hole), that
I always kept at hand, wherever I went.
114
It
was cut to a fourteen-inch length
to support the weight of my head, if I leaned over and put the dowel on
the floor between my feet, and
then placed the other end, which was cushioned, on the spot in the
middle of my forehead. Every time
I adopted this position, I fell sound asleep in a matter of seconds. I must have fallen asleep
with my usual facility, for I dreamed, that I
was in the Mexican town, where
don Juan had said, he was going to meet me. I had always been intrigued
by this town.
The
marketplace was open one day a week, and the farmers, who lived in the
area, brought their products
there to be sold.
What fascinated me the most about that town was the
paved road, that led to it. At the
very entrance to the town, it went over a steep hill. I had sat many
times on a bench by a stand, that
sold cheese, and had looked at that hill.
I would see people, who were
coming into town with their
donkeys and their loads, but I would see their heads first; as they
kept approaching, I would see more
of their bodies, until the moment they were on the very top of the
hill, when I would see their entire
bodies. It seemed to me always, that they were emerging from the earth,
either slowly or very fast,
depending on their speed. In my dream, don Juan was waiting for me by
the cheese stand. I
approached him. "You
made it from your Inner Silence," he said, patting me on the back.
"You did reach your Breaking Point. For a moment, I had begun to lose
hope. But I stuck around,
knowing, that you would make it." In that dream, we went for
a stroll. I was happier, than I had ever
been. The dream was so vivid, so
terrifyingly real, that it left me no doubts, that I had resolved the
problem, even if my resolving it was
only a dream-fantasy. Don
Juan laughed, shaking
his head. He had definitely read my thoughts.
"You're not in a mere
dream," he said, "but who am I to tell you that? You'll know it
yourself someday, that there are no
dreams from Inner Silence, because you'll choose to know it."
The
Measurements of Cognition
115
"The end of an era" was, for don Juan, an accurate
description of a
process, that shamans go
through in dismantling the structure of the world, they know, in order
to
replace it with another way of
understanding the world around them. Don Juan Matus, as a teacher,
endeavored, from the very instant
we met, to introduce me to the cognitive world of the shamans of
ancient Mexico. The term
"cognition" was, for me at that time, a bone of tremendous contention
(controversy).
I understood it, as the process,
by which we recognize the world around us. Certain things fall within
the realm of that process and
are easily recognized by us. Other things don't, and remain, therefore,
as oddities, things for which we
nave no adequate comprehension. Don Juan maintained, from the start of
our association, that the world
of the sorcerers of ancient
Mexico was different from ours, not in a shallow way, but different in
the way, in which the Process of Cognition was arranged.

UNIVERSAL
BALL OF BALANCE AND HUMAN
LUMINOUS BALL
116-117
He maintained, that in our world our cognition
requires the interpretation of sensory data.
He
said, that the Universe is composed of an infinite number of energy
fields, that exist in
the Universe at large, as Luminous Filaments. Those Luminous Filaments
act on man as an organism. The
response of the organism is to turn those energy fields into sensory
data. Sensory data is then
interpreted, and that interpretation becomes our cognitive system. My
understanding of cognition
forced me to believe, that it is a universal process, as language is a
universal process. There is a
different syntax for every language, as there must be a slightly
different arrangement for every system
of interpretation in the world. Don Juan's assertion (positive
declaration, evaluation), however,
that the shamans of ancient Mexico had a
different cognitive system,
was, for me, equivalent to saying, that they had a different way of
communicating, that had nothing to
do with language. What,
I desperately wanted him to say, was that their
different cognitive system was
the equivalent of having a different language, but that it was a
language nonetheless.
"The end of an
era" meant, to don Juan, that the units of a foreign cognition were
beginning to take hold. The units of
my normal cognition, no matter how pleasant and rewarding they were for
me, were beginning to
fade. A grave moment in the life of a man ! Perhaps my most cherished
unit was my academic life. Anything, that
threatened it, was a threat to the
very core of my being, especially, if the attack was veiled, unnoticed.
It happened with a professor, in
whom I had put all my trust, Professor Lorca. I had enrolled in
Professor Lorca's course on cognition, because he was
recommended to me, as one of
the most brilliant academics in existence. Professor Lorca was rather
handsome, with blond hair, neatly
combed to the side. His forehead was smooth, wrinkle-free, giving the
appearance of someone,
who
had never worried in his life. His clothes were extremely well
tailored. He didn't wear a tie, a feature,
that gave him a boyish look. He would put on a tie only to face
important people. On my memorable first class with Professor Lorca, I
was bewildered and
nervous, at seeing how he
paced back and forth for minutes, that stretched themselves into an
eternity for me. Professor Lorca
kept on moving his thin, clenched lips up and down, adding immensities
to the tension, he was
generating in that closed window, stuffy room. Suddenly, he stopped
walking. He stood in the center
of the room, a few feet from where I was sitting, and, banging a
carefully rolled newspaper on the
podium, he began to talk.
"It'll never be known .. ." he began. Everyone in the room at once
started anxiously taking notes. "It'll never be known," he repeated,
"what a toad is feeling, while
he
sits at the bottom of a pond and
interprets the toad world around him." His voice carried a tremendous
force and finality. "So, what do
you think this thing is?"
He waved the newspaper over his head. He went on to read to the class
an article in the newspaper, in which
the work of a biologist was
reported. The scientist was quoted, as describing what frogs felt, when
insects swam above their heads.
"This article shows the carelessness of the reporter, who has obviously
misquoted the scientist,"
Professor Lorca asserted (evaluated) with the
authority of a full professor. "A
scientist, no matter how shoddy (cheap) his
work might be, would never allow himself to anthropomorphize (attribute
human features to gods/animals) the
results of his research, unless, of
course, he's a nincompoop."
With this, as an introduction, he delivered a most brilliant lecture on
the insular (prejudiced, detached) quality of our cognitive
system, or the cognitive system of any organism, for that matter. He
brought to me, in his initial
lecture, a barrage (bombardment) of new ideas
and made them extremely simple, ready
for use. The most novel idea to
me was, that every individual of every species on this Earth interprets
the world around it, using data,
reported by its specialized senses. He asserted (positive
declaration, evaluation),
that human beings
cannot even imagine, what it must be
like, for example, to be in a world, ruled by echolocation (ability of
an animal, who emits high-frequency sound like dolphin), as in the
world of bats, where any inferred (conclude, deduce)
point of reference could not even be conceived of by the human mind.
118-119
He
made it quite clear, that
from that point of view, no two cognitive systems could be alike among
species. As I left the auditorium at the end of the hour-and-a-half
lecture, I
felt, that I had been bowled over (knocked over) by
the brilliance of Professor Lorca's mind. From then on, I was his
confirmed admirer. I found his
lectures more, than stimulating and thought provoking. His were the
only
lectures, I had ever looked
forward to attending. All his eccentricities meant nothing to me, in
comparison with his excellence as a
teacher and as an innovative thinker in the realm of psychology. When I
first attended the class of Professor Lorca, I had been working
with don Juan Matus for almost
two years. It was a well-established pattern of behavior with me,
accustomed, as I was to routines, to
tell don Juan everything, that happened to me in my everyday world. On
the first opportunity I had, I
related to him, what was taking place with Professor Lorca. I praised
Professor Lorca to the skies and
told don Juan unabashedly (not embarrassed), that Professor Lorca was
my role model. Don
Juan seemed very impressed
with my display of genuine admiration, yet he gave me a strange
warning.
"Don't admire people from afar," he said. "That is the surest way to
create mythological beings. Get
close to your professor, talk to him, see, what he's like as a man.
Test
him. If your professor's behavior
is the result of his conviction, that he is a being, who is going to
die,
then everything he does, no matter
how strange, must be premeditated (degree of planning) and final. If
what, he says, turns out
to be just words, he's not worth
a hoot."
I was insulted no end, by what I considered to be don Juan's
callousness (unfeeling). I thought, he was a little bit
jealous of my feelings for Professor Lorca. Once that thought was
formulated in my mind, I felt
relieved; I understood everything. "Tell me, don Juan," I said to end
the conversation on a different
note, "what is a being, that is going to
die, really? I have heard you talk about it so many times, but you
haven't actually defined it for me."
"Human beings are beings, that are going to die," he said. "Sorcerers
firmly maintain, that the only way to have a grip on our
world, and on what we do in it, is,
by fully accepting, that we are beings on the way to dying. Without
this
basic acceptance, our lives, our
doings, and the world, in which we live, are unmanageable affairs."
"But is the mere acceptance of this so far-reaching?" I asked in a tone
of quasi-protest.
"You bet your life!" don Juan said, smiling. "However, it's not the
mere acceptance, that does the trick. We have to embody that acceptance
and live it all the way through.
Sorcerers throughout the ages have
said, that the view of our death is the most sobering view, that
exists.
What is wrong with us human
beings, and has been wrong since time immemorial, is that without ever
stating it in so many words,
we believe, that we have entered the realm of immortality. We behave,
as
if
we were never going to die an
infantile arrogance. But even more injurious, than this sense of
immortality, is what comes with it:
the sense, that we can engulf (swallow up) this inconceivable
(unbelievable) Universe with our
minds."
A most deadly juxtaposition (place side by side to produce contrasting
effect) of ideas had me mercilessly in its grip:
don Juan's wisdom and Professor
Lorca's knowledge. Both were difficult, obscure, all-encompassing, and
most appealing. There was
nothing for me to do, except follow the course of events and go with
them, wherever they might take
me. I followed to the letter don Juan's suggestion about approaching
Professor Lorca. I tried, for the whole
semester, to get close to him, to talk to him. I went religiously to
his office during his office hours, but
he never seemed to have any time for me. But even though I couldn't
speak to him,
I admired him
unbiasedly. I even accepted, that he would never talk to me. It didn't
matter to me; what mattered were
the ideas, that I gathered from his magnificent classes. I reported to
don Juan all my intellectual findings. I had done
extensive reading on cognition. Don
Juan Matus urged me, more than ever, to establish direct contact with
the source of my intellectual
revolution.
120-121
"It is imperative, that you speak to him," he said with a
note of urgency in his voice.
"Sorcerers don't admire people in a vacuum. They talk to them; they get
to know them. They establish
points of reference. They compare. What you are doing is a little bit
infantile. You are admiring from a
distance. It is very much like, what happens to a man, who is afraid of
women. Finally, his gonads (sexual organs in animals)
overrule his fear and compel (force) him to worship the first woman,
who says
'hello' to him."
I tried doubly hard to approach Professor Lorca, but he was like an
impenetrable fortress. When I
talked to don Juan about my difficulties, he explained, that sorcerers
viewed any kind of activity with
people, no matter how minute or unimportant, as a battlefield. In that
battlefield, sorcerers performed
their best magic, their best effort. He assured me, that the trick to
being at ease in such situations, a
thing, that had never been my forte, was to face our opponents openly.
He expressed his abhorrence (reject
vehemently) of
timid souls, who shy away from interaction to the point, where even
though they interact, they merely
infer or deduce, in terms of their own psychological states, what is
going on, without actually
perceiving, what is really going on. They interact without ever being
part of the interaction. "Always look at the man, who is involved in a
tug of war with you," he
continued. "Don't just pull the
rope; look up and see his eyes. You'll know then, that he is a man,
just
like you. No matter what he's
saying, no matter what he's doing, he's shaking in his boots, just like
you. A look, like that, renders (cause to become) the
opponent helpless, if only for an instant; deliver your blow then."
One day, luck was with me: I cornered Professor Lorca in the hall
outside his office. "Professor Lorca," I said, "do you have a free
moment, so I could talk
to you?"
"Who in the hell are you?" he said with the most natural air, as if I
were his best friend and he were
merely asking me how I felt that day. Professor Lorca was as rude, as
anyone could be, but his words
didn't have the effect of rudeness on me. He grinned at me with tight
lips, as if encouraging me to
leave or to say something meaningful.
"I am an anthropology student, Professor Lorca," I said. "I am involved
in a field situation where I
have the opportunity to learn about the cognitive system of sorcerers."
Professor Lorca looked at me with suspicion and annoyance. His eyes
seemed to be two blue points,
filled with spite (urge to hurt/annoy). He combed his hair backward
with his hand, as if it
had fallen on his face.
"I work with a real sorcerer in Mexico," I continued, trying to
encourage a response. "He's a real
sorcerer, mind you. It has taken
me over a year just to warm him up, so he would consent () to talk to
me." Professor Lorca's face relaxed; he opened his mouth and, waving a
most
delicate hand in front of my
eyes, as if he were twirling pizza dough with it, he spoke to me. I
couldn't help noticing his enameled
gold cuff links, which matched his greenish blazer to perfection.
"And what do you want from me?" he said.
"I want you to hear me out for a moment," I said, "and see, if whatever
I'm doing, may interest you." He made a gesture of reluctance and
resignation with his shoulders,
opened the door of his office, and
invited me to come in. I knew, that I had no time at all to waste and I
gave him a very direct
description of my field situation. I told him, that I was being taught
procedures, that had nothing to do,
with what I had found in the anthropological literature about
shamanism. He moved his lips for a moment without saying a word. When
he spoke, he
pointed out, that the flaw,
of anthropologists in general, is that they never allow themselves
sufficient time to become fully
cognizant (conscious,
aware) of all the
nuances of the particular cognitive system, used
by
the people, they are studying. He defined "cognition", as a system of
interpretation, which, through
usage, makes it possible for
individuals to utilize, with the utmost expertise.
122-123
All the nuances of
meaning, that make up the particular
social milieu (surroundings) under
consideration. Professor Lorca's words illuminated the total scope of
my field-work.
Without gaining command of all
the nuances of the cognitive system of the shamans of ancient Mexico,
it would have been thoroughly
superfluous for me to formulate any idea about that world. If Professor
Lorca had not said another
word to me, what he had just voiced, would have been more, than
sufficient. What followed was a
marvelous discourse (conversation) on
cognition.
"Your problem," Professor Lorca said, "is, that the cognitive system of
our everyday world, with which
we are all familiar virtually from the day we are born, is not the
same, as the cognitive system of the
sorcerers' world." This statement created a state of euphoria in me. I
thanked Professor
Lorca profusely and assured him,
that there was only one course of action in my case: to follow his
ideas through hell or high water.
"What I have told you, of course, is general knowledge," he said, as he
ushered me out of his office. "Anyone, who reads, is aware of, what I
have been telling you."
We parted almost friends. My account to don Juan of my success, in
approaching Professor Lorca, was
met with a strange reaction. Don Juan seemed, on the one hand, to be
elated, and on the other,
concerned.
"I have the feeling, that your professor is not quite, what he claims
to
be," he said. "That's, of course,
from a sorcerer's point of view. Perhaps it would be wise to quit now,
before all this becomes too
involved and consuming. One of the high arts of sorcerers is to know
when to stop. It appears to me,
that you've gotten from your professor all you can get from him." I
immediately reacted with a barrage (bombardment) of defenses
on behalf of Professor
Lorca. Don Juan calmed me
down. He said, that it wasn't his intention to criticize or judge
anybody, but that to his knowledge, very
few people knew, when to quit and even fewer knew how to actually
utilize their knowledge. In spite of
don Juan's warnings, I didn't quit; instead, I became
Professor Lorca's faithful
student, follower, admirer. He seemed to take a
genuine interest in my work, although he felt frustrated no
end with
my reluctance and inability to formulate clear-cut concepts about
the cognitive system of the Sorcerers' World. One day,
Professor Lorca
formulated for me the concept of
the scientist-visitor to another cognitive world. He
conceded (admit), that he was willing to be open-minded, and toy, as a
social
scientist, with
the possibility
of a different cognitive system. He
envisioned an actual research, in which protocols would be
gathered and analyzed.
Problems of cognition would be devised (planned) and
given to the shamans I knew, to measure, for
instance, their capacity to focus their cognition on two diverse
aspects of behavior. He thought, that the test
would begin with a simple
paradigm, in which they would try to comprehend and
retain written text, that they read, while they played poker. The test
would escalate, to measure,
for instance, their capacity to focus their cognition
on complex things, that were being said to them while they
slept, and so on.
Professor Lorca wanted a linguistic analysis to
be performed on the shamans' utterances (vocal expressions, power of
speaking). He wanted an
actual measurement of their responses in terms of their speed and
accuracy, and other variables, that
would become prevalent (widely occurring), as the project
progressed. Don Juan veritably (really) laughed his head off,
when I told him about Professor Lorca's proposed measurements of the
cognition of shamans.
"Now,
I
truly like your professor," he said.
"But you can't be serious about this idea of measuring our cognition.
What could your professor get
out of measuring our responses? He'll get the conviction, that we are a
bunch of morons, because
that's, what we are. We cannot possibly be more intelligent, faster,
than
the average man. It's not
his fault, though, to believe he can make measurements of cognition
across Worlds. The fault is
yours. You have failed to express to your professor, that when
Sorcerers talk about the cognitive
World of the shamans of ancient Mexico, they are talking about
things, for which we
have no equivalent in the World of Everyday Life.
124-125
For
instance, perceiving energy
directly, as it flows in the Universe, is a unit of cognition, that
shamans live by. They See how Energy flows, and they follow its Flow.
If its Flow is obstructed, they
move away to do something
entirely different. Shamans See Lines in the Universe. Their art, or
their job, is to choose the
Line, that will take them, perception-wise, to regions, that have no
name. You can say, that
shamans react immediately to the Lines of the Universe. They see Human
Beings as Luminous Balls,
and they search in them for their Flow of Energy. Naturally, they react
instantly to this sight.
It's part of their cognition."
I
told don Juan, that I couldn't possibly talk about all this to
Professor Lorca, because I hadn't
done any of the things, that he was describing. My
cognition remained the same. "Ah!" he
exclaimed.
"It's simply, that you haven't had the
time yet to embody the units of cognition of the
Shamans' World."
I
left don Juan's
house more confused, than ever. There was
a voice inside me, that virtually demanded, that I end all
endeavors
with Professor Lorca. I understood, how right
don Juan was, when he said to me once, that the
practicalities, that scientists were interested in, were conducive
(favourable) to
building more and
more complex machines. They were not the practicalities,
that changed an individual's life course from within.
They were not geared to reaching the vastness of the Universe, as a
personal, experiential
affair. The stupendous machines in existence, or
those in the making, were cultural affairs, the attainment
of which had to be enjoyed
vicariously (acting in place of someone
or something),
even by the creators of those
machines themselves. The only reward for them was
monetary. In pointing out all of that to me, don Juan
had succeeded in placing me in a more inquisitive frame
of mind. I
really began to
question the ideas of Professor Lorca, something
I had never done before. Meanwhile, Professor Lorca
kept spouting (utter pompously and volubly) astounding truths about
cognition. Each declaration
was more
severe, than the preceding one and, therefore, more
incisive (cutting, penetrating). At the end of my second semester with
Professor Lorca, I had reached an
impasse. There was no
way on Earth for me to bridge the two lines of
thought: don Juan's and Professor Lorca's. They were
on parallel
tracks. I
understood Professor Lorca's drive to qualify and
quantify the study of cognition. Cybernetics (theoretical studies of
control processes in electronical/biological/mechanical systems) was
just
around the corner at that time, and the practical aspect of the studies
of cognition was
a reality. But so was don Juan's World, which could not
be measured with the standard tools of cognition. I
had been privileged to witness it, in don Juan's actions, but I hadn't
experienced it
myself. I felt, that that was the drawback, that made
bridging those two Worlds impossible. I told all this
to don Juan on one of my visits to him. He said, that what I considered
to be my drawback,
and therefore the factor, that made bridging these two Worlds
impossible, wasn't accurate. In his opinion, the flaw
was something more encompassing, than one man's individual
circumstances.
"Perhaps
you can
recall, what I said to you about one of our
biggest flaws, as average human beings," he
said. I couldn't recall anything in particular. He
had pointed out so many flaws, that plagued us as
average human beings, that my mind
reeled.
"You
want something
specific," I said, "and I can't think of
it."
"The
big flaw I am
talking about," he said, "is something
you ought to bear in mind every second of your
existence. For me, it's the issue of issues, which I will repeat to you
over and over, until it
comes out of your ears." After a long
moment, I gave up any further attempt to
remember. "We
are beings on
our way to dying," he said. "We are not
immortal, but we behave, as if we were. This is the
flaw, that brings us down as individuals and will bring us down, as a
species
someday."
Don
Juan stated,
that the Sorcerers' advantage over their
average fellow men is, that Sorcerers know, that they
are beings on their way to dying and they don't let themselves deviate
from that
knowledge.
126-127
He emphasized, that an enormous effort must be
employed, in order to elicit (bring, avoke, call forth) and maintain
this knowledge, as a total certainty.
"Why
is it so hard
for us to admit something that is so
truthful?" I asked, bewildered by the magnitude of
our internal contradiction.
"It's
really not
man's fault," he said in a conciliatory (pacify)
tone. "Someday, I'll tell you more about the forces, that
drive a man to act
like an ass."
There
wasn't
anything else to say. The silence, that
followed, was ominous. I didn't even want to know, what the forces
were, that
don Juan was referring to. "It is no
great
feat for me to assess your professor at a
distance," don Juan went on. "He is an immortal scientist. He
is never
going to die. And when it comes to any concerns
about dying, I am sure, that he has taken care of
them already. He has a plot to be buried in, and a hefty life insurance
policy, that will take care of his family.
Having fulfilled those two
mandates, he doesn't think about death anymore. He thinks only
about his
work. Professor
Lorca makes sense when he talks,"
don Juan continued, "because
he is prepared to use words accurately. But he's not
prepared to take himself seriously, as a man, who is going to die.
Being immortal,
he wouldn't know how to do that. It makes no difference, what
complex machines scientists can build. The machines
can in no way help anyone face the unavoidable appointment: the appointment
with
Infinity. The Nagual Julian used to tell me," he went
on, "about the conquering generals of ancient Rome.
When they would return home
victorious, gigantic parades were staged to
honor them. Displaying the treasures,
that they had
won, and the defeated people, that they had turned into slaves, the
conquerors paraded, riding in their
war chariots. Riding with them was always a
slave, whose job was to whisper in their ear, that
all fame and glory is but transitory. If we are
victorious in any way," don Juan went on,
"we don't have anyone to whisper in our ear, that our
victories are fleeting.
127
Sorcerers, however, do have the upper hand; as
beings on their way to
dying, they have someone whispering in their ear, that
everything is ephemeral (transient, short-lived). The whisperer is
death, the infallible (incapable of error) advisor, the
only one, who won't ever tell you a
lie."
Saying
Thank You
128-129
"WARRIOR-TRAVELERS don't leave any debts unpaid," don Juan
said.
"What are you talking about, don Juan?" I asked.
"It is time, that you square certain indebtedness you have incurred
(affording passage to inflowing current) in
the course of your life," he said. "Not that you will ever pay in full,
mind you, but you must make a
gesture. You must make a token
payment, in order to atone (agree, reconcile), in order to appease
(soothe, make peace) Infinity. You told me
about your two friends, who meant
so much to you, Patricia Turner and Sandra Flanagan. It's time for you
to go and find them and to
make to each of them one gift, in which you spend everything you have.
You have to make two gifts,
that will leave you penniless. That's the gesture."
"I don't know, where they are, don Juan," I said, almost in a mood of
protest.
"To find them is your challenge. In your search for them, you will not
leave any stone unturned. What
you intend to do, is something very simple, and yet nearly impossible.
You want to cross over the
threshold of personal indebtedness and in one sweep be free, in order
to proceed. If you cannot cross
that
threshold, there won't be any point in trying to continue with me."
"But where did you get the idea of this task for me?" I asked. "Did you
invent it yourself, because you
think it is appropriate?"
"I don't invent anything," he said matter-of-factly. "I got this task
from Infinity itself. It's not easy for
me to say all this to you. If you think, that I'm enjoying myself pink
with your tribulations, you're
wrong. The success of your mission means more to me, than it does to
you. If you fail, you have very
little to lose. What? Your visits to me. Big deal. But I would lose
you, and that means to me losing
either the continuity of my lineage or the possibility of your closing
it with a golden key."
Don Juan stopped talking. He always knew when my mind became feverish
with thoughts. "I have told you over and over, that warrior-travelers
are pragmatists,"
he went on. "They are not
involved in sentimentalism, or nostalgia, or melancholy. For
warrior-travelers, there is only struggle,
and it is a struggle with no end. If you think, that you have come here
to find peace, or that this is a lull (calm, cause to rest)
in your life, you're wrong. This task, of paying your debts, is not
guided by any feelings, that you know
about. It is guided by the purest sentiment, the sentiment of a
warrior-traveler, who is about to dive
into Infinity, and just before he does, he turns around to say thank
you to those, who favored him. You must face this task with all the
gravity, it deserves," he
continued. "It is your last stop, before Infinity swallows you. In
fact, unless a warrior-traveler is in a
sublime (inspiring awe) state of being, infinity will not
touch him with a ten-foot pole. So, don't spare yourself; don't spare
any effort. Push it mercilessly, but
elegantly, all the way through." I had met the two people, don Juan had
referred to as my two friends, who
meant so much to me, while
going to junior college. I used to live in the garage apartment of the
house, belonging to Patricia
Turner's parents. In exchange for room and board, I took care of
vacuuming the pool, raking the
leaves, putting the trash out, and making breakfast for Patricia and
myself.
130-131
I was also the handyman in
the house as well, as the family chauffeur; I drove Mrs. Turner to do
her shopping and I bought liquor
for Mr. Turner, which I had to sneak into the house and then into his
studio. He was an insurance executive, who was a solitary drinker. He
had
promised his family, that he was not
going to touch the bottle ever again after some serious family
altercations (heated, noisy quarrel), due to his excessive
drinking. He confessed to me, that he had tapered off (diminish and
stop) enormously, but
that he needed a swig (gulp) from time
to time. His studio was, of course, off limits to everybody, except me.
I was supposed to go in, to clean
it, but what I really did was hide his bottles inside a beam, that
appeared to support an arch in the
ceiling in the studio, but that was actually hollow. I had to sneak the
bottles in and sneak the empties
out and dump them at the market. Patricia was a drama and music major
in college and a fabulous singer.
Her goal was to sing in
musicals on Broadway. It goes without saying, that I fell head over
heels in love with Patricia Turner.
She was very slim and athletic, a brunette with angular features and
about a head taller, than I am, my
ultimate requisite for going bananas over any woman. I seemed to
fulfill a deep need in her, the need to nurture someone,
especially after she realized, that
her daddy trusted me implicitly. She became my little mommy. I couldn't
even open my mouth
without her consent. She watched me like a hawk. She even wrote term
papers for me, read textbooks
and gave me synopses (summary) of them. And I liked it, but not because
I wanted
to be nurtured; I don't think,
that that need was ever part of my cognition. I relished the fact, that
she did it. I relished her company. She used to take me to the movies
daily. She had passes to all the big
movie theaters in Los Angeles,
given to her father courtesy of some movie moguls. Mr. Turner never
used them himself; he felt, that it
was beneath his dignity, to flash movie passes. The movie clerks always
made the recipients of such
passes sign a receipt. Patricia had no qualms (doubts) about signing
anything,
but sometimes the nasty clerks
wanted Mr. Turner to sign, and when I went to do that, they were not
satisfied with only the signature
of Mr. Turner. They demanded a driver's license. One of them, a sassy
(impudent)
young guy, made a remark, that
cracked him up, and me, too, but which sent Patricia into a fit of
fury.
"I think you're Mr. Turd," he said with the nastiest smile, you could
imagine, "not Mr. Turner."
I could have sloughed off (get rid off) the remark, but then he
subjected us to the
profound humiliation of refusing
us entrance to see Hercules, starring Steve Reeves. Usually, we went
everywhere with Patricia's best friend, Sandra
Flanagan, who lived next door with
her parents. Sandra was quite the opposite of Patricia. She was just as
tall, but her face was round,
with rosy cheeks and a sensuous mouth; she was healthier, than a
raccoon. She had no interest in
singing. She was only interested in the sensual pleasures of the body.
She could eat and drink anything
and digest it, and, the feature, that finished me off about
her, after she
had polished off her own plate,
she managed to do the same with mine, a thing that, being a picky
eater, I had never been able to do in
all my life. She was also extremely athletic, but in a rough, wholesome
way. She could punch like a
man and kick like a mule. As a courtesy to Patricia, I used to do the
same chores for Sandra's
parents, that
I did for hers:
vacuuming their pool, raking the leaves from their lawn, taking the
trash out on trash day, and
incinerating papers and flammable trash. That was the time in Los
Angeles, when the air pollution was
increased by the use of backyard incinerators. Perhaps, it was because
of the proximity, or the ease of those young
women, that I ended up madly in
love with both of them. I went to seek advice from a very strange young
man, who was my friend,
Nicholas van Hooten. He
had two girlfriends, and he lived with both of them, apparently in a
state of bliss. He began by giving
me, he said, the simplest advice: how to behave in a movie theater, if
you had two girlfriends.
132-133
He said,
that whenever he went to a movie with his two girlfriends, all his
attention was always centered on,
whoever sat to his left. After a while, the two girls would go to the
bathroom and, on their return, he
would have them change the seating arrangement. Anna would sit, where
Betty had been sitting, and
nobody around them was the wiser. He assured me, that this was the
first
step in a long process of
breaking the girls into a matter-of-fact acceptance of the trio
situation; Nicholas was rather corny, and
he used that trite French expression: menage a trois. I followed his
advice and went to a theater, that showed silent movies
on Fairfax Avenue in Los
Angeles with Patricia and Sandy. I sat Patricia to my left and poured
all my attention on her. They
went to the bathroom, and when they returned I told them to switch
places. I started then to do what
Nicholas van Hooten had advised, but Patricia would not put up with any
nonsense like that. She stood
up and left the theater, offended, humiliated, and raving mad. I wanted
to run after her and apologize,
but Sandra stopped me. "Let her go," she said with a poisonous smile.
"She's a big girl. She
has enough money to get a taxi
and go home." I fell for it and remained in the theater kissing Sandra,
rather
nervously, and filled with guilt. I was in
the middle of a passionate kiss, when I felt someone pulling me
backward
by the hair. It was Patricia. The row of seats was loose and tilted
backward. Athletic Patricia
jumped out of the way, before the
seats, where we were sitting, crashed on the row of seats behind. I
heard
the frightened screams of two
movie watchers, who were sitting at the end of the row, by the aisle.
Nicholas van Hooten's tip was miserable advice. Patricia, Sandra, and I
returned home in absolute
silence. We patched up our differences, in the midst of very weird
promises, tears, the works. The
outcome of our three-sided relationship was that, in the end, we nearly
destroyed ourselves. We were
not prepared for such an endeavor. We didn't know how to resolve the
problems of affection, morality,
duty, and social mores. I couldn't leave one
of them for the other, and they couldn't leave me. One day, at the
climax of a tremendous upheaval,
and out of sheer desperation, all three of us fled in different
directions, never to see one another again. I felt devastated. Nothing,
of what I did, could erase their impact on my
life. I left Los Angeles and got
busy with endless things in an effort to placate (pacify) my longing.
Without
exaggerating in the least, I can
sincerely say, that I fell into the depths of hell, I believed, never
to
emerge again.
If it hadn't been for
the influence, that don Juan had on my life and my person, I would
never
have survived my private
demons. I told don Juan, that I knew, that whatever I had done, was
wrong,
that I had no business
engaging such wonderful people in such sordid (foul, filthy), stupid
shenanigans (mischief, prankishness,
deceit),
that
I had no preparation to face.
"What was wrong," don Juan said, "was, that the three of you were lost
egomaniacs. Your self-importance
nearly destroyed you. If you don't have self-importance, you have only
feelings. Humor me," he went on, "and do the following simple and
direct
exercise, that could mean the world
to you: Remove from your memory of those two girls any statements, that
you make to yourself, such
as 'She said this or that to me, and she yelled, and the other one
yelled, at ME!' and remain at the level
of your feelings. If you hadn't been so self-important, what would you
have had as the irreducible
residue?"
"My unbiased love for them," I said, nearly choking.
"And is it less today, than it was then?" don Juan asked.
"No, it isn't, don Juan," I said in truthfulness, and I felt the same
pang of anguish, that had chased me
for years.
"This time, embrace them from your silence," he said. "Don't be a
meager (scanty, feeble) asshole. Embrace them
totally for the last time. But intend, that this is the last time on
Earth. Intend it from your darkness. If
you are worth your salt," he went on, "when you make your gift to them,
you'll sum up your entire life
twice. Acts of this nature make warriors airborne, almost vaporous."
134-135
Following
don Juan's commands, I took the task to heart. I realized,
that if I didn't emerge victorious,
don Juan was not the only one, who was going to lose out.
I
would also
lose something, and whatever, I
was going to lose, was as important to me, as what don Juan had
described,
as being important to him. I
was going to lose my chance to face Infinity and be conscious of it.
The memory of Patricia Turner and Sandra Flanagan put me in a terrible
frame of mind. The
devastating sense of irreparable loss, that had chased me all these
years, was as vivid, as ever. When don
Juan exacerbated (irritate), that feeling,
I knew for a fact, that there are certain
things, that can remain with us, in
don Juan's terms, for life and perhaps beyond. I had to find Patricia
Turner and Sandra Flanagan. Don
Juan's final recommendation was, that if I did find them, I could not
stay with them. I could have time
only to atone (agree,
reconcile), to
envelop
each of them with all the affection I felt,
without the angry voices of
recrimination, self-pity, or egomania. I embarked on the colossal task
of finding out, what had become of them,
where they were. I began by
asking questions of the people, who knew their parents. Their parents
had moved out of Los Angeles,
and nobody could give me a lead, as to where to find them. There was
noone to talk to. I thought of
putting a personal ad in the paper. But then I thought, that perhaps,
they had moved out of California. I
finally had to hire a private investigator. Through his connections
with official offices of records and
what not, he located them within a couple of weeks. They lived in New
York, a short distance from one other, and their
friendship was as close, as it had
ever been. I went to New York and tackled Patricia Turner first. She
hadn't made it to stardom on
Broadway, the way she had wanted to, but she was part of a production.
I
didn't want to know whether
it was in the capacity of a performer or as management. I visited her
in her office. She didn't tell me,
what she did. She was shocked to see me. What we did, was just sit
together and hold hands and weep.
I didn't tell her, what I did either. I said, that I had come to see
her,
because I wanted to give her a gift,
that would express my gratitude, and that I was embarking on a journey,
from which I did not intend to
come back.
"Why such ominous words?" she asked, apparently genuinely alarmed.
"What are you planning to do?
Are you ill? You don't look ill."
"It was a metaphorical statement," I assured her. "I'm going back to
South America, and I intend to
seek my fortune there. The competition is ferocious, and the
circumstances are very harsh, that's all. If
I want to succeed, I will have to give all, I have to it."
She seemed relieved, and hugged me. She looked the same, except much
bigger, much more powerful,
more mature, very elegant. I kissed her hands and the most overwhelming
affection enveloped me. Don Juan was right. Deprived of recriminations,
all I had were feelings.
"I want to make you a gift, Patricia Turner," I said. "Ask me anything
you want, and if it is within my
means, I'll get it for you."
"Did you strike it rich?" she said and laughed. "What's great about you
is, that you never had anything,
and you never will. Sandra and I talk about you nearly every day. We
imagine you parking cars, living
off women, et cetera, et cetera. I'm sorry, we can't help ourselves,
but we still love you."
I insisted, that she tell me, what she wanted. She began to weep and
laugh at the same time. "Are you going to buy me a mink coat?" she
asked me between sobs.
I ruffled her hair and said, that I would.
"If you don't like it, you take it back to the store and get the money
back," I said. She laughed and punched me, the way she used to. She had
to go back to
work, and we parted, after I
promised her, that I would come back again to see her, but that, if I
didn't, I wanted her to understand,
that the force of my life was pulling me every which way, yet I would
keep the memory of her in me
for the rest of my life and perhaps beyond.
136-137
I did return, but only to
see from a distance how they
delivered the mink coat to her. I heard her screams of delight. That
part of my task was finished. I left, but
I wasn't vaporous, the
way don Juan had said, I was going
to be. I had opened up an old wound and it had started to bleed. It
wasn't quite raining outside; it was a
fine mist, that seemed to penetrate all the way to the marrow of my
bones. Next, I went to see Sandra Flanagan. She lived in one of the
suburbs of
New York, that is reached by
train. I knocked on her door. Sandra opened it and looked at me, as if
I
were a ghost. All the color
drained out of her face. She was more beautiful, than ever, perhaps
because she had filled out and
looked as big, as a house.
"Why, you, you, you!" she stammered, not quite capable of articulating
my name. She sobbed, and she seemed indignant () and reproachful () for
a moment. I
didn't give her the chance to
continue. My silence was total. In the end, it affected her. She let me
in and we sat down in her living
room.
"What are you doing here?" she said, quite a bit calmer. "You can't
stay! I'm a married woman! I have
three children! And I'm very happy in my marriage."
Shooting her words out rapidly, like a machine gun, she told me, that
her husband was very
dependable, not too imaginative, but a good man, that he was not
sensual, that she had to be very
careful, because he tired very easily, when they made love, that he got
sick easily and sometimes
couldn't go to work, but that
he had managed to produce three beautiful
children, and that after her
third child, her husband, whose name seemed to be Herbert, had just
simply quit. He didn't have it
anymore, but it didn't matter to her. I tried to calm her down by
assuring her over and over, that I had come
to visit her only for a moment,
that it was not my intention to alter her life or to bother her in any
way. I described to her how hard it
had been to find her.
"I have come here to say good-bye to you," I said, "and to tell you,
that you are the love of my life. I
want to make you a token gift, a symbol of my gratitude and my undying
affection."
She seemed to be deeply affected. She smiled openly, the way she used
to. The separation between her
teeth made her look childlike. I commented to her, that she was more
beautiful, than ever, which was
the truth to me. She laughed and said, that she was going on a strict
diet, and if she
had known, that I was coming to see
her, she would have started her diet a long time ago. But she would
start now, and I would find her the
next time as lean, as she had always been. She reiterated (remembered)
the horror of
our life together and how
profoundly affected she had been. She had even thought, in spite of
being a devout Catholic, of
committing suicide, but she had found in her children the solace, that
she needed; whatever we had
done, were quirks (oddity, whim) of youth, that would never be vacuumed
away, but had to
be swept under the rug. When I asked, if there was some gift, that I
could make to her, as a token
of my gratitude and affection
for her, she laughed and said exactly what Patricia Turner had said:
that I didn't have a pot to piss in,
nor would I ever have one, because that's the way I was made. I
insisted, that
she name something.
"Can you buy me a station wagon, where all my children could fit?" she
said, laughing. "I want a
Pontiac, or an Oldsmobile, with all the trimmings."
She said that, knowing in her heart of hearts, that I could not
possibly
make her such a gift. But I did. I drove the dealer's car, following
him, as he delivered the station
wagon to her the next day, and from
the parked car, where I was hiding, I heard her surprise; but
congruous (harmonious,
appropriate)
with her sensual being, her
surprise was not an expression of delight. It was a bodily reaction, a
sob of anguish (torment), of bewilderment. She cried, but I knew, that
she was
not crying, because she had received
the gift. She was expressing a
longing, that had echoes in me.
138
I crumpled (collapsed) in the seat of the car. On my
train ride to New York, and my
flight to Los Angeles, the feeling, that persisted, was that my life
was
running out; it was running out of
me like clutched (squeezed) sand. I didn't feel in any way liberated or
changed, by
saying thank you and good-bye. Quite the contrary, I felt the burden of
that weird affection more
deeply, than ever. I felt like weeping. What ran through my mind over
and over, were the titles, that my friend
Rodrigo Cummings had
invented for books, that were never to be written. He specialized in
writing titles. His favorite was
"We'll All Die in Hollywood"; another was "We'll Never Change"; and my
favorite, the one, that I
bought for ten dollars, was "From the Life and Sins of Rodrigo
Cummings." All those titles played in
my mind. I was Rodrigo Cummings, and I was stuck in time and space, and
I did love two women
more, than my life, and that would never change. And like the rest of
my
friends, I would die in
Hollywood. I told don Juan all of this in my report, of what I
considered to be my
pseudo-success. He discarded it
shamelessly. He said, that what I felt, was merely the result of
indulging and self-pity, and that in order
to say good-bye and thank you, and really mean it and sustain it,
sorcerers had to remake themselves.
"Vanquish (defeat, subjugate, subdue) your self-pity
right now," he demanded. "Vanquish (defeat, subjugate, subdue)
the
idea,
that you are hurt and what do
you have, as the irreducible residue?"
What I had, as the irreducible residue, was the feeling, that I had
made
my ultimate gift to both of them. Not in the spirit of renewing
anything, or harming anyone, including
myself, but in the true spirit, that
don Juan had tried to point out to me, in the spirit of a
warrior-traveler, whose only virtue, he had said,
is to keep alive the memory of whatever has affected him, whose only
way, to say thank you and goodbye,
was by this act of magic: of storing in his silence, whatever he has
loved.
Beyond
Syntax
The Usher (official doorkeeper, maintains order)
141
I was in don Juan's house in Sonora, sound asleep in my bed,
when he
woke me up. I had stayed up practically all
night, mulling over concepts, that
he had explained to me. "You
have rested
enough," he said firmly, almost gruffly (harsh), as
he shook me by the shoulders. "Don't indulge in being
fatigued. Your fatigue is, more than fatigue, a desire not to be
bothered.
Something
in you resents being bothered. But it's most important, that
you exacerbate (irritate) that part of you, until it breaks down.
Let's go for a hike." Don
Juan was right.
There was some part of me, that resented
immensely being bothered. I wanted to sleep for days
and not think about don Juan's sorcery concepts anymore. Thoroughly
against
my
will, I got up and followed him. Don Juan had prepared a meal, which
I devoured, as if I
hadn't
eaten for days, and then we
walked out of the house and headed east, toward the mountains. I had been so
dazed, that I hadn't noticed, that it was early
morning, until I saw the Sun, which was right above
the eastern range of mountains. I wanted to comment to don Juan, that I had slept all night
without
moving, but he hushed me.
142-143
He said, that we were going to go on an expedition to
the mountains to search for specific plants.
"What are you going
to do with the plants, you are going to
collect, don Juan?" I asked him as soon, as we had
started off.
"They are not for
me," he said with a grin. "They are for a
friend of mine, a botanist and pharmacist. He makes
potions with them."
"Is he a Yaqui, don
Juan? Does he live here in Sonora?" I
asked.
"No, he isn't a
Yaqui, and he doesn't live here in Sonora.
You'll meet him someday."
"Is he a sorcerer,
don Juan?"
"Yes, he is," he
replied dryly. I
asked him then, if I
could
take some of the plants to be identified at
the Botanical Garden at UCLA.
"Surely, surely!"
he said. I
had found out in the past, that whenever he said "surely," he didn't
mean it. It was obvious, that he had no intention
whatsoever of giving me any specimens for identification. I became very
curious
about
his
sorcerer friend, and asked him to tell me
more about him, perhaps describe him, telling me, where he lived and how he got to
meet him.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa,
whoa!" don Juan said, as if I were a
horse. "Hold it, hold it! Who are you? Professor
Lorca? Do you want to study his cognitive system?"
We went deep into
the arid foothills. Don Juan walked
steadily for hours. I thought, that the task of the day was going to be just to
walk. He finally stopped and sat down on the
shaded side of the foothills. "It is time,
that
you start on one of the biggest projects of
sorcery," don Juan said.
"What is this
project of sorcery, that you're talking about,
don Juan?" I inquired.
"It's called
the Recapitulation,"
he said. "The old sorcerers used to call it recounting the
events of your life, and for them, it started as a
simple technique, a device to aid them in remembering, what
they were
doing and saying to their disciples. For their disciples, the technique
had the same value: it allowed them to remember,
what their teachers had said and done to them.
It took terrible social
upheavals, like being
conquered and vanquished (defeat, subjugate, subdue) several times, before the
old sorcerers
realized, that their
technique had
far-reaching effects."
"Are you referring,
don Juan, to the Spanish conquest?" I
asked.
"No," he said.
"That was just the icing on the cake. There
were other upheavals before that, more devastating.
When the Spaniards got here, the old sorcerers didn't exist any longer.
The disciples of
those, who had survived other upheavals were very cagey (careful) by
then. They knew, how to take care of themselves. It is
that new crop of sorcerers, who renamed the old sorcerers'
technique Recapitulation.
There's
an
enormous premium on time," he continued. "For
sorcerers in general, time is of the essence. The
challenge, I am faced with, is, that in a very compact unit of time I
must cram into you everything,
there is to
know
about sorcery, as an abstract
proposition, but in order to do that, I have to build
the necessary space in you."
"What space? What
are you talking about, don
Juan?"
"The
premise (task)
of sorcerers is, that in order to bring
something in, there must be a space to put it in," he said.
"If you are filled to
the brim with the items of everyday life,
there's no space for anything new. That space must be
built. Do you see what I mean? The sorcerers of olden times believed,
that the Recapitulation of your life
made
that space. It does, and much more, of course. The
way sorcerers perform the Recapitulation
is very formal," he
went on. "It consists of writing a list
of all
the people
they have met, from the present to the
very beginning of their lives. Once they have that
list, they take the first person on it and recollect everything, they
can, about that person. And
I mean everything, every detail. It's better to
recapitulate from the present to the past, because the memories
of the present are
fresh, and in this manner, the recollection
ability is honed (shapened on).
144-145
What practitioners do is to
recollect and breathe.
They inhale slowly and deliberately, fanning the head from right to left,
in a barely
noticeable swing (with compulsive rhythm in a
curving path), and exhale in the same fashion."
He
said, that the
inhalations and exhalations should be
natural; if they were too rapid, one would enter into
something, that he called tiring breaths: breaths, that required slower
breathing afterward, in
order to calm down the muscles.
"And
what do you
want me to do, don Juan, with all this?" I
asked.
"You
begin making
your list today," he said. "Divide it by
years, by occupations, arrange it in any order you
want to, but make it sequential, with the most recent person first, and
end with Mommy and Daddy. And then,
remember everything about them. No more ado
(fuss, trouble), than that. As you practice, you will realize what
you're doing."
On my next visit to
his house, I told don Juan, that I had
been meticulously going through the events of my
life, and that it was very difficult for me to adhere to his strict
format and follow my list of
persons one by one. Ordinarily, my recapitulation
took me every which way. I let the events decide the direction of my
recollection. What I did, which was volitional, was to
adhere to a general unit of time. For instance, I had
begun with the people in the anthropology department, but I let my
recollection pull me
to anywhere in
time, from the present to the day I started
attending school at UCLA.
I told don Juan, that an
odd
thing I'd found out, which I had completely forgotten, was that I had
no idea,
that UCLA existed, until one night, when my girlfriend's roommate
from college came to Los
Angeles and we picked her
up
at the airport. She was going to study musicology at UCLA. Her
plane arrived
in the early evening, and she asked me, if I could take her to
the campus, so
she could take a look at the place,
where she was going to spend the next four years of her
life. I knew where the campus was, for I had driven past
its entrance on Sunset Boulevard endless times on my way to
the beach.
I had never been on the campus, though. It was during the semester
break. The few people, that we found, directed
us to the music department.
The campus was deserted,
but what, I witnessed subjectively, was the most exquisite thing I have
ever
seen.
It was a delight to my eyes. The buildings seemed to be alive with
some energy of their own. What was going to be a very
cursory (hasty,
superficial)
visit to the music
department, turned out to be a gigantic tour
of the
entire campus. I fell in love with UCLA. I mentioned to don Juan,
that the only thing, that marred my ecstasy, was my
girlfriend's annoyance at my insistence on walking through the huge
campus.
"What the hell
could there be in here?" she yelled at me in
protest. "It's, as if you have never seen a university
campus in your life! You've seen one, you've seen them all. I think
you're just trying to impress
my friend with your
sensitivity!"
I wasn't, and I
vehemently (intense, strong, violent) told them, that I was genuinely
impressed by the beauty of my surroundings. I sensed
so much hope in those buildings, so much promise, and yet I couldn't
express my
subjective state.
"I have been in
school nearly all my life," my girlfriend
said through clenched teeth, "and I'm sick and tired
of it! Nobody's going to find shit in here! All you find is guff
(harsh), and
they don't even prepare you
to meet your responsibilities in
life."
When I mentioned,
that I would like to attend school here,
she became even more furious. "Get a job!" she
screamed. "Go and meet life from eight to
five, and cut the crap! That's what life is: a job
from eight to five, forty hours a week! See, what
it does to you! Look
at me, I'm
super-educated now, and I'm not fit for a
job."
All I knew was,
that I had never seen a place so beautiful.
I made a promise then, that
I would go to school at
UCLA, no matter what, come hell or high water. My desire had everything
to do with
me,
and
yet it was not driven by the need for
immediate gratification. It was more in the realm of awe.
146-147
I told don Juan, that my girlfriend's annoyance had been so jarring
(shiver, conflicting) to
me, that it forced me to look
at her in a different light, and that to my
recollection, that was the first time ever, that a commentary
had aroused
such a deep reaction in me. I saw facets of character in my
girlfriend, that I hadn't seen before, facets, that
scared me stiff. "I
think, I judged
her terribly," I said to don Juan. "After
our visit to the campus, we drifted apart. It was, as
if UCLA had come between us like a wedge. I know, that it's stupid to
think this
way."
"It isn't stupid,"
don Juan said. "It was a perfectly valid
reaction. While you were
walking on the campus,
I am sure, that you had a bout (match) with
Intent.
You intended being there, and anything, that
was opposed
to it, you had to let go. But
don't overdo
it," he went on. "The touch of
warrior-travelers is very light, although it is cultivated. The hand of a
warrior-traveler begins as a heavy, gripping,
iron hand, but becomes like the hand of a ghost, a
hand made of gossamer (gauzy fabric). Warrior-travelers leave no marks,
no tracks.
That's the challenge
for
warrior-travelers.'" Don
Juan's comments
made me sink into a deep, morose state
of recriminations (обвинения) against myself, for I knew, from
the little bit of my recounting, that I was extremely heavy-handed,
obsessive, and domineering.
I told don Juan about my
ruminations (meditate at length, muse). "The Power
of the
Recapitulation," don Juan said, "is, that it stirs up all
the garbage of our lives
and brings it to the surface." Then don Juan
delineated (depict, draw an outline of) the intricacies (many elements
in complex arrangement) of Awareness and
Perception, which were the basis of the
Recapitulation.
He began by saying, that he was going to present an
arrangement of concepts, that I should not take as
sorcerers' theories under any conditions, because it was an
arrangement,
formulated by
the shamans of ancient Mexico, as a result of Seeing
Energy directly, as it flows in the Universe. He warned me, that he would
present the units of this arrangement to me
without any attempt, at
classifying them or
ranking
them by any predetermined standard. "I'm not interested
in classifications," he went on. "You
have been classifying everything all your life. Now
you are going to be forced to stay away from
classifications.
The other day, when I asked you, if you knew anything about clouds, you gave me the
names of all the clouds and the percentage of
moisture, that one should expect from each one of
them. You were a veritable (real) weatherman. But when I asked you, if
you knew,
what you could
do with the clouds personally, you had no idea, what I
was talking about. Classifications have a world of
their own," he continued. "After you begin to classify anything,
the classification
becomes alive, and
it rules you. But since
classifications never started as energy-giving affairs, they always remain
like dead logs. They are not trees; they are
merely logs."
He
explained, that the sorcerers of ancient Mexico Saw; that
the Universe at large is composed
of
Energy Fields in the form
of Luminous Filaments. They Saw zillions of them, wherever they turned
to See. They also Saw, that
those Energy Fields arrange themselves into Currents of Luminous
Fibers, Streams, that are
constant, perennial forces in the Universe, and that the Current or
Stream of Filaments,
that is related to the Recapitulation,
was named by those Sorcerers the Dark Sea of Awareness, and
also the Eagle. He stated,
that those
Sorcerers also found out, that every creature in
the Universe is attached to the Dark Sea of Awareness
at a round Point of Luminosity,
that was apparent, when those
creatures were
perceived
as Energy. On that Point of Luminosity, which the Sorcerers of
ancient Mexico
called the Assemblage
Point (better the
Perception Point, LM), don Juan said, that Perception was
assembled by a mysterious aspect
of the Dark Sea of Awareness. Don Juan asserted
(evaluated), that on the
Assemblage Point of Human Beings,
zillions of Energy Fields from
the Universe at large, in the form of Luminous Filaments, converge
(cause to meet) and go through it. These Energy
Fields are
converted (turned into) into Sensory Data, and the Sensory Data is then
interpreted and perceived, as the World we know. Don
Juan further explained, that what turns the Luminous Fibers into
Sensory Data is the Dark
Sea of Awareness. Sorcerers See this transformation
and call it the Glow of Awareness, a sheen, that extends like
a Halo around the
Assemblage Point (halos like on the pictures
of Saints, LM).
148-149
He warned me then, that he was going to make a statement, which, in the
understanding of Sorcerers, was central to comprehending
the scope of the Recapitulation.
Putting an enormous
emphasis on his words, he said, that, what we call
the Senses in Organisms, is nothing, but degrees of
Awareness. He maintained, that, if we accept, that the Senses are the
Dark Sea of
Awareness, we have to admit, that the interpretation, that
the Senses make of Sensory Data is also the Dark Sea
of Awareness. He explained at length, that to face the World around us
in the terms, that we
do, is the result of the Interpretation System of
Humankind, with which every Human Being is equipped. He also said, that every
Organism in existence has to have an
Interpretation System, that permits it to function in
its surroundings.
"The Sorcerers, who
came after the Apocalyptic Upheavals, I
told you about, Saw, that at the moment of death, the
Dark Sea of Awareness sucked in, so to speak, through the Assemblage
Point, the
Awareness of living Creatures. They also Saw, that the Dark Sea of
Awareness had a moment's, let's say, hesitation, when
it was faced with Sorcerers, who had done a recounting of their lives.
Unbeknownst to them, some
had done it so thoroughly, that the Dark Sea
of Awareness took their
Awareness in the form of
their life experiences, but didn't
touch their Life Force. Sorcerers had found out a
gigantic truth about the Forces of the Universe: the Dark Sea of
Awareness wants only our
life experiences, not our Life
Force."
The premises of don
Juan's elucidation were incomprehensible
(unintelligible,
boundless, without limits) to me. Or perhaps
it would be more
accurate to say,
that I was vaguely and yet deeply cognizant (conscious, aware) of how functional the
premises of his explanation
were.
"Walking is always
something, that precipitates memories,"
don Juan went on. "Sorcerers
believe," don Juan went on, "that as we
recapitulate our lives, all the debris, as I told you, comes
to
the
surface. We realize our
inconsistencies, our repetitions, but something in us puts up
a tremendous Resistance to Recapitulating. Sorcerers say, that
the
road is free only
after a
gigantic upheaval, after the appearance on our screen of the
memory of an event, that
shakes our
foundations
with its terrifying clarity of detail.
It's the event, that drags us to the actual moment, that we lived
it. Sorcerers
call that event - the Usher (doorkeeper), because from then on
every event, we touch on, is relived, not merely
remembered."The
sorcerers of ancient Mexico believed, that everything we
live, we store as a sensation on the backs of the legs. They considered
the backs of the legs to be the warehouse of human's personal
history.
So,
let's go for a
walk in the hills now." We walked, until it was almost dark. "I think I
have made you walk long enough," don Juan said, when we were
back at his house, "to have you
ready to begin this sorcerers' maneuver
of finding an Usher: an event in your life, that you will
remember with such clarity, that it will serve, as a spotlight, to
illuminate everything else in your Recapitulation with the same, or
comparable, clarity. Do what sorcerers
call recapitulating pieces of a
puzzle. Something will lead you to remember the event, that
will serve
as your Usher."
He left me
alone, giving me one last warning. "Give it your best shot," he said.
"Do your best." I was extremely
silent for a moment, perhaps due to the silence around me. I
experienced, then, a vibration, a sort of
jolt in my chest. I had difficulty breathing, but suddenly something
opened up in my chest, that
allowed me to take a deep breath, and a total view of a forgotten event
of my childhood burst into my
memory, as if it had been held captive and was suddenly released. I was
at my grandfather's studio, where he had a billiard table, and I
was playing billiards with him. I
was almost nine years old then. My grandfather was quite a skillful
player, and compulsively he had
taught me every play he knew, until I was good enough to have a serious
match with him. We spent
endless hours, playing billiards.
I became so proficient at it, that one
day I defeated him. From that day
on, he was incapable of winning.
150-151
Many a time I
deliberately threw the game, just to be nice to him, but he knew it and
would become furious with me.
Once, he got so upset, that he hit me on the top of the head with the
cue. To my grandfather's chagrin and delight, by the time I was nine
years
old, I could make carom (to cannon) after
carom without stopping.
He became so frustrated and impatient in a game
with me once, that he threw
down his cue and told me to play by myself. My compulsive nature made
it possible for me to
compete with myself and work the same play on and on, until I got it
perfectly. One day, a man, notorious in town for his gambling
connections, the
owner of a billiards house, came
to visit my grandfather. They were talking and playing billiards, as I
happened to enter the room. I
instantly tried to retreat, but my grandfather grabbed me and pulled me
in.
"This is my grandson," he said to the man.
"Very pleased to meet you," the man said. He looked at me sternly, and
then extended his hand, which
was the size of the head of a normal person. I was horrified. His
enormous burst of laughter told me, that he was
cognizant (conscious,
aware) of my
discomfort. He
told me, that his name was Falelo Quiroga, and I mumbled my name. He
was very tall, and extremely well dressed. He was wearing a
double-breasted blue pinstriped suit
with beautifully tapered trousers. He must have been in his early
fifties then, but he was trim and fit,
except for a slight bulge in his midsection. He wasn't fat; he seemed
to cultivate the look of a man, who
is well fed and is not in need of anything. Most of the people in my
hometown were gaunt (thin, lean). They were
people, who labored hard, to earn a living, and had no time for
niceties.
Falelo Quiroga appeared to be
the opposite. His whole demeanor was, that of a man, who had time only
for niceties. He was pleasant-looking. He had a bland (pleasant in
manner, soothing), well-shaven face
with kind blue eyes. He had the air and the
confidence of a doctor. People in my town used to say, that he was
capable of putting anyone at ease,
and that he should have been a priest, a lawyer, or a doctor, instead
of
a gambler. They also used to say,
that he made more money gambling, than all the doctors and lawyers in
town, put together, made by
working. His hair was black, and carefully combed. It was obviously
thinning considerably. He tried to hide his
receding hairline by combing his hair over his forehead. He had a
square jaw and an absolutely
winning smile. He had big, white teeth, which were well cared for, the
ultimate novelty in an area,
where tooth decay was monumental. Two other remarkable features of
Falelo Quiroga, for me, were
his enormous feet and his handmade, black patent-leather shoes. I was
fascinated by the fact, that his
shoes didn't squeak at all, as he walked back and forth in the room. I
was accustomed to hearing my
grandfather's approach by the squeak of the soles of his shoes.
"My grandson plays billiards very well," my grandfather said
nonchalantly (cool,
indifferent)
to Falelo
Quiroga. "Why
don't I give him my cue and let him play with you, while I watch?"
"This child plays billiards?" the big man asked my grandfather with a
laugh.
"Oh, he does," my grandfather assured him. "Of course, not as well, as
you do, Falelo. Why don't you
try him? And to make it interesting for you, so you won't be
patronizing my grandson, let's bet a little
money. What do you say, if we bet this much?" He put a thick wad
(bundle) of crumpled-up bills on the table and smiled at
Falelo Quiroga, shaking his head
from side to side, as if daring the big man to take his bet.
"My oh my, that much, eh?" Falelo Quiroga said, looking at me
questioningly. He opened his wallet
then and pulled out some neatly folded bills. This, for me, was another
surprising detail. My
grandfather's habit was to carry his money in every one of his pockets,
all crumpled up. When he
needed to pay for something, he had to straighten out the bills, in
order to count them. Falelo Quiroga didn't say it, but I knew, that he
felt like a highway
robber. He smiled at my grandfather
and, obviously, out of respect for him, he put his money on the table.
152-153
My grandfather, acting as the
arbiter, set the game at a certain number of caroms and flipped a coin,
to see, who would start first. Falelo Quiroga won.
"You better give it all you have, without holding back," my grandfather
urged him. "Don't have any
qualms (doubts) about
demolishing this twerp (stupid fool) and winning my money!"
Falelo Quiroga, following my grandfather's advice, played as hard, as
he
was able, but at one point he
missed one carom by a hair. I took the cue. I thought, I was going to
faint, but seeing my grandfather's
glee (he was jumping up and down) calmed me, and besides, it irked
(annoy, irritate) me to
see Falelo Quiroga about to
split his sides laughing, when he saw the way I held the cue. I
couldn't
lean over the table, as billiards
is normally played, because of my height. But my grandfather, with
painstaking patience and determination,
had taught me an alternative way of playing. By extending my arm all
the way back, I held
the cue nearly above my shoulders, to the side.
"What does he do, when he has to reach the middle of the table?" Falelo
Quiroga asked, laughing.
"He hangs on the edge of the table," my grandfather said
matter-of-factly. "It's permissible, you
know."
My grandfather came to me and whispered through clenched teeth, that if
I tried to be polite and lose,
he was going to break all the cues on my head. I knew,
he didn't mean
it; this was just his way of
expressing his confidence in me. I won easily. My grandfather was
delighted beyond description, but
strangely enough, so was Falelo
Quiroga. He laughed, as he went around the pool table, slapping its
edges. My grandfather praised me
to the skies. He revealed to Quiroga my best score, and joked, that I
had excelled, because he had found
the way to lure me to practice: coffee with Danish pastries.
"You don't say, you don't say!" Quiroga kept repeating. He said
good-bye; my grandfather picked up
the bet money, and the incident was forgotten. My grandfather promised
to take me to a restaurant and
buy me
the best meal in town, but he never did. He was very stingy (mean,
spending reluctantly); he was
known to be a lavish spender only
with women.
Two
days later, two enormous men, affiliated (connected to) with Falelo
Quiroga, came to
me at the time, that I got out
from school and was leaving. "Falelo Quiroga wants to see you," one of
them said in a guttural tone.
"He wants you to go to his
place and have some coffee and Danish pastries with him." If he hadn't
said coffee and Danish pastries, I probably would have run
away from them. I
remembered then, that my grandfather had told Falelo Quiroga, that I
would sell my soul for coffee and
Danish pastries. I gladly went with them. However, I couldn't walk as
fast, as they did, so one of them,
the one, whose name was Guillermo Falcon, picked me up and cradled me
in
his huge arms. He
laughed through crooked teeth. "You better enjoy the ride, kid," he
said. His breath was terrible.
"Have you ever been carried by
anyone? Judging by the way you wriggle (turning/twisting body), never!"
He giggled grotesquely.
Fortunately, Falelo Quiroga's place was not too far from the school.
Mr. Falcon deposited me on a
couch in an office. Falelo Quiroga was there, sitting behind a huge
desk. He stood up and shook hands
with me. He immediately had some coffee and delicious pastries brought
to me, and the two of us sat
there chatting amiably (friendly, cordially) about my grandfather's
chicken farm. He asked
me,
if I would like to have more
pastries, and I said, that I wouldn't mind, if I did. He laughed, and
he
himself brought me a whole tray
of unbelievably delicious pastries from the next room. After I had
veritably gorged myself, he politely asked me, if I would
consider coming to his billiards
place in the wee hours of the night, to play a couple of friendly games
with some people of his choice. He casually mentioned, that a
considerable amount of money was going to
be involved. He openly
expressed his trust in my skill, and added, that he was going to pay
me,
for my time and my effort, a
percentage of the winning money. He further stated, that he knew the
mentality of my family; they
would have found it improper, that he give me money, even though it was
pay.
154-155
So he promised to put
the money in the bank, in a special account for me, or more practical
yet, he would cover any purchase,
that I made in any of the stores in town, or the food I consumed in any
restaurant in town. I didn't believe a word, of what he was saying. I
knew, that Falelo
Quiroga was a crook, a racketeer. I
liked, however, the idea of playing billiards with people, I didn't
know, and I struck a bargain with him.
"Will you give me some coffee and Danish pastries, like the ones you
gave me today?" I said.
"Of course, my boy," he replied. "If you come to play for me, I will
buy you the bakery! I will have
the baker bake them just for you. Take my word." I warned Falelo
Quiroga, that the only drawback was my incapacity to get
out of my house; I had too
many aunts, who watched me like hawks, and besides, my bedroom was on
the second floor. "That's no problem," Falelo Quiroga assured me.
"You're quite small.
Mr. Falcon will catch you, if you
jump from your window into his arms. He's as big, as a house! I
recommend, that you go to bed early
tonight. Mr. Falcon will wake you up, by whistling and throwing rocks
at
your window. You have to
watch out, though! He's an impatient man."
I went home in the midst of the most astounding excitation. I couldn't
go to sleep. I was quite awake,
when I heard Mr. Falcon whistling and throwing small pebbles against
the glass panes of the window. I opened the window. Mr. Falcon was
right below me, on the street. "Jump into my arms, kid," he said to me
in a constricted voice, which
he tried to modulate into a loud
whisper. "If you don't aim at my arms, I'll drop you and you'll die.
Remember that. Don't make me run
around. Just aim at my arms. Jump! Jump!" I did, and he caught me with
the ease of someone, catching a bag of
cotton. He put me down and told
me to run. He said, that I was a child, awakened from a deep sleep, and
that he had to make me run, so I
would be fully awake, by the time I got to the billiards house. I
played
that night with two men, and I won both games. I had the most
delicious coffee and pastries,
that one could imagine. Personally, I was in heaven. It was around
seven in the morning, when
I
returned home. Nobody had noticed my absence. It was time to go to
school. For all practical
purposes, everything was normal, except for the fact, that I was so
tired,
that I couldn't keep my eyes
open all day. From that day on, Falelo Quiroga sent Mr. Falcon to pick
me up two or
three times a week, and I won
every game, that he made me play. And faithful to his promise, he paid
for anything, that I bought,
including meals at my favorite Chinese restaurant, where I used to go
daily. Sometimes, I even invited
my friends, whom I mortified (humiliate) no end, by running out of the
restaurant,
screaming, when the waiter
brought the bill. They were amazed at the fact, that they were never
taken to the police, for consuming
food and not paying for it.
What was an ordeal for me was, that I had
never conceived (form in the mind, formulate) of the fact,
that I would have to contend (fight, debate)
with the hopes and expectations of all the people, who bet on me. The
ordeal of ordeals, however, took
place, when a crack player from a nearby city, challenged Falelo
Quiroga
and backed his challenge
with a giant bet. The night of the game was an inauspicious (not
favourable) night. My
grandfather became ill and
couldn't fall asleep. The entire family was in an uproar (noisy
confusion). It appeared,
that nobody went to bed. I doubted,
that I had any possibility of sneaking out of my bedroom, but Mr.
Falcon's whistling and the pebbles
hitting the glass of my window were so insistent, that I took a chance
and jumped from my window
into Mr. Falcon's arms. It seemed, that every male in town had
congregated at the billiards
place. Anguished faces silently
begged me not to lose. Some of the men boldly assured me, that they had
bet their houses and all their
belongings. One man, in a half-joking tone, said, that he had bet his
wife; if I didn't win, he would be a
cuckold (наставила рога, измена жены) that night, or a murderer.
156-157
He didn't specify, whether he meant,
he would kill his wife, in order
not to be a cuckold, or me, for losing the game. Falelo Quiroga paced
back and forth. He had hired a masseur to massage
me. He wanted me relaxed. The masseur put hot towels on my arms and
wrists and cold towels on my
forehead. He put on my feet
the most comfortable, soft shoes, that I had ever worn. They had hard,
military heels and arch supports. Falelo Quiroga even outfitted me with
a beret, to keep my hair from
falling in my face, as well, as a
pair of loose overalls with a belt. Half of the people, around the
billiard table, were strangers from
another town. They glared at me. They
gave me the feeling, that they wanted me dead. Falelo Quiroga flipped a
coin, to decide, who would go first. My opponent
was a Brazilian of Chinese
descent, young, round-faced, very spiffy (excellent) and confident. He
started
first, and he made a staggering
amount of caroms. I knew by the color of his face, that Falelo Quiroga
was about to have a heart
attack, and so were the other people, who had bet everything, they had,
on
me. I played very well that night, and, as I approached the number of
caroms,
that the other man had made,
the nervousness of the ones, who had bet on me, reached its peak.
Falelo
Quiroga was the most
hysterical of them all. He yelled at everybody and demanded, that
someone open the windows, because
the cigarette smoke made the air unbreathable for me. He wanted the
masseur to relax my arms and
shoulders. Finally, I had to stop everyone, and in a real hurry, I made
the eight caroms, that I needed to
win. The euphoria of those, who had bet on me, was indescribable. I was
oblivious to all that, for it was
already morning and they had to take me home in a hurry. My exhaustion
that day knew no limits. Very obligingly (helpful, considerate), Falelo
Quiroga
didn't send for me for a whole
week. However, one afternoon, Mr. Falcon picked me up from school and
took me to the billiards
house. Falelo Quiroga was extremely serious. He didn't even offer me
coffee or Danish pastries. He
sent everybody out of
his office and got directly to the point. He pulled his chair close
to me.
"I have put a lot of money in the bank for you," he said very solemnly.
"I am true, to what I promised
you. I give you my word, that I will always look after you.
You know
that! Now, if you do, what I am
going to tell you to do, you will make so much money, that you won't
have to work a day in your life. I
want you to lose your next game by one carom. I know, that you can do
it. But I want you to miss by
only a hair. The more dramatic, the better." I was dumb-founded. All of
this was incomprehensible (unintelligible,
boundless, without limits) to me.
Falelo
Quiroga repeated his request and
further explained, that he was going to bet anonymously all he had,
against me, and that that was the
nature of our new deal. "Mr. Falcon has been guarding you for months,"
he said. "All I need to
tell you is, that Mr. Falcon uses
all his force to protect you, but
he could do the opposite with the
same strength." Falelo Quiroga's threat couldn't have been more
obvious. He must have
seen in my face the horror, that
I felt, for he relaxed and laughed. "Oh, but don't you worry about
things like that," he said reassuringly,
"because we are brothers."
This was the first time in my life, that I had been placed in an
untenable (not defended) position. I wanted with all my
might to run away from Falelo Quiroga, from the fear, that he had
evoked
in me. But at the same time,
and with equal force, I wanted to stay; I wanted the ease of being able
to buy anything, I wanted from
any store, and above all, the ease of being able to eat at any
restaurant of my choice, without paying. I
was never confronted, however, with having to choose one or the other.
Unexpectedly, at least for me, my grandfather moved to another area,
quite distant. It was, as if he
knew, what was going on, and he sent me ahead of everyone else. I
doubted, that he actually knew, what
was taking place. It seemed, that sending me away, was one of his usual
intuitive actions.
158-159
Don Juan's
return brought me out of my recollection. I had lost track of time. I
should have been famished, but I
wasn't hungry at all. I was filled with nervous energy. Don Juan lit a
kerosene lantern and hung it from
a nail on the wall. Its dim light cast strange, dancing shadows in the
room. It took a moment for my
eyes to adjust to the semidarkness. I entered then into a state of
profound sadness. It was a strangely
detached feeling, a far-reaching longing, that came from that
semidarkness, or perhaps from the
sensation of being trapped. I was so tired, that I wanted to leave, but
at the same time, and with the
same force, I wanted to stay. Don Juan's voice brought me a measure of
control. He appeared to know
the reason for and the depth
of my turmoil, and modulated his voice to fit the occasion. The
severity of his tone helped me to gain
control over something, that could easily have turned into a hysterical
reaction to fatigue and mental
stimulation.
"To recount events is magical for sorcerers," he said. "It isn't just
telling stories. It is Seeing
the
underlying fabric of events. This is the reason, recounting is so
important and vast." At his request, I told don Juan the event, I had
recollected. "How appropriate," he said, and chuckled with delight."
The only
commentary I can make is, that
warrior-travelers roll with the punches. They go wherever the impulse
may take them. The power of
warrior-travelers is to be alert, to get maximum effect from minimal
impulse. And, above all, their
power lies in not interfering (intrude, be an obstacle). Events have a
force, a gravity of their
own, and travelers are just
travelers. Everything around them is for their eyes alone. In
this
fashion, travelers construct the
meaning of every situation, without ever asking, how it happened this
way or that way. Today, you remembered an event, that sums up your
total life," he
continued. "You are always faced
with a situation, that is the same, as the one, that you never
resolved.
You never really had to choose,
whether to accept or reject Falelo Quiroga's crooked deal. Infinity
always puts us in this terrible position of having to
choose," he went on. "We want Infinity,
but at the same time, we want to run away from it. You want to tell me
to go and jump in a lake, but at
the same time you are compelled (forced) to stay. It
would be infinitely easier
for you to just be compelled to
stay."
The
Interplay of Energy on the Horizon
160-161
THE CLARITY OF the usher (doorkeeper keeps order) brought a new impetus
(stimulus) to my
Recapitulation. A
new mood replaced the
old one. From then on,
I began to recollect events in my life with
maddening clarity. It was exactly, as
if a barrier had been built inside me, that had kept me, holding
rigidly
on to meager (scanty, deficient in
quantity) and
unclear
memories, and the usher had smashed it. My memory faculty had been for
me, prior to that event, a
vague way of referring to things, that had happened, but which I
wanted,
most of the time, to forget. Basically, I had no interest whatsoever in
remembering anything of my
life. Therefore,
I honestly saw
absolutely no point in this futile exercise of Recapitulating, which
don Juan had practically imposed (applied as compulsory) on
me. For me, it was a chore, that tired me instantly and did nothing,
but
point out my incapacity for
concentrating. I had dutifully made, nevertheless, lists of people, and
I had engaged
in a haphazard effort of quasi-remembering
my interactions with them. My lack of clarity, in bringing those people
into
focus, didn't dissuade me. I fulfilled, what
I considered to be my duty,
regardless of the way I really
felt. With practice, the clarity of my recollection improved, I thought
remarkably. I was able to
descend, so to speak, on certain choice events with a fair amount of
keenness (enthusiastic, sharp), that was at once scary
and rewarding. After don Juan presented me with the idea of the usher,
however, the power of my
recollection became something, for which I had no name. Following my
list of people, made the Recapitulation extremely formal
and exigent (urgent), the way don Juan
wanted it. But from time to time, something in me got loose, something,
that forced me to focus on
events, unrelated to my list, events, whose clarity was so maddening,
that
I was caught and submerged
in them, perhaps even more intensely, than I had been, when I had lived
the experiences themselves. Every time I recapitulated in such a
fashion, I had a degree of
detachment, which allowed me to see
things, I had disregarded, when I had really been in the
throes (agonising
pain/struggle)
of them.
The first time, in which the recollection of an event shook me to my
foundations, happened, after I had
given a lecture at a college in Oregon. The students, in charge of
organizing the lecture, took me and
another anthropology friend of mine to a house to spend the night. I
was going to go to a motel, but
they insisted, for our comfort, on taking us to this house. They said,
that it was in the country, and there
were no noises, the quietest place in the world, with no telephones, no
interference from the outside
world. I, like the fool, that I was, agreed to go with them. Don Juan
had not only warned me to always
be a solitary bird, he had demanded, that I observe his recommendation,
something, that I did most of
the time, but there were occasions, when the gregarious (sociable, like
to be with group) creature in me
took the upper hand. The committee took us to the house, quite a
distance from Portland, of
a professor, who was on
sabbatical (day of rest). Very swiftly, they turned on the lights
inside and outside
of the house, which was located
on a hill, with spotlights all around it. With the spotlights on, the
house must have been visible from
five miles away.
162-163
After that, the committee took off as fast, as they
could, something, that surprised me,
because I thought, they were going to stay and talk. The house was a
wooden A-frame, small, but very
well constructed. It had an enormous living room and a mezzanine above
it, where the bedroom was. Right above, at the apex of the A-frame,
there was a life-size crucifix,
hanging from a strange rotating
hinge, which was drilled into the head of the figure. The spotlights on
the wall were focused on the
crucifix. It was quite an impressive sight, especially when it rotated,
squeaking, as if the hinge needed
oil. The bathroom of the house was another sight. It had mirrored tiles
on
the ceiling, the walls, and the
floor, and it was illuminated with a reddish light. There was no way to
go to the bathroom without
seeing yourself from every conceivable angle. I enjoyed all those
features of the house, which seemed
to me stupendous. When the time came for me to go to sleep, however,
I
encountered a
serious problem, because there
was only one narrow, hard, quite monastic bed and my anthropologist
friend was close to having
pneumonia, wheezing (breathing with difficulty and hoarse whistling
sound) and retching (trying to vomit) phlegm (thick mucus), every time
he coughed. He went
straight for the bed and
passed out. I looked for a place to sleep. I couldn't find one. That
house was barren of comforts. Besides, it was cold. The committee had
turned on the lights, but not
the heater. I looked for the heater. My search was fruitless, as was my
search for the switch to the
spotlights or to any of the lights in the
house, for that matter. The switches were there on the walls, but they
seemed to be overruled by the
effect of some main switch. The lights were on, and I had no way to
turn them off. The only place, I could find to sleep, was on a thin
throw rug, and the
only thing I found, with which I
could cover myself, was the tanned hide of a giant French poodle.
Obviously, it had been the pet of the
house and had been preserved; it had shiny black-marble eyes and an
open mouth with the tongue
hanging out. I put the head of the poodle skin toward my knees. I still
had to cover myself with the
tanned rear end, which was on my neck. Its
preserved head was like a hard object between my knees, quite
unsettling! If it had been dark, it
wouldn't have been as bad. I gathered a bundle of washcloths and used
them as a pillow. I used as
many, as possible, to cover the hide of the French poodle, the best way
I
could. I couldn't sleep all night. It was then, as I lay there cursing
myself silently for being so stupid
and not following don Juan's
recommendation, that I had the first maddeningly clear recollection of
my entire life. I had recollected
the event, that don Juan had called the usher with equal clarity, but
my
tendency had always been to
half-disregard, what happened to me, when I was with don Juan, on the
basis, that in his presence
anything was possible. This time, however, I was alone. Years before I
met don Juan, I had worked, painting signs on buildings.
My boss's name was Luigi
Palma. One day Luigi got a contract to paint a sign, advertising the
sale and rental of bridal gowns and
tuxedos, on the back wall of an old building. The owner, of the store
in
the building, wanted to catch
the eye of possible customers with a large display. Luigi was going to
paint a bride and groom, and I
was going to do the lettering. We went to the flat roof of the building
and set up a scaffold. I was quite apprehensive, although I had no
overt reason to be so. I had
painted dozens of signs on high
buildings. Luigi thought, that I was beginning to be afraid of heights,
but that my fear was going to
pass. When the time came to start working,
he lowered the scaffold a
few feet from the roof and
jumped onto its flat boards. He went to one side, while I stood on the
other, in order to be totally out of
his way. He was the artist. Luigi began to show off. His painting
movements were so erratic and
agitated, that the scaffold moved
back and forth. I became dizzy. I wanted to go back to the flat roof,
using the pretext (an excuse), that I needed
more paint and other painters' paraphernalia. I grabbed the edge of the
wall, that fringed the flat roof
and tried to hoist myself up, but the tips of my feet got stuck in the
boards of the scaffold. I tried to
pull my feet and the scaffold toward the
wall.
164-165
The harder I pulled, the farther away I pushed the scaffold from
the wall. Instead of helping me
untangle my feet, Luigi sat down and braced himself with the cords,
that
attached the scaffold to the
flat roof. He crossed himself and looked at me in horror. From his
sitting position, he knelt, weeping
quietly, as he recited the Lord's Prayer. I held on to the edge of the
wall for dear life; what gave me the
desperate strength to endure was the
certainty, that if I was in control, I could keep the scaffold from
moving farther and farther away. I
wasn't going to lose my grip and fall thirteen floors to my death.
Luigi, being a compulsive taskmaster
to the bitter end, yelled to me, in the midst of tears, that I should
pray. He swore, that both of us were
going to fall to our deaths, and that, the least we could do, was to
pray
for the salvation of our souls. For a moment, I deliberated about,
whether it was functional to pray. I
opted to yell for help. People in
the building must have heard my yelling and sent for the firemen. I
sincerely thought, that it had taken
only two or three seconds, after I began to yell for the firemen to
come
onto the roof and grab Luigi
and me, and secure the scaffold. In reality, I had hung on to the side
of the building for at least
twenty minutes. When the firemen
finally pulled me onto the roof, I had lost any vestige of control. I
vomited on the hard floor of the
roof, sick to my stomach from fear and the odious smell of melted tar.
It was a very hot day; the tar,
on the cracks of the scratchy roofing sheets, was melting in the heat.
The ordeal had been so
frightening and embarrassing, that I didn't want to remember it, and I
ended up hallucinating, that the
firemen had pulled me into a warm, yellow room; they had then put me in
a supremely comfortable
bed, and I had fallen peacefully asleep, safe, wearing my pajamas,
delivered from danger. My second recollection was another blast of
incommensurable (non-comparable) force. I
was talking amiably (friendly,
cordially) to
a group
of friends, when, for no apparent reason, I could account for, I
suddenly
lost my breath under the
impact of a thought, a memory, which was vague for an
instant and then became an engrossing (wholly absorbed) experience. Its
force was so
intense, that I had to excuse myself
and retreat for a moment to a corner. My friends seemed to understand
my reaction; they disbanded (dispersed)
without any comments. What, I was remembering, was an incident, that
had
taken place in my last year
of high school. My best friend and I used to walk to school, passing a
big mansion with
a black wrought-iron fence at
least seven feet high and ending in pointed spikes. Behind the fence
was an extensive, well-kept green
lawn, and a huge, ferocious German shepherd dog. Every day, we used to
tease the dog and let him
charge at us. He stopped physically at the wrought-iron fence, but his
rage seemed to cross over to us. My friend delighted, in engaging the
dog every day in a contest of mind
over matter. He used to stand a
few inches from the dog's snout, which protruded between the iron bars
at least six inches into the
street, and bare his teeth, just like the dog did.
"Yield, yield!" my friend shouted every time. "Obey! Obey! I am more
powerful, than you!" His daily displays of mental power, which lasted
at least five minutes,
never affected the dog, outside
of leaving him more furious, than ever. My friend assured me daily, as
part of his ritual, that the dog
was either going to obey him or die in front of us of heart failure,
brought about by rage. His
conviction was so intense, that I believed, that the dog was going to
drop dead any day. One morning, when we came around, the dog wasn't
there. We waited for a
moment, but he didn't
show up; then we saw him, at the end of the extensive lawn. He seemed
to be busy there, so we slowly
began to walk away.
From the corner of my eye, I noticed, that the dog
was running at full speed,
toward us. When he was perhaps six or seven feet from the fence, he
took a gigantic leap over it. I was
sure, that he was going to rip his belly on the spikes. He barely
cleared them and fell onto the street,
like a sack of potatoes. I thought for a moment, that he was dead, but
he was only stunned. Suddenly, he got up, and, instead of
chasing after the one, who had brought about his rage, he ran after me.
I jumped onto the roof of a car,
but the car was nothing for the dog.
166-167
He took a leap and was nearly on
top of me. I scrambled down
and climbed the first tree, that was within reach, a flimsy little
tree,
that could barely support my
weight. I was sure, that it would snap in the middle, sending me right
into the dog's jaws, to be mauled
to death. In the tree, I was nearly out of his reach. But the dog
jumped again,
and snapped his teeth, catching
me by the seat of my pants and ripping them. His teeth actually nicked
(cut a notch in)
my buttocks. The moment I
was safe at the top of the tree, the dog left. He just ran up the
street, perhaps looking for my friend. At the infirmary (изолятор) in
school, the nurse told me, that I had to ask the
owner of the dog for a certificate of
rabies vaccination. "You must look into this," she said severely. "You
may have rabies
already. If the owner refuses to
show you the vaccination certificate, you are within your rights to
call the police."
I talked to the caretaker of the mansionб where the dog lived. He
accused me of luring the owner's most
valuable dog, a pedigreed (recorded ancestry) animal, out into the
street. "You better watch out, boy!" he said in an angry tone. "The dog
got
lost. The owner will send you to
jail, if you keep on bothering us."
"But I may have rabies," I said in a sincerely terrified tone.
"I don't give a shit, if you have the bubonic plague," the man snapped.
"Scram (leave at once)!"
"I'll call the police," I said.
"Call whoever you like," he retorted. "You call the police, we'll turn
them against you. In this house,
we have enough clout (influence, power) to do that!"
I believed him, so I lied to the nurse and said, that the dog could not
be found, and that it had no owner.
"Oh my god!" the woman exclaimed. "Then brace yourself for the worst. I
may have to send you to the doctor." She gave me a long list of
symptoms, that I should look for or wait for,
until they manifested themselves. She said, that the injections for
rabies were extremely painful,
and that they had to be administered subcuta-
neously (introduced just beneath the skin) on the area of the
abdomen.
"I wouldn't wish,
that treatment on my worst enemy," she
said, plunging me into a horrid nightmare. What
followed was: my first real depression. I just lay in my bed, feeling
every one of the
symptoms, enumerated by the nurse. I ended up going to
the school infirmary and begging the woman to give me the treatment for rabies,
no matter how painful. I made a huge scene. I
became hysterical. I didn't have rabies, but I had
totally lost my control. I related to don Juan my two
recollections in all their detail, sparing nothing. He didn't make any comments. He nodded a few
times.
"In both
recollections, don Juan," I said, feeling myself
the urgency of my voice, "I was as hysterical, as anyone could be. My body
was trembling. I was sick to my stomach. I
don't want to say it was, as if I were in the
experiences, because that's not the truth. I was in the experiences
themselves both times. And
when I couldn't take them anymore, I jumped into my life
now. For me, that was a jump into the future. I had
the power of going over time. My jump into the past was not abrupt; the
event developed slowly, as memories do. It was at the end, that I did
jump
abruptly into the future: my life now."
"Something
in you has begun to collapse for
sure," he finally said. "It has been collapsing all along, but it
repaired itself very quickly,
every time its supports failed. My feeling is, that it is now
collapsing
totally." After
another long
silence, don Juan explained, that the
Sorcerers of ancient Mexico believed, that, as he had
told me already, we had two Minds, and only one of them was truly ours.
I had
always understood
don Juan, as saying, that
there were two parts to our
minds, and one of them was
always silent,
because expression was denied to it by the force of the other
part. Whatever don Juan
had said, I had taken as a metaphorical way to explain, perhaps, the
apparent dominance of the left
hemisphere of the
brain over the right, or something of the
like. "There
is a secret
option to the Recapitulation" , don Juan
said.
168-169
"Just
like I told you, that there is a secret option to dying, an
option, that only Sorcerers take.
In the case of dying, the secret option is, that
human beings could retain their life force and relinquish only
their Awareness,
the product of their lives. In the case of the Recapitulation,
the secret option, that
only Sorcerers
take, is to choose to enhance their True
Minds.
"The
haunting memory of your recollections," he
went on, "could come only from your True Mind. The other mind,
that we all have and share, is, I would say, a
cheap model: economy strength, one size fits all. But this
is a subject, that we will discuss later. What
is at stake now, is the advent (arrival) of a Disintegrating Force.
But not
a Force, that is disintegrating you - I don't
mean it that way. It is disintegrating, what the Sorcerers call
the Foreign Installation, which exists in you
and in every other human being. The effect of the Force,
that is descending on you, which is
disintegrating the Foreign Installation, is, that it pulls Sorcerers out
of their syntax (list
of rules,
LM)."
I had listened
carefully to don Juan, but I couldn't say,
that I had understood, what he had said. For some
strange reason, which was to me as unknown, as the cause of my vivid
recollections, I
couldn't ask him any questions. "I know how
difficult it is for you," don Juan said all of a
sudden, "to deal with this facet of your life. Every
Sorcerer, that I know, has gone through it. The
males, going through it,
suffer infinitely more damage,
than the females. I suppose,
it's
the condition of women, to be more durable.
The Sorcerers of ancient Mexico,
acting as a group, tried their best, to buttress (reinforce) the impact
of this
Disintegrating Force. In our
day, we have no means of acting as a group, so we must brace ourselves,
to face in solitude a Force,
that will sweep us away from language, for there is no way to describe
adequately, what is going
on."
Don Juan was right
in that, I was at a loss for explanations
or ways of describing the effect, that those recollections had had on
me. Don Juan had told me, that Sorcerers face
the Unknown in the most common
incidents, one can
imagine. When they are confronted with it, and cannot
interpret, what they are
perceiving, they have
to rely on an outside source for direction.
Don Juan had called that source Infinity, or the
voice of the Spirit, and had said, that if
Sorcerers don't try to be
rational about, what
can't
be
rationalized, the Spirit unerringly () tells
them, what's what. Don Juan had guided me to accept
the idea, that Infinity was a Force, that had a voice and was
conscious of itself.
Consequently, he
had prepared me to be ready to listen to
that voice and act efficiently always, but without
antecedents (precedence), using as little, as possible the railings of
the a priori (preciding).
I waited impatiently
for the voice of the Spirit to tell me the
meaning of my recollections, but nothing happened. I was in a
bookstore one day, when a girl recognized me and
came over to talk to me. She was tall and slim, and
had an insecure, little girl's voice. I was trying to make her feel at
ease, when I was
suddenly accosted (approach and speak boldly) by an instantaneous
energetic
change. It was, as if an alarm had been triggered in me, and,
as it
had happened in the
past, without any volition on my part whatsoever,
I recollected another completely forgotten event in
my life. The memory of my grandparents' house flooded me. It
was a veritable
avalanche, so
intense, that it was devastating, and once more, I
had to retreat to a corner. My body shook, as if I
had taken a chill. I must have been eight years old.
My grandfather was talking to me. He had begun by telling me,
that it
was his utmost duty to set me straight. I had two cousins, who were my
age: Alfredo and Luis. My grandfather demanded
mercilessly, that I admit, that my cousin Alfredo was really beautiful.
In my
vision,
I heard my grandfather's raspy, constricted
voice.
"Alfredo doesn't
need any introductions," he had said to me
on that occasion. "He needs only to be present and
the doors will fly open for him, because everybody practices the cult
of
beauty. Everybody likes
beautiful people.
They envy them, but they certainly
seek their company. Take it from me. I am handsome,
wouldn't you say?"
170-171
I sincerely agreed with my grandfather. He was certainly a
very handsome
man, small-boned, with laughing blue eyes and an exquisitely
chiseled face with beautiful cheekbones. Everything
seemed to be perfectly balanced in his face: his nose, his mouth, his
eyes, his pointed
jaw. He had blond
hair growing on his ears, a feature, that gave
him an elflike appearance. He knew everything about
himself, and he exploited his attributes to the maximum. Women adored
him; first,
according to him, for his beauty, and second, because he posed no
threat to them. He, of course, took full advantage of
all this.
"Your cousin
Alfredo is a winner," my grandfather went on.
"He will never have to crash a party, because he'll
be the first one on the list of guests. Have you ever noticed, how
people stop in the street to
look at him, and how they
want to touch him? He's so
beautiful, that I'm afraid, he's going to turn out to
be an asshole, but that's a different story. Let us say, that he'll be
the most welcome asshole, you
have ever met."
My grandfather
compared my cousin Luis with Alfredo. He
said, that Luis was homely, and a little bit stupid,
but that he had a heart of gold. And then he brought me into the
picture. "If
we are going to
proceed with our explanation,"
he
continued, "you have to admit in sincerity, that Alfredo is beautiful and
Luis is good. Now, let's take you; you are
neither handsome, nor good. You are a veritable son of
a bitch. Nobody's going to invite you to a party. You'll have to get
used to the
idea,
that if you want to be at a party, you will
have to crash it. Doors will never be open for you the way, they will be open for
Alfredo for being beautiful, and for Luis for
being good, so you will have to get in through the
window."
His analysis of his
three grandsons was so accurate, that he
made me weep with the finality, of what he had said.
The more I wept, the happier he became. He finished his case with a
most
deleterious
admonition (warning). "There's
no need to
feel bad," he said, "because there's
nothing more exciting, than getting in through the
window. To do that, you have to be clever and on your toes.
You have to watch everything, and be prepared for endless humiliations. If you have
to go in through the window,"
he went on, "it's because you're
definitely not on the list of guests; therefore, your
presence is not welcome at all, so
you have to work your butt off to stay. The only way
I know is, by possessing everybody. Scream ! Demand ! Advise ! Make
them
feel, that you are in
charge! How could they
throw you out, if you're in
charge?"
Remembering this
scene caused a profound upheaval in me. I
had buried this incident so deeply, that I had
forgotten all about it. What I had remembered all along, however, was
his admonition to be
in
charge,
which he must have repeated to me over and
over throughout the years. I didn't have a chance to
examine this event, or ponder it, because another forgotten memory
surfaced with
the same force. In it, I was with the girl, I had been engaged to.
At that time, both of us were saving money to be
married and have a house of our own. I heard myself demanding, that we
have a joint
checking account; I wouldn't have it any other way. I felt an
imperative need to lecture her on frugality (economising). I heard
myself telling her, where to buy her clothes, and what the top
affordable price should be.
Then
I saw
myself giving driving lessons to her younger sister and going veritably
berserk, when she said,
that she was planning to move out of her parents'
house. Forcefully, I threatened her with canceling my
lessons. She wept, confessing, that she was having an affair with her
boss. I jumped out
of the car and began kicking the door. However, that was not all.
I heard myself telling my fiancee's father
not to move to Oregon, where he planned to go. I shouted
at the top of my voice, that
it was
a stupid move. I really believed, that my reasonings,
against it, were unbeatable. I presented him with budget
figures, in which I had
meticulously calculated his losses. When he didn't
pay any attention to me, I slammed the door and left, shaking with rage. I found my
fiancee in the living room, playing her
guitar.
172-173
I pulled it out of her hands and yelled at her, that
she embraced the guitar, instead of playing it, as if it were more,
than
an object.
My desire, to impose my will, extended all across the board. I
made no distinctions; whoever, was close to me, was
there for me to possess and mold, following my whims. I didn't have to ponder
anymore the significance of my vivid visions.
For an unquestionable certainty invaded me, as
if coming from outside me. It told me, that my weak point was the idea,
that I had to
be the man in the director's chair at all times. It
had been a deeply ingrained concept with me, that I not only had to be in charge,
but I had to be in control of any
situation. The way, in which I had been brought up,
had reinforced this drive, which must have been arbitrary (random) at
its onset (beginning),
but had turned, in
my adulthood, into a deep necessity. I was aware, beyond any
doubt, that, what was at stake, was
Infinity. Don Juan had portrayed it, as a conscious
force, that deliberately intervenes in the lives of Sorcerers. And now
it was intervening in mine.
I knew, that Infinity
was pointing out to me, through
the vivid recollection of those forgotten experiences,
the intensity and the depth of my drive for control, and thus preparing
me for something transcendental
(mystical)
to myself. I knew with frightening certainty,
that something was going to bar (nullify) any possibility of my
being in control, and that I needed, more, than anything else,
sobriety,
fluidity,
and
abandon,
in order to face the things, that I felt,
were coming to me.
Naturally,
I told all this to don
Juan, elaborating to my heart's content on my speculations and inspirational insights
about the possible significance of my
recollections. Don Juan laughed good-humoredly.
"All
this is psychological exaggeration on your part, wishful thinking," he said. "You
are, as usual, seeking explanations
with Linear Cause and
Effect. Each of your recollections becomes more
and more vivid, more and more
maddening to you, because, as I told you already,
you have entered an irreversible
process. Your true mind is emerging,
waking up from a state of
lifelong lethargy. "Infinity
is claiming you," he continued. "Whatever means it uses, to
point that out to you, cannot
have any other reason, any other cause, any other
value, than that. What you should do, however, is to be prepared for the onslaughts
of Infinity. You must
be in a state of continuously bracing yourself for a
Blow of Tremendous Magnitude. That is the sane,
sober way, in which
Sorcerers face
Infinity."
Don Juan's words
left me with a bad taste in my mouth. I
actually sensed the assault coming on me, and feared
it. Since I had spent my entire life, hiding behind some
superfluous activity, I immersed myself in work. I gave
lectures in classes, taught by my
friends in different schools in Southern California.
I wrote copiously.
I could say without exaggeration, that I threw
dozens of manuscripts into the garbage can, because
they didn't fulfill an
indispensable (necessary) requirement, that don Juan had described
to me,
as the mark of
something, that is acceptable by
Infinity.
An act, free from encroach in expectations,
fears of failure, hopes of success. Free from the cult of me;
everything I did, had to be impromptu, a work of Magic,
where I freely opened myself to
the impulses of the Infinite.
One night, I was
sitting at my desk, preparing myself for my
daily activity of writing. I felt a moment of
grogginess. I thought, that I, was feeling dizzy, because I had gotten
up
too quickly from my
mat, where
I had been doing my exercises. My
vision blurred. I saw yellow spots in front of my eyes. I thought, I was going to
faint. The fainting spell got worse. There was an
enormous red spot in front of me. I began to breathe
deeply, trying to quiet, whatever agitation was causing this visual
distortion.
I became
extraordinarily silent, to the
point, where I noticed, that I was surrounded by impenetrable darkness. The thought
crossed my mind, I had fainted. However, I could
feel the chair, my desk; I could feel everything
around me from inside the darkness, that surrounded me. Don Juan had said, that the
sorcerers of his lineage considered that, one of the most
coveted results of Inner Silence was a specific interplay of energy,
which is always heralded (announced) by
a strong emotion.
174-175
He
felt,
that my recollections were the means to agitate
me to the extreme, where I would experience this interplay. Such an
interplay manifested itself in terms of
hues, that were projected on any horizon in the world
of everyday life, be it a mountain, the sky, a wall, or simply the
palms of the hands. He
had explained, that this interplay of hues begins
with the appearance of a tenuous (slender form) brushstroke of
lavender on
the horizon. In time,
this lavender brushstroke starts to expand,
until it covers the visible horizon, like advancing
storm clouds. He assured me, that a dot of a
peculiar, rich, pomegranate red shows up, as if bursting from the lavender clouds. He stated,
that, as sorcerers become more disciplined and
experienced, the dot of
pomegranate expands and
finally explodes into thoughts or visions, or in the case of a literate
man, into
written words; sorcerers either see visions, engendered (produce,
procreate) by energy,
hear thoughts, being voiced as words, or read written
words. That night at my desk, I didn't see any
lavender brushstrokes, nor did I see any advancing clouds. I
was sure, that I didn't have the discipline, that
sorcerers require for such an interplay of energy, but I had an enormous dot of
pomegranate red in front of me. This enormous
dot, without any
preliminaries,
exploded into
disassociated words, that I read, as if they were on a sheet
of
paper, coming out of
a typewriter. The
words moved at such tremendous speed in front
of me, that it was impossible to read anything. Then I
heard a voice, describing something to me. Again, the speed of the
voice
was wrong
for my ears. The words were garbled (distort deliberately or
unintentionally), making it impossible to hear
anything, that would make sense. As if that weren't enough,
I began to see liverish scenes, like one sees
in dreams, after a heavy meal. They were baroque,
dark, ominous. I began to twirl, and I did so, until I got sick to my
stomach.
The whole
event ended there. I felt the effect of, whatever had
happened to me, in every muscle of my body. I
was exhausted. This violent intervention had made me angry and
frustrated.
I rushed to don Juan's house, to tell him about this happening. I
sensed,
that I needed his help more,
than ever.
"There's nothing
gentle about sorcerers or sorcery," don
Juan commented, after he heard my story."This was the
first time, that Infinity descended on you in such a fashion. It was
like a blitz (intense effort). It was a total takeover of your
faculties. Insofar (to such an extent), as the speed of
your visions is concerned, you, yourself, will have to
learn to adjust it. For some sorcerers, that's the job of a lifetime.
But from now on, energy
will appear to you, as if it were being projected onto
a movie screen. Whether or not you understand the
projection," he went on, "is another matter. In order to make an accurate interpretation,
you need experience.
My recommendation is, that
you shouldn't be bashful,
and you should begin now.
Read energy on the wall ! Your
true mind is emerging, and
it has nothing to do with the
mind, that is a Foreign
Installation. Let your True Mind adjust the speed. Be silent, and don't
fret (hole,
worn
spot, worry), no matter
what
happens."
"But, don Juan, is
all this possible? Can one actually read
energy, as if it were a text?" I asked, overwhelmed by
the idea.
"Of course it's
possible!" he retorted. "In your case, it's
not only possible, it's happening to you."
"But why reading
it, as if it were a text?" I insisted, but
it was a rhetorical (showy, insincere) insistence.
"It's an
affectation (pretence) on your part," he said.
"If you read
the text, you could repeat it verbatim (word for word). However, if
you tried to be a viewer of Infinity, instead of a reader of Infinity,
you would find, that you
could not describe, whatever you were viewing, and you
would end up babbling inanities (nonsense), incapable of verbalizing, what you
witness. The same thing if you tried to hear it.
This is, of course, specific to you. Anyway, Infinity
chooses. The warrior-traveler simply acquiesces (comply passively, assent) to the choice. But above all," he added
after a calculated pause, "don't be overwhelmed
by the event, because you cannot describe it. It is
an event beyond the syntax of our language."
Journeys
Through the Dark Sea of Awareness
Wolflike
aliens - Sirians
176-177
"We can speak a little more clearly now about Inner Silence " don Juan
said. His
statement was such a
non sequitur (?), that it startled me. He had been
talking to me all afternoon about the vicissitudes
(natural change or variation),
that the Yaqui Indians had suffered after the big Yaqui wars of the
twenties, when they
were deported by
the Mexican government from their native
homeland in the state of
Sonora, in northern
Mexico,
to work in sugarcane plantations in central and southern Mexico. The Mexican government had had
problems with endemic wars with the Yaqui
Indians for years. Don Juan
told me some astounding,
poignant (touching, affecting) Yaqui stories of political intrigue and
betrayal, deprivation
and human
misery. I had the
feeling, that don Juan was setting me up for something, because
he knew,
that those stories were
my cup of tea, so to
speak. I had at that time an
exaggerated sense of social justice and fair play.
"Circumstances
around you have made it possible for you to have more
energy," he went on. "You have
started the
Recapitulation of your life; you have looked at your friends for the
first time, as if they were
in a display window;
you arrived at your breaking
point, all by yourself, driven by your own needs; you
canceled your business; and above all, you have accrued (accumulated)
enough Inner Silence. All of
these made it possible for you to make a journey
through the Dark Sea of Awareness. Meeting me, in that
town of our choice, was that journey," he
continued. "I know, that a crucial question
almost
reached the surface in you, and that, for an instant, you wondered, if
I
really came to your house. My coming to see you wasn't a dream for you.
I
was real, wasn't I?"
"You were as real,
as anything could be," I
said.
I had nearly
forgotten about
those events, but I remembered,
that it did seem strange to me, that he had found my
apartment. I had discarded my astonishment by the simple process of
assuming, that he had asked someone for my new address, although, if I
had been
pressed,
I wouldn't have been able to come up with
the identity of anyone, who would have known where I lived.
"Let us clarify
this point," he continued. "In my terms,
which are the terms of the Sorcerers of Ancient Mexico,
I was as real, as I could have been, and as such,
I actually
went to your place from my Inner Silence to tell you
about the requisite of Infinity, and to warn you, that you were about
to run out of time. And you, in turn, from your Inner Silence,
veritably
went to that town of our choice to tell me, that you had succeeded in
fulfilling the requisite of
Infinity.
In your terms, which are the terms of the
average man, it was a dream-fantasy in both instances. You had a dream-fantasy, that I
came to your place without knowing the
address, and then you had a dream-fantasy, that you
went to see me. As far, as I'm concerned, as a Sorcerer, what you
consider your dream-fantasy
of meeting me
in that town, was as real, as the two of us
talking here today."
178-179
I
confessed
to don Juan, that there was no possibility of my framing those events
in a pattern of
thought, proper to Western man. I said, that to think of
them in terms of dream-fantasy, was to create a false
category, that couldn't stand up under scrutiny, and that the only
quasi
(almost)-explanation, that
was vaguely
possible, was another aspect of his
knowledge: Dreaming.
"No, it is not
Dreaming," he said emphatically. "This is
something more direct, and more mysterious. By the
way, I have a new definition of Dreaming for you today, more in
accordance with your state
of being.
Dreaming
is the act of changing the point
of attachment with the Dark Sea of Awareness. If
you view
it in this fashion,
it's a very simple concept, and a very simple
maneuver. It takes all you have to realize it, but
it's not an impossibility, nor is it something, surrounded with
mystical
clouds. Dreaming
is a term, that has always bugged (pestered) the hell out of me," he
continued, "because it weakens a very powerful act.
It makes it sound arbitrary; it gives it
a sense of being a fantasy,
and this is the only thing it is
not. I tried to
change the term myself, but it's
too ingrained. Maybe someday you could change it
yourself, although, as with everything else in sorcery, I am afraid,
that by the time you
could actually do it, you won't give a damn about it,
because it won't make any difference, what it is called anymore."
Don
Juan had
explained at great length, during the entire
time, that I had known him, that Dreaming was an Art, discovered by the
Sorcerers of ancient Mexico, by means of which ordinary dreams were
transformed into bona-fide entrances to Other Worlds of Perception. He
advocated, in any way he could, the advent (arrival) of something, he
called Dreaming Attention, which was the capacity to pay a special kind
of Attention, or to place a special kind of Awareness on the elements
of an ordinary dream. I had followed meticulously all his
recommendations and had succeeded in commanding my The idea, that don
Juan proposed, was not to set Awareness to remain fixed on the elements
of a dream.out deliberately to have a desired dream, but to fix one's
attention on the component elements of whatever dream presented itself.
Then don Juan had showed me energetically, what the Sorcerers of
ancient Mexico considered to be the origin of Dreaming: the
displacement of the assemblage point (Perception Point). He said, that
the assemblage point was displaced very naturally during sleep, but
that to see the displacement was a bit difficult, because it required
an aggressive mood, and, that such an aggressive mood had been the
predilection (preference) of the Sorcerers of ancient Mexico. Those
Sorcerers, according to don Juan, had found all the premises of their
Sorcery by means of this mood.
"It is
a very
predatory mood," don Juan went on. "It's not
difficult at all to enter into it, because man is a
predator by nature. You could see, aggressively, anybody in this little
village, or perhaps someone
far away, while they are asleep; anyone would do for
the purpose at hand. What's important is, that you arrive at a complete sense
of indifference. You are in search of
something, and you are out to get it. You're going to
go out looking for a person, searching like a feline, like an animal of
prey,
for
someone to descend on."
Don Juan had told
me, laughing at my apparent chagrin, that
the difficulty with this technique was the mood, and
that I couldn't be passive in the Act of Seeing, for the sight was not
something to watch,
but to act upon. It might have been the power of his
suggestion, but that day, when he had told me all this, I felt astoundingly
aggressive. Every muscle of my body was filled to
the brim with energy, and in my dreaming practice I
did go after someone. I was not interested in who, that someone might
have been. I needed
someone, who was asleep, and some force I was aware
of, without being fully conscious of it, had guided
me to find that someone. I never knew, who the person
was, but while I was seeing that person, I felt don Juan's presence. It
was a
strange sensation of knowing, that someone was with me by an
undetermined sensation of proximity, that was
happening at a level of Awareness, that wasn't part of
anything, that I had ever experienced.
180-181
I could only focus my attention
on the individual at rest. I
knew, that he was a male, but I don't
know how I knew that. I knew, that he was asleep, because the
Ball of Energy, that human
beings ordinarily are, was a little bit flat; it was expanded laterally.
And then
I saw the assemblage point
(Perception Point is the brightest Point in the Luminous Ball, Point of
Sun Energy, LM) at a position different from the habitual one, which is
right behind the
shoulder blades. In this instance, it had been displaced to the right
of where it should have been,
and a bit lower. I calculated, that in this case it had moved to the
side of the ribs. Another
thing, that I noticed, was, that there was no stability to
it. It
fluctuated erratically and
then abruptly went back to its normal position. I had the clear
sensation that, obviously, my
presence, and don Juan's, had awakened
the individual. I had experienced a profusion of blurred
images right
after that, and then I woke up back in the place,
where I had started. Don
Juan had also told me all along, that
Sorcerers were divided into two groups: one group was Dreamers; the
other was Stalkers. The
Dreamers were those, who had a great facility for displacing the assemblage
point. The Stalkers were
those, who had a great facility for maintaining
the assemblage point fixed on that new position. Dreamers and Stalkers
complemented each other, and
worked in pairs, affecting one another with their given proclivities
(inclination, predesposition).
Don
Juan had assured me, that the displacement
and the fixation of the Assemblage Point could be realized at will by
means of the Sorcerers'
iron-handed discipline. He said, that the Sorcerers of his Lineage
believed, that there were at
least six hundred points (600) within the Luminous Sphere, that we are,
that when reached at will
by the Assemblage Point, can each give us a totally inclusive World;
meaning that, if our
Assemblage Point is displaced to any of those points and remains fixed
on it, we will perceive a
World as inclusive and total, as the World of everyday life, but a
different World
nevertheless. Don
Juan had further explained, that the Art of
Sorcery is to manipulate the Assemblage Point and make it change
positions at will on the Luminous
Spheres, that human beings are. The result of this
manipulation is a shift in the point of contact with
the Dark Sea of Awareness,
which brings as its concomitant (contemporary) a different bundle of
zillions of Energy Fields in the form of
Luminous Filaments, that converge on the Assemblage Point. The
consequence of new energy fields,
converging on the Assemblage Point is, that Awareness of a different
sort, than that, which is
necessary for perceiving the World of everyday life, enters into
action, turning the new Energy Fields into Sensory Data. Sensory data,
that is interpreted and
perceived as a different World,
because the Energy Fields, that engender (produce) it, are different
from the
habitual ones. He had
asserted, that an accurate definition of
Sorcery, as a practice, would be to say, that Sorcery is the
manipulation of the Assemblage Point
for purposes of changing its focal point of contact with the Dark Sea
of Awareness, thus making it
possible to perceive Other Worlds. Don
Juan had said, that the Art of the Stalkers
enters into play after the Assemblage Point has been displaced.
Maintaining the Assemblage Point
fixed in its new position assures Sorcerers, that they will perceive
whatever New World they enter
in its absolute completeness, exactly, as we do in the World of
ordinary
affairs. For the Sorcerers
of don Juan's Lineage, the World of everyday life was, but One Fold of
a
total World, consisting of
at least six hundred Folds (600 Worlds).
Don Juan went back
again to the topic under discussion: my
journeys through the Dark Sea of Awareness, and said,
that what I had done from my Inner Silence, was very similar to what is
done in Dreaming,
when one is asleep. However, when journeying through the Dark
Sea of Awareness, there was
no interruption of any
sort, caused by going to sleep, nor was there any attempt whatsoever at
controlling
one's attention,
while having a dream. The journey through
the Dark Sea of Awareness entailed
an immediate
response. There was an overpowering sensation of the here and now. Don
Juan lamented
(regret deeply)
the fact, that some idiotic sorcerers had given the name
dreaming-awake to this act of reaching the Dark Sea
of Awareness directly, making the term Dreaming
even more ridiculous.
182-183
"When you thought,
that you had the dream-fantasy of going
to that town of our choice," he continued, "you
had actually placed your Assemblage
Point directly on a specific position on the Dark Sea of Awareness, that
allows the journey. Then the Dark Sea of Awareness supplied
you with whatever was necessary,
to carry on that journey.
There's no way whatsoever to choose that place at will. Sorcerers say,
that Inner Silence selects
it unerringly. Simple, isn't it?" He explained to me
then the intricacies of choice. He said,
that choice, for warrior-travelers, was not really
the act of choosing, but rather the act of acquiescing (comply
passively, assent) elegantly to the
solicitations (agitations) of
Infinity. "Infinity
chooses,"
he said. "The art of the
warrior-traveler is to have the ability to move with the slightest insinuation, the
art of acquiescing to every command of
Infinity. For this, a warrior-traveler needs prowess (outstanding
courage, daring),
strength, and above everything else, sobriety (seriousness). All those
three, put
together, give, as a
result, elegance!" After
a moment's
pause, I went back to the subject, that
intrigued me the most.
"But it's
unbelievable, that I actually went to that town,
don Juan, in body and soul," I said.
"It is
unbelievable, but it's not unlivable," he said. "The
Universe has no limits, and the possibilities at play
in the Universe at large are indeed incommensurable (non-comparable). So don't fall prey
to the axiom, 'I
believe only what I see,' because it is the dumbest
stand, one can possibly take." Don Juan's
elucidation had been crystal clear. It made
sense, but I didn't know, where it made sense; certainly not in my daily
World of usual affairs. Don Juan assured me
then, unleashing a great
trepidation (fear) in me,
that
there
was only one way, in which Sorcerers could handle all this information:
to taste
it through experience, because the Mind was incapable of taking in
all that stimulation.
"What do you want
me to do, don Juan?" I asked.
"You
must deliberately journey through the Dark Sea of
Awareness," he replied, "but you'll never know, how this is done. Let's
say, that Inner Silence does
it, following inexplicable ways, ways, that cannot be understood, but
only
practiced."
Don Juan had me sit
down on my bed and adopt the position,
that fostered (nurtured) Inner Silence. I usually fell asleep
instantly, whenever I adopted this position. However, when I was with
don Juan, his
presence
always
made it impossible for me to fall
asleep; instead, I entered into a veritable state of complete quietude. This time, after
an instant of silence, I found myself
walking. Don Juan was guiding me by holding my arm, as
we walked. We were no longer in his house; we were
walking in a Yaqui town, I had never been in before. I knew of the town's existence; I
had been close to it many times, but I had
been made to turn around by the sheer hostility of
the people, who lived around it. It was a town, where it was nearly
impossible for a stranger
to enter. The only
non-Yaquis, who had free access
to that town, were the supervisors from the federal
bank, because of the fact, that the bank bought the crops from the
Yaqui farmers. The
endless negotiations of the Yaqui farmers revolved
around getting cash advances from the bank on the basis of a near-speculation process
about future crops. I
instantly recognized the
town from the descriptions of people, who had
been there. As if to increase my astonishment, don
Juan whispered in my ear, that we were in the Yaqui town in question.
I
wanted
to
ask him, how we had gotten there, but I couldn't articulate my words.
There were a large number of Indians talking in
argumentative tones; tempers seemed to flare. I didn't understand a
word of what,
they were saying, but the moment I conceived of the thought,
that I couldn't understand, something cleared up.
It
was very much, as if more light went into the scene. Things became very
defined and
neat, and I
understood, what the people were saying, although
I didn't know how; I didn't speak their language. The
words were definitely understandable to me, not singularly, but in
clusters, as if my Mind
could pick up whole
patterns of Thought.
184-185
I
could say
in earnest, that I got the shock of a lifetime, not so much, because I
understood, what they were
saying, but because of
the content of, what they were
saying. Those people were indeed warlike.They were
not Western men at all. Their propositions were propositions of strife,
warfare, strategy.
They were measuring their strength, their striking
resources, and lamenting (regreted deeply)
the fact,
that they had
no power
to deliver their
blows. I registered in my body the anguish of
their impotence. All, they had, were sticks and stones
to fight high-technology weapons. They mourned the fact, that they had
no leaders. They
coveted (), more, than anything else one could imagine, the
rise of some charismatic fighter, who could galvanize
them. I
heard then the voice of cynicism; one of them expressed a thought,
that seemed to devastate
everyone equally, including me, for I seemed to be an
indivisible part of them. He said, that they were defeated beyond salvation, because
if at a given moment one of them had the
charisma to rise up and rally them, he would be
betrayed, because of envy and jealousy and hurt feelings.
I wanted to
comment to don Juan, on what was happening to me, but
I couldn't voice a single word. Only don Juan could
talk.
"The Yaquis are not
unique in their pettiness," he said in
my ear. "It is a condition, in which human beings are
trapped, a condition, that is not even human, but imposed from the
outside."
I felt my mouth opening and closing involuntarily, as I tried
desperately to ask a question, that I could not even
conceive of. My mind was blank, void of thoughts. Don Juan and I were
in the middle of a
circle of people, but none of them seemed to have noticed
us. I did not record any movement, reaction, or
furtive glance, that may have indicated, that they were aware of us.
The
next instant, I found myself in a Mexican
town, built around a railroad station, a town located about a
mile and a half east of, where
don Juan lived. Don Juan and
I were in the middle of the street by the
government bank. Immediately
afterward, I saw one of the strangest sights, I had ever been witness
to
in don Juan's World.
I was
Seeing
Energy,
as it flows in the Universe, but I wasn't Seeing
human
beings, as Spherical or oblong
Blobs of Energy. The
people around me
were, in one instant, the normal human beings of
everyday life, and in the
next instant, they were Strange Creatures. It was, as if the
Ball of Energy, that
we are, were transparent; it was like a Halo
around an Insectlike Core. That Core did not
have a
primate's shape. There were no skeletal pieces, so I
wasn't Seeing
people, as if I had X-ray vision, that
went to the bone Core. At the Core of people
there were, rather, geometric shapes, made of, what seemed to
be, hard vibrations of matter. That Core was
like letters of the alphabet - a capital T seemed to be
the main structural support. An inverted thick
L was suspended in front of the T; the Greek letter
for delta, which went almost to the floor, was
at the bottom of the vertical bar of the T, and seemed to
be a support for the whole structure. On top
of the letter T, I saw a ropelike strand, perhaps an inch
in diameter; it went through the top of the Luminous Sphere, as if what
I was Seeing, were
indeed a
gigantic bead, hanging from the top like a
drooping gem. Once,
don Juan had presented to me a metaphor to
describe the energetic union of strands of human beings. He
had
said, that the Sorcerers of ancient Mexico
described those strands, as a curtain, made from beads,
strung on a string. I had taken this description
literally, and thought, that the string went through the
conglomerate of energy fields, that we are from
head to toe. The attaching string, I was Seeing, made
the round shape of the energy fields of human
beings look more like a pendant. I didn't See, however,
any other creature, being strung by the same
string. Every single creature, that I Saw, was a geometrically
patterned Being, that had a sort of string
on the upper part of its Spherical Halo. The string reminded
me immensely of the segmented wormlike
shapes, that some of us see with the eyelids half closed,
when we are in sunlight. Don
Juan and I walked in the town from one end
to the other, and I Saw literally scores of geometrically patterned
creatures. My ability to See
them was unstable in the extreme. I would See them for
an instant, and then I would
lose
sight of them and I would be faced with average people.
186
Soon,
I
became exhausted, and I could see only normal people. Don Juan said,
that it was time to go back
home, and again,
something in me lost my usual sense of
continuity. I found myself in don Juan's house
without having the slightest notion as to, how I had covered the
distance from the town to the
house. I lay down in my
bed and tried desperately to
recollect, to call back my memory, to probe the
depths of my very being for a clue, as to how I had gone to the Yaqui
town, and to the railroad
station town. I didn't believe, that they had been
dream-fantasies, because the scenes were too detailed to be anything, but real,
and yet they couldn't possibly have been
real.
"You're wasting
your time," don Juan said, laughing.
"I guarantee you, that you will
never know, how we got from the
house to the Yaqui town, and from the Yaqui
town to the railroad station, and from the railroad station to the
house. There was a break in the Continuity of Time. That is what Inner
Silence does."
He patiently
explained to me, that the interruption of that
Flow of Continuity, that makes the World understandable to us, is
Sorcery. He remarked, that I had journeyed that
day through the Dark Sea of Awareness, and
that I had Seen people, as they are,
engaged in people's business. And then I had Seen the strand of energy,
that joins specific lines of human beings. Don Juan
reiterated to me over and over, that I had witnessed something specific
and inexplicable. I had
understood, what
people were saying, without knowing
their language, and I had Seen
the strand of energy,
that connected human beings to certain
other beings, and I had selected those aspects
through an Act of Intending it. He
stressed the fact, that this Intending,
I had done, was not
something conscious or volitional;
the Intending
had been done at a deep level, and had been
ruled by necessity. I needed to become cognizant (conscious, aware) of
some of the possibilities of journeying through the Dark Sea of
Awareness, and my Inner Silence had guided Intent, a
perennial Force in the Universe, to fulfill that need.
Inorganic
Awareness
187
At a given moment in my apprenticeship, don Juan revealed to me the
complexity of his
life situation.
He had maintained, to my chagrin and
despondency (despair), that he lived in the shack in the state
of Sonora,
Mexico, because
that shack depicted my state of Awareness. I
didn't quite believe, that he really meant, that I
was so meager (barren, feeble), nor did I believe, that he had other
places to live, as he
was claiming. It turned out, that he was
right on both counts. My state of Awareness
was very meager, and he did
have other places, where
he could live, infinitely more comfortable, than the shack, where I had
first found
him. Nor was he the solitary sorcerer, that I had thought him to
be, but the leader of a group of fifteen other
warrior-travelers: ten women and five men. My surprise was gigantic,
when he took me to
his house in central Mexico, where he and his companion
Sorcerers lived. "Did
you live in
Sonora just because of me, don Juan?" I
asked him, unable to stand the responsibility, which
filled me with guilt and remorse and a sensation of
worthlessness.
188-189
"Well, I didn't actually live there," he said,
laughing. "I just met you there."
"But-but-but you
never knew, when I was coming to see you,
don Juan," I said. "I had no means to let you
know!"
"Well, if you
remember correctly," he said, "there were
many, many times, when you didn't find me. You had to
sit patiently and wait for me, for days sometimes."
"Did you fly from
here to Guaymas, don Juan?" I asked him in
earnest. I thought, that the shortest way would have
been to take a plane.
"No, I didn't fly
to Guaymas," he said with a big smile. "I
flew directly, to the shack, where you were waiting." I knew, that he was
purposefully telling me something, that
my Linear Mind could not understand or accept,
something, that was confusing me to no end. I was at the level of
awareness, in those days,
when
I asked myself incessantly a fatal
question: What if all, that don Juan says, is true? I
didn't want to ask him any more questions, because I was hopelessly
lost, trying to bridge our
two tracks of thought and action. In his new
surroundings, don Juan began painstakingly to instruct me in a more
complex facet (phase) of
his
knowledge, a facet, that required all my
attention, a facet, in which merely suspending judgment was not enough. This was the
time when I had to plummet down into the depths
of his knowledge. I had to cease to be objective, and at the
same
time I had to desist (abstein, cease doing something) from being
subjective.
One day, I was
helping don Juan clean some bamboo poles in
the back of his house. He asked me to put on some
working gloves, because, he said, the splinters of bamboo were very
sharp and
easilycaused
infections. He directed me on how to use
a knife to clean the bamboo. I became immersed in the
work. When don Juan began to talk to me, I had to stop working, in
order
to pay attention. He
told me, that I had worked long enough, and that we
should go into the house.
He asked me to sit down in
a very comfortable armchair in
his spacious, almost empty living room. He gave me some nuts,
dried apricots, and slices of
cheese, neatly arranged on a plate. I protested, that I wanted
to finish cleaning the bamboo. I didn't want to eat. But he
didn't pay attention to me. He recommended, that I
nibble slowly and carefully, for I would need a steady supply of food,
in order to be alert and attentive, to what he was going to tell me.
"You
already know," he began, "that there exists in the
Universe a perennial Force, which the Sorcerers of
ancient Mexico called the Dark Sea of Awareness. While they were at the
maximum of
their perceiving power, they Saw
something, that made
them shake in their pantaloonies, if they were wearing
any. They Saw,
that the Dark Sea of Awareness is responsible not only for the
Awareness
of Organisms, but also for the
Awareness of Entities, that don't have an Organism (means invisible to us,
LM)."
"What
is this, don Juan, Beings without an Organism, that
have Awareness?" I asked, astonished, for he had
never mentioned such an idea before.
"The
old shamans discovered, that the entire
Universe is composed of Twin Forces," he began, "Forces, that
are at the same time opposed
and complementary to each other. It is inescapable, that our World is a
Twin World. Its opposite
and complementary World is one populated by Beings, that have
Awareness, but not an Organism. For
this reason, the old shamans called them Inorganic Beings."
"And where is this World, don
Juan?" I asked, munching unconsciously on a piece of dried
apricot.
"Here, where you and I are
sitting," he replied matter-of-factly, but laughing
outright at my
nervousness. "I told you, that
it's our Twin
World, so it's intimately related to us. The Sorcerers of ancient
Mexico
didn't think, like you do, in terms of Space
and Time. They thought exclusively in terms of Awareness. Two types of
Awareness coexist without
ever impinging (collide, trespass) on each other, because each type is
entirely different
from the other. The old
shamans faced this problem of coexistence without
concerning themselves
with Time and
Space.
190-191
They reasoned, that the degree
of Awareness of Organic Beings and
the degree
of
Awareness of
Inorganic Beings were so different, that both could coexist with the
most minimal
interference."
"Can we perceive those Inorganic
Beings, don Juan?" I asked.
"We certainly can," he replied. "Sorcerers
do
it at will. Average people do it, but they
don't realize, that they're doing it, because they are
not conscious of the existence of a Twin
World. When they think of a Twin World, they enter into
all kinds of mental
masturbation, but it has never occurred to
them, that their fantasies have their origin in a
subliminal knowledge, that all of us have: that we are not alone." I was riveted by don
Juan's words. Suddenly, I had become
voraciously hungry. There was
an
emptiness in the pit of my stomach. All I could do
was to listen as carefully, as I could, and eat. "The
difficulty
with your facing things in terms of Time and
Space," he continued, "is, that you
only notice,
if
something has landed in the space and time at your
disposal, which is very limited. Sorcerers, on the other hand, have a
vast field, on which they can
notice, if something extraneous has landed. Lots of Entities from the
Universe at large, Entities,
that possess Awareness, but not an Organism, land in the Field
of
Awareness of our World, or the Field of Awareness
of its Twin World, without an average human being ever
noticing them. The Entities, that land on our
Field of Awareness, or the Field of Awareness of our Twin
World,
belong to Other Worlds, that exist besides
our World and its Twin. The Universe at large is crammed to
the brim with Worlds of Awareness,
Organic and Inorganic."
Don
Juan continued talking and said, that those
Sorcerers knew, when Inorganic Awareness from Other Worlds, besides our
Twin World, had landed in
their Field of Awareness. He said, that, as every human being on this
Earth would do, those shamans
made endless classifications of different types of this Energy, that
has Awareness. They knew them by the general term - Inorganic Beings.
"Do
those
Inorganic Beings have life like we have life?" I asked.
"If you think, that life is to be aware, then they do
have life," he said. "I suppose, it would be accurate to say, that if
life can be measured by the Intensity, the sharpness, the duration of
that
Awareness, I can sincerely say, that they are more
alive, than you and I."
"Do those Inorganic Beings die, don Juan?" I asked. Don Juan chuckled
for a moment, before he answered. "If you call death the termination of
Awareness, yes,
they die. Their Awareness ends. Their
death is rather like the death of a human being, and at the same time,
it isn't, because the death of human beings has a hidden option. It is
something
like a clause in a legal document, a clause, that is
written in tiny letters, that you can barely see. You have to use a
magnifying glass to read it,
and yet it's the most important clause of the
document."
"What's the hidden option, don Juan?"
"Death's
hidden
option is exclusively for Sorcerers. They
are the only ones, who have, to my knowledge, read the
fine print. For them, the option is pertinent (relevant) and
functional. For
average human beings, death means the termination of their
Awareness, the end of their
Organisms. For the Inorganic Beings, death means the
same: the end of their Awareness. In both cases, the impact of death is
the Act of Being, Sucked into the Dark Sea of
Awareness.
(Individual
Human Awareness and Experiences are also
joining their individual Higher Selves! LM).
Their individual Awareness, loaded with
their
life experiences,
breaks its boundaries, and
Awareness, as Energy, spills out into the Dark Sea of Awareness."
"But
what is death's hidden option, that is picked up only
by Sorcerers, don Juan?" I asked.
"For
a
Sorcerer, death is a unifying factor. Instead of
disintegrating the Organism, as is ordinarily the case,
death unifies it."
"How can death unify anything?" I protested.
"Death for a Sorcerer," he said,
"terminates the
reign of individual moods in the body. The Old Sorcerers believed, it
was the dominion of
the different parts of the body, that ruled the moods and
the actions of the total body; parts, that become
dysfunctional, drag
the rest of the body to chaos,
such as, for instance, when you yourself get sick
from eating junk.
In that case, the mood of your stomach affects everything else. Death
eradicates the
domination of those individual parts. It unifies their
Awareness into One Single Unit."
192-193
"Do you mean, that
after they die, Sorcerers are still
aware?" I asked.
"For
Sorcerers,
death is an Act of Unification, that employs
every bit of their Energy. You are thinking of death,
as a corpse in front of you, a body, on which decay has settled. For
Sorcerers, when the Act
of Unification takes place, there is no corpse. There
is no decay. Their bodies in their entirety have been turned
into
Energy, Energy possessing Awareness, that is not fragmented.
The boundaries, that are set up by the Organism,
boundaries, which are broken down by death, are still
functioning
in the case of Sorcerers, although they are no longer visible to the
naked eye. I know, that you are dying to ask me," he continued with a
broad smile,
"if whatever, I'm describing, is the Soul,
that goes to hell or heaven. No, it is not the Soul. What happens to
Sorcerers, when they
pick up that hidden option of death, is, that THEY TURN INTO
INORGANIC BEINGS, very specialized, high-speed Inorganic
Beings, Beings capable of stupendous maneuvers
of Perception.
Sorcerers enter then into, what the
shamans of ancient Mexico called, their Definitive Journey. Infinity
becomes their Realm of Action."
"Do
you
mean by this, don Juan, that they become
eternal?"
"My
sobriety, as a
Sorcerer, tells me," he said, "that their
Awareness will terminate, the way Inorganic Beings'
Awareness terminates, but I haven't seen this happen. I have no
firsthand knowledge of it.
The Old Sorcerers believed, that the Awareness of
this type of Inorganic Being would last as long, as the
Earth is
alive. The Earth is their Matrix. As long, as this Matrix prevails (be
in force, in use, in effect), their
Awareness continues. To me, this is a most reasonable
statement."
The continuity and order of don Juan's explanation had been,
for me, superb. I had no way whatsoever, in which to
contribute. He left me with a sensation of mystery and unvoiced
expectations to
be fulfilled.
On my next visit to don Juan, I began my conversation by asking him
eagerly a question, that
was foremost in my mind:
"Is there a possibility,
don Juan, that ghosts and apparitions really
exist?"
"Whatever you may
call a ghost or an apparition," he said,
"when it is scrutinized by a Sorcerer, boils down to
one issue. It is possible, that any of those ghostlike Apparitions may
be a conglomeration
of Energy Fields, that have Awareness, and which we
turn into things, we know. If that's the case, then the Apparitions have Energy.
Sorcerers call them energy-generating
configurations. Or, if No Energy emanates from them,
in this case they are Phantasmagorical Creations, usually of a very
strong
person,
strong in terms of Awareness. One story, that intrigued
me immensely," don Juan continued, "was the
story you told me once about your aunt. Do you
remember it?"
I had told don
Juan, that when I was fourteen years old, I
had gone to live in my father's sister's house. She
lived in a gigantic house, that had three patios with living
accommodations in between each
of them: bedrooms, living rooms, etc. The first patio was very austere
(sombre, severe/stern in appearance/disposition),
cobblestoned. They told me, that it was a colonial house and
this first patio was, where horse-drawn
carriages had gone in. The second patio was a
beautiful orchard zigzagged by brick lanes of Moorish design and filled
with fruit trees. The
third patio was covered
with flower pots hanging from the
eaves of the roof, birds in cages, and a colonial-style fountain in
the middle of it with running water, as well,
as a large area, fenced with chicken wire, set aside
for my aunt's prized fighting cocks, her predilection (preference)
in
life. My aunt made
available to
me a whole apartment right in front of the
fruit orchard. I thought, I was going to have the time
of my life there. I could eat all the fruit, that I wanted. Noone else
in the household
touched the fruit of any
of those trees, for reasons, that were never revealed to me.
194-195
The household was composed of my aunt, a tall,
round-faced chubby lady in her fifties, very jovial, a great raconteur (one, who retells
stories/anecdotes with skill and wit), and
full of eccentricities, that she hid behind a formal facade and the
appearance of devout
Catholicism. There was a
butler, a tall, imposing (grand,
impressive) man in his early forties, who had been a
sergeant-major in
the army and had been
lured out of the service to occupy the
better-paid position of butler, bodyguard, and
all-around man in my aunt's house. His wife, a beautiful young woman,
was my
aunt's
companion,
cook, and confidante. The couple
also had a daughter, a chubby little girl, who looked exactly like my aunt. The
likeness was so strong, that my aunt had
adopted her legally.
Those four were the
quietest
people, I had ever met. They lived a very sedate life, punctuated only
by the
eccentricities of my aunt, who, on the spur of the moment, would
decide to take trips,
or buy
promising new
fighting cocks, train them, and actually have
serious contests, in which enormous sums of money
were involved. She tended her fighting cocks with loving care,
sometimes all day long.
She
wore
thick leather gloves and stiff leather
leggings to keep the fighting cocks from spurring her. I spent two
stupendous months, living in my aunt's house. She
taught me music in the afternoons, and told me
endless stories about my family's ancestors. My living situation was
ideal for me, because I
used to go out with my
friends and didn't have to report the
time, I came back, to anybody. Sometimes, I used to
spend hours without falling asleep, lying on my bed. I used to keep my
window open to let
the smell of orange blossoms fill my room. Whenever I
was lying there awake, I would hear someone walking
down a long corridor, that ran the length of the whole property on the
north side, joining
all the patios of the house. This corridor had
beautiful arches and a tiled floor. There were four light
bulbs of
minimal voltage, that dimly illuminated the corridor, lights, that
were turned on at six o'clock every evening and
turned off at six in the morning. I asked my aunt, if anyone walked at
night and stopped at my window, because, whoever was
walking, always stopped by my window, turned
around, and walked back again, toward the main
entrance of the house.
"Don't trouble
yourself with nonsense, dear," my aunt said,
smiling. "It's probably my butler, making his rounds.
Big deal! Were you frightened?"
"No, I was not
frightened," I said, "I just got curious,
because your butler walks up to my room every night.
Sometimes his steps wake me up." She discarded my
inquiry in a matter-of-fact fashion, saying,
that the butler had been a military man and was
habituated to making his rounds, as a sentry (guard) would. I accepted
her
explanation. One
day, I mentioned to the
butler, that his steps were just too loud,
and asked if he would make his rounds by my window
with a little more care, so as to let me sleep.
"I don't know what
you're talking about!" he said in a gruff
(harsh) voice.
"My aunt told me,
that you make your rounds at night," I
said.
"I never do such a
thing!" he said, his eyes flaring with
disgust.
"But who walks by
my window then?"
"Nobody walks by
your window. You're imagining things. Just
go back to sleep. Don't go around, stirring things up.
I'm telling you this for your own good."
Nothing could have
been worse for me in those years, than
someone telling me, that they were doing something
for my own good. That night, as soon, as I began to hear the footsteps,
I got out of my bed and
stood behind the wall,
that led to the entrance of my
apartment. When I calculated, that, whoever was walking,
was by the second bulb, I just stuck my head out to look down the
corridor. The steps
stopped abruptly, but
there was noone in sight. The dimly
illuminated corridor was deserted. If somebody had
been walking there, they wouldn't have had time to hide, because there
was no place to
hide. There were only bare walls. My fright was so immense,
that I woke up the whole household, screaming
my head off.
196-197
My aunt and her butler tried to calm me down by
telling me, that I was imagining all that, but my agitation was so intense, that both of
them sheepishly confessed in the end, that
something, which was unknown to them, walked in that
house every night.
Don Juan had said,
that it was almost surely my aunt, who
walked at night; that is to say, some aspect of her
Awareness, over which she had no volitional control. He believed, that
this phenomenon
obeyed a sense of playfulness or mystery, that she
cultivated. Don Juan was sure, that it was not a
far-fetched idea, that my aunt, at a subliminal level, was not only
making all
those noises
happen, but that she was capable of much
more complex manipulations of Awareness. Don Juan had
also said, that to be completely fair, he had to admit the possibility,
that the steps were
the product of Inorganic Awareness. Don Juan
said, that
the Inorganic Beings, who populated our Twin World, were considered, by
the
Sorcerers of his Lineage, to be our Relatives.
Those shamans believed, that it was futile (useless, vain) to
make friends
with these family members, because the demands, levied on us for
such friendships, were always exorbitant
(excessive).
He said, that that type of Inorganic Being, who are our first cousins, communicate
with us
incessantly, but that their communication with us is
not at the level of Conscious
Awareness. In
other
words, we know all about them in a subliminal way, while
they know all about us in a
deliberate, conscious manner. "The Energy from
our first cousins is a drag (move with
great difficulty)!" don Juan went on. "They are as fucked up, as we are. Let's say, that the
Organic and Inorganic Beings of our Twin Worlds
are the children of two sisters,
who live next door
to
each other. They are exactly alike, although they look different.
They cannot
help us, and we cannot help them. Perhaps, we could join together,
and make a fabulous family business corporation, but
that hasn't happened. Both branches of the family are extremely touchy and take offense
over nothing, a typical relationship between
touchy first cousins. The crux
(critical point) of
the matter, the
Sorcerers of ancient Mexico believed, that both
Human Beings and
Inorganic
Beings from the Twin Worlds
are profound egomaniacs (extreme egotism, obsessive preoccupation with
the self)."
According
to don Juan, another classification, that the
Sorcerers of ancient Mexico made of the Inorganic Beings, was that of
Scouts, or Explorers, and by
this
they meant Inorganic Beings, that came from the depths of the
Universe and, which were
possessors of Awareness, infinitely sharper and faster, than that of
Human Beings. Don Juan
asserted, that the Old Sorcerers had spent generations, polishing their
Classification schemes, and
their conclusions were, that certain types of Inorganic
Beings from the category of Scouts or
Explorers, because of their vivaciousness, were akin to Human. They
could make liaisons and
establish a symbiotic relation with men. The Old Sorcerers called these
kinds of Inorganic Beings -
the Allies. Don Juan explained, that the crucial mistake of those
shamans with reference to this
type of Inorganic Being, was to attribute human characteristics, to
that
impersonal energy and to
believe, that they could harness it. They thought of those blocks of
Energy, as their helpers, and
they relied on them without comprehending, that, being pure Energy,
they
didn't have the power to
sustain any effort.
"I've told you, all there is to know, about Inorganic Beings," don Juan
said abruptly. "The only
way, you can put this to the test, is by means of
direct experience."
I didn't ask him,
what he wanted me to do. A deep fear made
my body rattle with nervous spasms, that burst like a
volcanic eruption from my solar plexus and extended down to the tips of
my toes and
up to my upper trunk. "Today,
we will go
to look for some Inorganic Beings," he
announced. Don Juan ordered me to sit on my bed and
adopt again the Position, that fostered Inner Silence, I followed his command with
unusual ease. Normally, I would have been
reluctant, perhaps not
overtly, but I would have
felt
a twinge (sharp pain) of reluctance nonetheless. I had a vague thought,
that
by the
time I sat down, I was already in a state of Inner Silence.
198-199
My thoughts were no longer clear. I felt an
impenetrable darkness surrounding me, making me feel, as if I were
falling asleep. My body
was utterly
motionless, either because I had no
intention of setting up any commands to move or because I just couldn't formulate
them. A
moment later, I found myself with don Juan, walking in the Sonoran
desert. I recognized the surroundings;
I had been
there with him so many times, that I had memorized every feature of it.
It was the
end of the day, and the light of the setting Sun created in me a
mood of desperation. I walked automatically, aware,
that I was feeling in my body sensations, that were not accompanied by
thoughts. I
was not describing to myself my state of being. I wanted
to tell this to don Juan, but the desire, to communicate my bodily
sensations to him, vanished in an
instant. Don
Juan said very slowly and in a low, grave
voice, that the dry riverbed, on which we were walking, was a most appropriate
place for our business at hand, and that I should
sit on a small boulder, alone, while he went and sat
on another boulder about fifty feet away. I didn't ask don Juan, as I
ordinarily would
have, what I was supposed to do. I knew what I had to
do. I heard then the rustling steps of people, walking
through the bushes, that were sparsely scattered around. There wasn't
enough moisture in
the area to allow the heavy growth of underbrush. Some
sturdy bushes grew there, with a space of perhaps ten
or fifteen feet between them.
I saw then two
men approaching. They
seemed to be local men, perhaps Yaqui Indians
from one of the Yaqui
towns in
the
vicinity. They came and stood by me.
One of them nonchalantly (cool,
indifferent) asked me,
how I had been. I wanted to smile at him, laugh, but I
couldn't. My face was extremely
rigid. Yet I was ebullient (overflowing with excitement).
I wanted to jump up and down, but I couldn't. I told him, that I had
been fine. Then I asked them,
who they were. I said to them, that
I didn't know them, and yet I
sensed an extraordinary
familiarity with them. One of the men said, matter-of-factly, that they
were my Allies. I stared at them, trying to
memorize their features, but their features changed. They seemed to mold themselves
to
the mood of my stare. No thoughts were
involved. Everything was a matter, guided by visceral (derived from
emotions) sensations. I stared
at them long enough to erase their features completely, and finally, I
was facing two shiny Blobs
of Luminosity, that vibrated. The Blobs of Luminosity did not have
boundaries. They seemed to
sustain themselves cohesively from within. At times, they became flat,
wide. Then they would take
on a verticality again, at the height of a man. Suddenly, I felt don
Juan's arm hooking my right
arm and pulling me from the boulder. He said, that it was time to go.
The next moment, I was in his
house again, in central Mexico, more bewildered, than ever. "Today,
you found Inorganic Awareness, and then
you Saw it, as it really is," he said. "Energy is the irreducible
residue of everything. As far, as
we are concerned, to See Energy directly is the bottom line for a Human
Being. Perhaps there are
other things beyond that, but they are not available to us."
Don Juan asserted
all this over and over, and every time he
said it, his words seemed to solidify me more and
more, to help me return to my normal state. I told
don Juan everything I had witnessed, everything I had heard. Don Juan
explained to me, that
I had succeeded that day in transforming the
anthropomorphic shape of the Inorganic Beings into their essence: impersonal Energy,
aware of itself (making
them in human form/shape and returning them back to their
natural form, LM).
"You must realize,"
he said, "that it is our cognition,
which is in essence an interpretation system, that curtails our resources. Our
interpretation system is what tells us, what
the parameters of our
possibilities are, and
since we
have been using that system of interpretation all our lives, we
cannot possibly
dare to go against its dictums (dogmatic pronouncement). The Energy of those
Inorganic Beings pushes us," don Juan went on, "and
we interpret that push, as we may, depending on our
mood. The most sober thing to do for a Sorcerer is to relegate
(banish, exile, push) those Entities to an abstract
level. The fewer interpretations
Sorcerers make, the better off they are.
200
From
now on,
whenever you are
confronted with the strange sight of an Apparition, hold your ground
and gaze at it with an
inflexible attitude. If it is an Inorganic Being, your interpretation
of it will fall off like dead leaves.
If
nothing happens, it is just a chicken-shit aberration (deviation from proper course) of your
mind, which
is not your mind anyway."
The
Clear View
201
FOR THE FIRST time in my life, I found myself in a total quandary
(dilemma, predicament), as to
how to behave in the
World. The
World around me had not changed. It
definitely stemmed from a flaw in me. Don Juan's influence and all the activities,
stemming from his practices, into which he had
engaged me so deeply, were taking their toll on me and
were causing in me a serious incapacity to deal with my fellow men. I examined my problem and
concluded, that my flaw was my compulsion to
measure everyone using
don Juan, as a
yardstick.
Don Juan was, in my estimate, a Being, who
lived his life professionally, in every aspect of the term, meaning, that every one of
his acts, no matter how insignificant,
counted. I was surrounded by people, who believed, that they
were Immortal Beings, who
contradicted themselves every step of the way; they
were Beings, whose acts could never be accounted for. It was an unfair
game; the cards
were
stacked against the people, I
encountered. I was accustomed to don Juan's unalterable
behavior, to his total
lack of
self-importance, and to the unfathomable (incomprehensible) scope of
his
intellect; very few of the people, I knew, were even
aware, that there existed another pattern of behavior, that fostered
those qualities.
202-203
Most of them knew only the behavioral pattern of
self-reflection, which renders men weak and contorted. Consequently, I was having
a very difficult time in my academic studies.
I was losing sight of them. I
tried
desperately to find a rationale, that would justify my
academic endeavors. Don Juan, a
consummate (perfect) pragmatist, a true Warrior-Traveler of the
Unknown, said,
that I was full
of
prunes.
He
said, that it didn't matter, that the
anthropological topics, proposed to me, were maneuvers of words
and concepts, that,
what was important, was the exercise of
discipline. The only
thing, that came to my aid and gave me a
connection, however flimsy
to academia, was the recommendation, that don Juan had made to me once,
that warrior-travelers
should have a romance with Knowledge, in whatever form Knowledge was
presented. He had defined the
concept of Warrior-Travelers, saying, that it referred to Sorcerers,
who, by being Warriors,
traveled in the Dark Sea of Awareness. He had added, that Human Beings
were Travelers of the Dark
Sea of Awareness, and that this Earth was a Station on their Journey;
for extraneous reasons, which
he didn't care to divulge (reveal) at the time, the Travelers had
interrupted
their voyage. He said, that
Human Beings were caught in a sort of eddy, a current, that went in
circles, giving them the
impression of moving, while they were, in essence, stationary. He
maintained, that Sorcerers were
the only opponents (resistance) of whatever Force kept Human Beings
as prisoners, and, that,
by means of their discipline, Sorcerers broke loose from its grip and
continued their Journey of
Awareness. "It
doesn't make any difference," he said to me
one time, "how good a reader you are, and how many wonderful books you
can read. What's important
is, that you have the discipline to read, what you don't want
to read.
The Crux (crucial moment, critical point) of the Sorcerers' exercise of
going to school is in what
you refuse, not in what you accept."
What precipitated the final chaotic upheaval in my academic life was my
incapacity to focus
my interest
on topics of anthropological concern, that
didn't mean a hoot to me, not because of their lack of appeal, but because they
were mostly matters, where words and concepts
had to be manipulated, as in a legal document, to
obtain a given result, that would establish precedents (instance of
similar cases). It was argued,
that human knowledge
is built in such a fashion, and that the effort of
every individual was a building block in constructing
a system of knowledge. The example, that was put to me, was that of the
legal system, by
which we live and which is of invaluable importance to us.
However, my romantic notions at the time impeded me
from conceiving of myself, as a barrister-at-anthropology. I
had bought, lock, stock, and barrel, the concept,
that anthropology should be the matrix of all human endeavor, or the
measure of
human.
I decided to take
some time off from my studies and went to
work in the art department of a company, that made decals (prints of
pictures). My job engaged my efforts and
thoughts to their fullest extent. My challenge was to carry out the tasks,
assigned to me, as perfectly and as rapidly, as I
could. To set up the vinyl sheets with the images, to
be processed by silk-screening into decals, was a standard procedure,
that wouldn't admit of
any innovation, and the
efficiency of the worker was
measured by exactness and speed. I became a workaholic and enjoyed
myself tremendously. The
director of the art
department and I became fast friends.
He
practically took me under his wing. His name was
Ernest Lipton. I admired and respected him immensely. He was a fine
artist and a magnificent
craftsman.
His flaw was his softness, his incredible
consideration for others, which bordered on
passivity. For example, one day we were driving out
of the parking lot of a restaurant, where we had eaten lunch. Very politely, he waited
for another car to pull out of the parking
space in front of him. The driver obviously didn't
see us and began to back out at a considerable speed. Ernest Lipton
could easily
have
blown his horn, to attract the man's attention to watch, where
he was going. Instead,
he sat, grinning like an idiot,
as the guy crashed into his car. Then he turned and apologized to
me.
204-205
"Gee, I could have blown my horn," he said, "but it's
so fucking loud, it embarrasses me." The guy, who had
backed up into Ernest's car, was furious and had to be placated. "Don't worry,"
Ernest said. "There is no damage to your car.
Besides, you only smashed my headlights; I was going
to replace them anyway."
Another day, in the
same restaurant, some Japanese people,
clients of the decal company and his guests for lunch,
were talking animatedly to us, asking questions. The waiter came with
the food and cleared
the table of some of the salad plates, making room,
the best way he could on the narrow table, for the
huge hot plates of the entree. One of the Japanese clients needed more
space. He pushed his
plate forward; the push
set Ernest's plate in motion and it
began to slide off the table. Again, Ernest could
have warned the man, but he didn't. He sat there grinning, until the
plate fell in his
lap.
On
another occasion, I went to his house to help
him put up some rafters over his patio, where he was going to let a grape vine
grow for partial shade and fruit. We
prearranged the rafters into a huge frame and then
lifted one side and bolted it to some beams. Ernest was a tall, very
strong man, and using a length
of two-by-four, as a
hoisting device, he lifted the
other end for me to fit the bolts into holes, that were already drilled into
the supporting beams. But before I had a
chance to put in the bolts there, was an insistent
knock on the door and Ernest asked me to see, who it was, while he held
the frame
of rafters. His wife was at the
door with her grocery packages. She
engaged me in a lengthy conversation and I forgot
about Ernest. I even helped her to put her groceries away. In the
middle of arranging her
celery bundles, I remembered, that my friend was
still holding the frame of rafters, and knowing him, I knew, that he would still be at
the job, expecting everybody else to have the
consideration, that he himself had.
I rushed
desperately to the backyard, and there he was on the
ground. He had collapsed from the exhaustion of holding the
heavy wooden frame. He looked like a rag doll. We had to call his friends, to lend a hand
and
hoist up the frame of rafters, he couldn't do
it anymore. He had to go to bed. He thought for sure,
that he had a hernia. The classic story about Ernest
Lipton was, that one day he went hiking for the weekend in the San Bernardino Mountains with
some friends. They camped in the mountains for
the night. While everybody
was sleeping, Ernest Lipton
went to the bushes, and being such a considerate man, he walked some distance from
the camp, so as not to bother anybody. He
slipped in the darkness and
rolled down the side of
the mountain. He told his friends afterward, that he knew for a fact,
that
he was falling
to his death at the bottom of the valley. He was
lucky, in that he grabbed on to a ledge with the tips
of his fingers; he held on to it for hours, searching in the dark with
his feet for any
support, because his arms were about to give in, he
was going to hold on, until his death. By extending his legs as wide, as he could, he
found tiny protuberances in the rock, that
helped him to hold on. He stayed stuck to the rock,
like the decals, that he made, until there was enough light for him to
realize, that he was
only a foot from the ground.
"Ernest,
you could
have yelled for help!" his friends
complained.
"Gee, I didn't
think, there was any use," he replied. "Who
could have heard me? I thought, I had rolled down at
least a mile into the valley. Besides, everyone was asleep."
The final blow came
for me when Ernest Lipton, who spent two
hours daily commuting back and forth from his house to
the shop, decided to buy an economy car,
a Volkswagen Beetle, and
began measuring
how many miles he got per gallon of gasoline. I was extremely
surprised, when he announced
one morning, that
he had
reached 125 miles per gallon. Being a very exact man, he qualified his statement,
saying, that most of his driving was not done
in the city, but on the freeway,
although at the
peak hour of traffic, he had to slow down
and accelerate quite often.
206-207
A week later, he said, that he had reached the
250-mile-per-gallon mark. This marvelous event
escalated, until he reached an unbelievable figure: 645 miles to a
gallon. His
friends
told him, that he should enter this figure into the logs of the
Volkswagen company. Ernest
Lipton was as pleased, as
punch, and gloated (malicious pleasure), saying, that he wouldn't know,
what to do, if he
reached the
thousand-mile mark. His friends told him, that he should
claim
a miracle. This extraordinary situation went on, until
one morning, when he caught one of his friends, who for months had been playing
the
oldest gag in the book on him, adding
gasoline to his tank. Every morning he had been
adding three or four cups, so that Ernest's gas gauge was never on
empty.
Ernest
Lipton was nearly angry. His harshest comment was: "Gee! Is this
supposed to be funny?"
I had known for
weeks, that his friends were playing that
gag on him, but I was unable to intervene. I felt,
that it was none of my business. The people, who were playing the gag
on Ernest Lipton, were
his lifelong friends. I was a newcomer. When I saw his look of
disappointment and hurt, and his incapacity to get angry, I
felt
a wave of guilt and anxiety. I was
facing again an old enemy of mine. I despised Ernest
Lipton, and at the same time, I liked him immensely. He was helpless.
The real truth of
the matter was, that Ernest Lipton looked
like my father. His thick glasses and his receding
hairline, as well, as the stubble (short, stiff hair) of graying beard,
that he could never
quite shave
completely, brought my father's features to
mind. He had the same straight, pointed nose and pointed chin.
But seeing
Ernest Lipton's
inability, to get angry and punch the jokers in
the nose, was what really clinched (fasten together, made final) his
likeness to my
father for me and pushed it beyond the threshold of safety. I remembered, how my
father had been madly in love with the
sister of his best friend. I spotted her one day in a
resort town, holding hands with a young man. Her mother was with her,
as
a chaperone.The
girl seemed so happy. The two young people looked at
each other, enraptured (overwhelmed with delight). As far, as I could
see, it
was young love at its best. When I saw my father, I told him,
relishing every instant of
my recounting
with all the malice of my ten years, that his girlfriend had
a real boyfriend. He was taken aback. He didn't
believe me.
"But have you said
anything at all to the girl?" I asked him
daringly. "Does she know, that you are in love with
her?"
"Don't be stupid,
you little creep!" he snapped at me. "I
don't have to tell any woman any shit of that sort!" Like a
spoiled child, he looked at me petulantly (peevish, ill-tempered), his
lips
trembling with rage."She's
mine! She should
know,
that she's my woman without my having to tell her anything!" He declared all
this with the certainty of a child, who has
had everything in life, given to him without having to
fight for it. At the apex (culmination) of my form, I delivered my
punch line.
"Well," I said, "I think, she expected someone to tell
her that, and someone has just beaten you to it." I was prepared to
jump out of his reach and run, because
I
thought, he would slash at me with all the fury in the
world, but instead, he crumpled down and began to weep. He asked me,
sobbing
uncontrollably,
that since
I was capable of anything, would I please spy
on the girl for him and tell him, what was going
on? I despised my father beyond anything, I could say,
and at the same time I loved him, with a sadness,
that was unmatched. I cursed myself for precipitating (hurling
downwards) that shame on
him. Ernest
Lipton
reminded me of my father so much, that I quit
my job, alleging, that I had to go back to school. I
didn't want to increase the burden, that I already carried on my
shoulders. I had
never forgiven
myself for causing my father that
anguish, and I had never forgiven him for being so cowardly. I went back to
school and began the gigantic task of reintegrating myself into my
studies of anthropology.
What made this reintegration very difficult was the fact,
that, if there was someone, I could have worked
with ease and delight.
208-209
Because of his
admirable
touch, his daring
curiosity, and
his willingness to
expand his
knowledge, without getting flustered or
defending indefensible points, it was someone outside my
department, an archeologist. It was,
because of his influence, that I had become interested
in fieldwork in the first place. Perhaps, because of the fact, that he
actually went into the
field, literally to dig
out information, his
practicality was an oasis of sobriety for me. He was the only one, who had
encouraged me to go ahead and do field-work, because I
had nothing to lose.
"Lose it all, and
you'll gain it all," he told me once, the
soundest advice, that I ever got in academia. If I followed don Juan's advice,
and worked toward correcting my obsession
with self-reflection, I
veritably had nothing to
lose
and everything to gain. But this possibility hadn't been in the cards
for me
at that time. When I
told don Juan about the difficulty I encountered in finding a professor
to work with, I
thought, that
his reaction, to what I'd said,
was vicious. He called me a petty fart, and worse. He told me, what
I already
knew: that, if I were not so tense, I could have worked
successfully with anybody in academia, or in
business.
"Warrior-Travelers
don't complain," don Juan went on. "They
take everything, that Infinity hands them as a
challenge. A challenge is a challenge. It isn't personal.
It cannot be
taken as a curse or a
blessing. A Warrior-Traveler either wins the
challenge or the challenge demolishes him. It's more exciting to
win, so
win!"
I told him, that it
was easy for him or anyone else to say
that, but to carry it out was another matter, and that my tribulations were
insoluble, because they originated in the
incapacity of my fellow men to be consistent.
"It's not the
people around you, who are at fault," he said.
"They cannot help themselves. The fault is with you,
because you can help yourself, but you are bent on judging them, at a
deep level of Silence.
Any idiot can judge. If
you judge them, you will only get
the worst out of them. All of us Human Beings are
prisoners, and
it is that prison, that makes us act in such a miserable
way. Your challenge
is to take people, as they are! Leave people
alone."
"You are absolutely wrong this time, don Juan," I said. "Believe me, I
have no interest whatsoever
in judging them, or entangling myself with them in
any way."
"You do understand,
what I'm talking about," he insisted
doggedly (persistantly). "If you're not conscious of your desire to
judge them," he continued, "you are in even worse shape, than I
thought. This is the flaw of Warrior-Travelers, when
they begin to resume (continue) their journeys.
They get cocky, out of hand."
I admitted to don
Juan, that my complaints were petty in the
extreme. I knew that much. I said to him, that I was
confronted with daily events, events, that had the nefarious (infamous)
quality of
wearing down all my resolve,
and that I was
embarrassed to relate to don Juan
the incidents, that weighed heavily on my mind.
"Come on," he urged
me. "Out with it! Don't have any secrets
from me. I'm an empty tube. Whatever, you say to me,
will be projected out into Infinity."
"All I have are
miserable complaints," I said. "I am exactly
like all the people, I know. There's no way to talk to
a single one of them, without hearing an overt or a covert complaint." I related to don
Juan, how in even the simplest dialogues my
friends managed to sneak in an endless number of
complaints, such as in a dialogue like this one: "How is everything,
Jim?"
"Oh, fine, fine,
Cal." A huge silence would
follow. I
would be obliged
to say, "Is there something wrong,
Jim?"
"No! Everything's
great. I have a bit of a problem with Mel,
but you know how Mel is selfish and shitty. But you
have to take your friends, as they come, true?
He could, of course, have
a little more consideration.
But what the fuck. He's himself. He always puts the burden on
you: take me or leave me.
He's been doing that
since we were twelve, so it's really my fault.
Why in the fuck do I have to take
him?"
"Well, you're
right, Jim, you know Mel is very hard, yes.
Yeah!"
"Well, speaking of
shitty people, you're no better, than
Mel, Cal. I can never count on you," etc.
210-211
Another classic dialogue was: "How are you doing, Alex?
How's your married life?"
"Oh, just great.
For the first time, I'm eating on time
home-cooked meals, but I'm getting fat. There's nothing for me to do,
except
watch TV. I used to go out with you, guys,
but now I can't. Theresa doesn't let me. Of course, I
could tell her to go and fuck herself, but I don't want to hurt her. I
feel content, but
miserable."
And Alex had been
the most miserable guy, before he got
married. He was the one, whose classic joke was to tell
his friends, every time we ran into him:
"Hey, come to my car, I want
to introduce you to my
bitch." He enjoyed
himself
pink with our crushed expectations, when
we would see, that what he had in his car, was a female
dog. He introduced his "bitch" to all his friends. We were shocked,
when
he
actually married
Theresa, a long-distance runner. They
met at a marathon, when Alex fainted. They were in
the mountains,
and Theresa had
to revive him by any means, so she pissed on
his face. After that, Alex was her prisoner. She had
marked her territory. His friends used to say: "Her pissy prisoner."
His friends
thought, she was the true bitch, who had turned weird Alex into a
fat dog.
Don Juan and I
laughed for a while. Then he looked at me
with a serious expression.
"These are the ups
and downs of daily living," don Juan
said. "You win, and you lose, and you don't know when
you win or when you lose. This is the price, one pays for living under
the rule of
self-reflection. There is nothing, that I can say to
you, and there's nothing, that you can say to yourself. I could only recommend, that
you not feel guilty, because you're an
asshole, but that you strive to end the dominion of
self-reflection. Go back to school. Don't give up yet."
My interest in
remaining in academia was waning
considerably. I began to live on automatic pilot. I felt heavy, despondent.
However, I noticed, that my mind was not
involved. I didn't calculate anything, or set up any goals
or
expectations of any sort. My thoughts were not obsessive, but my
feelings were.
I tried to conceptualize this dichotomy between a quiet mind and
turbulent feelings. It was in this frame of
mindlessness and overwhelmed feelings, that I
walked one day from Haines
Hall, where the
anthropology
department was, to the cafeteria to eat my lunch.
I was suddenly
accosted by a strange tremor. I
thought, I was going to faint, and I sat down on some brick steps. I
saw
yellow spots in front of my
eyes. I had the sensation, that I was spinning. I was sure, that I was
going to get sick to my
stomach. My vision became blurry, and finally I couldn't see a thing.
My physical discomfort was so
total and intense, that it didn't leave room for a single thought. I
had only bodily sensations of
fear and anxiety, mixed with elation, and a strange anticipation, that
I
was at the threshold of a
Gigantic Event. They were sensations without the counterpart of
thought. At a given moment, I no
longer knew, whether
I was sitting or
standing. I was surrounded by the
most impenetrable darkness,
one can imagine, and then, I saw Energy, as it flowed in the Universe.
I
saw a succession of
Luminous Spheres, walking toward me or away from me. I saw them one at
a time, as don Juan had
always told me, one Sees them. I knew, they were different individuals,
because of their differences
in size. I examined the details of their structures. Their Luminosity
and their roundness were made
of fibers, that seemed to be stuck together. They were thin or thick
fibers. Every one of those
Luminous figures had a thick, shaggy () covering. They looked like some
strange,
luminous, furry
animals, or gigantic round insects,
covered with luminous hair. What was the most shocking thing to me was
the realization, that I had
seen those furry insects all my life. Every occasion, on which don Juan
had made me deliberately See them, seemed to me at that moment to be
like a detour, that I had
taken with him. I remembered
every instance of his help, in making me See people, as Luminous
Spheres,
and all of those instances
were set apart from the bulk of Seeing, to which I was having
access
now.
212-213
I knew then, as
beyond the shadow of a doubt, that I had perceived
Energy, as it flows in the
Universe, all my life, on my own, without anybody's help. Such a
realization was overwhelming to
me. I felt infinitely,
vulnerable,
frail. I needed to seek cover, to
hide somewhere. It was exactly like the dream, that most of us seem to
have at one time or another,
in which we find ourselves naked and don't know what to do. I felt
more, than naked; I felt
unprotected, weak, and I dreaded returning to my normal state. In a
vague way I sensed, that I was
lying down. I braced myself for my return to normality. I conceived of
the idea, that I was going
to find myself lying on the brick walk, twitching convulsively,
surrounded by a whole circle of
spectators. The sensation, that I was lying down, became more and more
accentuated. I felt, that I
could move my eyes. I could see light through my closed eyelids, but I
dreaded opening them. The
odd part was, that I didn't hear any of those people, that I imagined,
were around me. I heard no
noise at all. At last, I ventured opening my eyes. I was on my bed, in
my office apartment by the
corner of Wilshire and Westwood boulevards. I became quite
hysterical upon finding myself in
my bed. But for some reason, that was beyond my grasp, I calmed down
almost immediately. My
hysteria was replaced by a bodily indifference, or by a state of bodily
satisfaction, something
like what one feels after a good meal. However, I could not quiet my
mind. It had been the most
shocking thing imaginable for me to realize, that I had perceived
Energy directly all my
life. How in the world could it have been possible, that I hadn't
known? What had been preventing me from
gaining access to that facet (phase) of my being? Don Juan had said,
that every
Human Being has the
potential to See Energy directly. What he hadn't said was, that Every
Human Being already Sees
Energy directly, but doesn't know it.
I put that question
to a psychiatrist friend. He couldn't
shed any light on my quandary (dilemma, predicament). He thought, that my
reaction was the result fatigue and
overstimulation. He gave me a prescription for Valium and told
me to rest. I hadn't dared
mention to anyone, that I had woken up in my bed without being able to
account for
how I had gotten
there. Therefore, my haste to see don Juan was
more, than justified. I flew to Mexico City as soon, as I
could, rented a
car, and drove to where he lived. "You've done all
this before!" don Juan said, laughing, when
I narrated my mind-boggling experience to
him.
"There
are only two things, that
are new. One is, that now you have
perceived Energy all by yourself.
What you did was to 'Stop the World', and then you realized, that you
have always seen Energy, as it
flows in the Universe, as every Human Being does, but without knowing
it deliberately. The other
new thing is, that you have traveled from your Inner Silence all by
yourself. You know, without my
having to tell you, that anything is possible, if one departs from
Inner
Silence. This time your
fear and vulnerability made it possible for you to end up in your bed,
which is not really, that far
from the UCLA campus. If you would not indulge in your surprise, you
would realize, that, what you
did, is nothing, nothing extraordinary for a Warrior-Traveler. But the
issue, which is of the utmost
importance, isn't knowing, that you have always perceived Energy
directly, or your journeying from
Inner Silence, but, rather, a two-fold affair. First, you
experienced something, which the Sorcerers of ancient Mexico
called the clear view, or
Losing the Human Form: the time, when human pettiness vanishes, as if
it had been a patch of fog,
looming over us, a fog, that slowly clears up and dissipates. But under
no circumstances must you
believe, that this is an accomplished fact. The Sorcerers' World is not
an immutable (ageless) World, like the
World of everyday life, where they tell you, that once you reach a
goal, you remain a winner
forever. In the Sorcerers' World, to arrive at a certain goal means,
that you have simply acquired
the most efficient tools to continue your fight, which, by the way,
will never end.
214
The second part
of this two-fold matter is, that you experienced the
most maddening question for
the hearts of Human Beings. You expressed it yourself, when you asked
yourself the questions: 'How
in the world could it have been possible, that I didn't know, that I
had perceived Energy directly
all my life? What had been preventing me from gaining access to that
facet of my
being?'
Mud
Shadows
215
To sit in silence with don Juan was one of the most enjoyable
experiences, I knew. We
were comfortably
sitting on some stuffed chairs in the
back of his house in the mountains of central Mexico. It was late afternoon.
There was a pleasant breeze. The Sun was behind
the house, at our backs. Its fading light created
exquisite shades of green in the big trees in the backyard. There were
big trees, growing
around his house, and beyond it, which obliterated (erased)
the sight of the city, where he lived. This always
gave me the impression, that I was in the wilderness, a different
wilderness, than the
barren Sonoran
desert, but wilderness
nonetheless
"Today, we're going
to discuss a most serious topic in
Sorcery," don Juan said abruptly, "and we're going to
begin by talking about the Energy Body."
He had
described the Energy Body to me countless
times, saying, that it was a Conglomerate of Energy Fields, the mirror
image of the Conglomerate of
Energy Fields, that makes up the physical body, when it is Seen as
Energy, that flows in the
Universe. He had said, that it was smaller, more compact, and of
heavier appearance, than the
Luminous Sphere of the physical body.
216-217
Don Juan had
explained, that the body and the Energy Body were two
Conglomerates of Energy Fields,
compressed together by some strange agglutinizing (joining together
like a glue of Aquamarine vibration) Force. He had
emphasized no end, that the Force,
that binds that Group of Energy Fields together, was, according to the
Sorcerers of ancient Mexico,
the most mysterious Force in the Universe. His personal estimation was,
that it was the Pure
Essence of the entire Cosmos, the sum total of everything there is. He
had
asserted, that the physical body and the
Energy Body were the only counter-balanced Energy Configurations in our
Realm as Human Beings. He
accepted, therefore, no other dualism, than the one between
these two. The dualism
between body and mind, spirit and flesh, he considered to be a mere
concatenation (link in
chain) of the mind, emanating from it without any
energetic foundation. Don Juan had said,
that by means of
discipline, it is possible for anyone to bring the Energy Body closer
to
the physical
body.
Normally, the
distance between the two is enormous. Once the Energy Body is within a
certain range, which varies
for each of us individually, anyone, through discipline, can forge
(form) it
into the exact replica of
their physical body, that is to say, a three-dimensional, solid Being.
Hence the Sorcerers' idea of
'the Other' or 'the Double'. By the same token, through the same
processes of discipline, anyone
can forge (form) their three-dimensional, solid physical body to be a
perfect replica of their
Energy Body, that is to say, an
ethereal
charge of Energy, invisible to the human eye, as all Energy is.
When don Juan had
told me all about this, my reaction had
been to ask him, if he was describing a mythical
proposition. He had replied, that there was nothing mythical about
Sorcerers. Sorcerers
were practical
Beings, and what
they described was always
something quite sober and down-to-earth. According to don Juan, the
difficulty in
understanding what Sorcerers did, was, that they proceeded from
a
different cognitive system.
Sitting at the back of his house in
central Mexico that day, don Juan
said, that the Energy Body
was of key importance, in whatever was taking place in my life.
He
Saw, that it was an energetic fact, that my Energy Body, instead of
moving away from me, as it
normally happens, was approaching me with great speed.
"What
does it mean,
that it's approaching me, don Juan?" I
asked.
"It
means, that something is going to knock the
daylights out of you," he said, smiling. "A tremendous degree of
control is going to come into your
life, but not your control, the Energy Body's Control."
"Do
you
mean, don Juan, that some outside force
will control me?" I asked.
"There are scores of Outside
Forces, controlling you at this moment," don Juan replied.
"The
control, that
I am referring to, is
something outside the domain of language. It is your control and at the
same time
it is not. It cannot be classified, but it can certainly be
experienced. And above all, it can certainly be
manipulated. Remember
this: It can be manipulated, to your total
advantage, of course, which again,
is not your advantage, but the Energy Body's advantage.
However, the
Energy
Body is you, so we could go on forever like
dogs biting their own tails, trying to describe this. Language is
inadequate. All
these experiences are
beyond syntax."
Darkness had
descended very quickly, and the foliage of the
trees, that had been glowing green a little, while
before, was now very dark and heavy. Don
Juan said, that
if I paid
close attention to the darkness of
the foliage without focusing my eyes, but sort of looked at it from the
corner of my eye, I would
see a Fleeting Shadow crossing my field of vision. "This
is the appropriate time of day for doing,
what I am asking you to do," he said. "It takes a moment to engage the
necessary attention in you
to do it. Don't stop, until you catch that Fleeting Black Shadow."
I did
see some strange Fleeting Black Shadow,
projected on the foliage of the trees. It was either one shadow, going
back and forth, or various
Fleeting Shadows, moving from left to right or right to left or
straight
up in the air. They looked
like fat black fish to me, enormous fish.
218-219
It was, as if gigantic swordfish were flying in the air. I was
engrossed
in the sight. Then,
finally, it scared me. It became too dark to see the foliage, yet I
could still see the Fleeting
Black Shadows.
"What
is it, don Juan?" I asked. "I see Fleeting
Black Shadows all over the place."
"Ah,
that's the Universe at
large," he said, "incommensurable (non-comparable), nonlinear, outside the
realm of
syntax. The
Sorcerers
of ancient Mexico
were the first ones to See those Fleeting Shadows, so they followed
them around. They Saw them, as
you're seeing them, and they Saw them as Energy, that flows in the
Universe. And they did discover
something transcendental (mystical)." He
stopped talking and looked at me. His pauses were
perfectly placed. He always stopped
talking, when
I was hanging by a
thread.
"What did they
discover, don Juan?" I
asked.
"They
discovered, that we have a companion for
life," he said, as clearly, as he could. "We have a predator, that came
from the depths of the
Cosmos and took over the rule of our lives. Human Beings are its
prisoners. The Predator is our
lord and master. It has rendered us docile, helpless. If we want to
protest, it suppresses our
protest. If we want to act independently, it demands, that we don't do
so."
It was very dark
around us, and that seemed to curtail (cut short) any
expression on my part. If it had been daylight, I
would have laughed my head off. In the dark, I felt quite inhibited. "It's
pitch black around us," don Juan said,
"but if you look out of the corner of your eye, you will still see
Fleeting Shadows jumping all
around you." He was right. I could still See
them. Their movement made me dizzy. Don Juan
turned on the light,and
that seemed to
dissipate everything. "You
have arrived,
by your effort alone, to what the shamans
of ancient Mexico called the topic of topics," don
Juan said. "I have been
beating around the bush all this time,
insinuating (introduce gradually) to you, that something
is holding us prisoner. Indeed
we are held
prisoner! This
was an energetic fact
for
the
Sorcerers
of ancient Mexico."
"Why
has this predator taken over in the
fashion, that you're describing, don Juan?" I asked. "There must be a
logical
explanation."
"There
is an explanation," don Juan replied,
"which is the simplest explanation in the world. They took over,
because we are food for them, and
they squeeze us mercilessly, because we are their sustenance. Just as
we rear chickens in chicken
coops, gallineros, the predators rear us in human coops, humaneros.
Therefore, their food is always
available to them."
I
felt,
that my head was shaking violently from
side to side. I could not express my profound sense of unease and
discontentment, but my body moved
to bring it to the surface. I shook from head to toe without any
volition on my
part. "No,
no, no, no," I heard myself saying. "This
is absurd, don Juan. What you're saying is something monstrous. It
simply can't be true, for
Sorcerers or for average men, or for anyone."
"Why
not?" don Juan asked calmly. "Why not?
Because it infuriates you?"
"Yes,
it infuriates me," I retorted. "Those
claims are monstrous!"
"Well,"
he said, "you haven't
heard all the claims yet. Wait a bit longer and see how you feel.
I'm going
to subject you to a blitz (intense effort). That is, I'm going to
subject your mind
to tremendous onslaughts, and you cannot get up and
leave, because you're caught. Not because I'm holding you prisoner, but
because
something
in you will prevent you from leaving, while another part of
you is going to go truthfully berserk. So brace
yourself!"
There was something
in me, which was, I felt, a glutton (inordinate capacity to withstand
something specified) for
punishment. He was right. I wouldn't have left the
house for the world. And yet I didn't like one bit the
inanities (nonsense), he was
spouting (gushing forth). "I want
to appeal to your analytical mind," don
Juan said.
220-221
"Think for a
moment, and tell me, how you would
explain the contradiction between the
intelligence of man the engineer and the
stupidity of his systems
of
beliefs, or the stupidity of his contradictory behavior. Sorcerers
believe, that the predators have
given us our systems of beliefs, our ideas of good and evil, our social
mores (accepted traditional customs). They are the
ones, who set up our hopes and expectations and dreams of
success or failure. They have given
us covetousness, greed, and cowardice. It is the predators, who make us
complacent, routinary,
and egomaniacal."
"But how can they
do this, don Juan?" I asked, somehow
angered further, by what he was saying. "Do they
whisper all that in our ears, while we are asleep?"
"No, they don't do
it that way. That's idiotic!" don Juan
said, smiling. "They
are
infinitely more efficient
and
organized, than that. In order to keep us
obedient and meek and weak, the predators engaged themselves in a
stupendous maneuver - stupendous,
of course, from the point of view of a fighting strategist. A
horrendous maneuver from the point of
view of those, who suffer it. They gave us their mind ! Do you hear me?
The predators give us their
mind, which becomes our mind.
The predators' mind is baroque,
contradictory, morose, filled with
the fear of, being discovered any minute now. I know, that even though
you have never suffered
hunger," he went on, "you have food anxiety, which is none other, than
the anxiety of the predator,
who fears, that any moment now its maneuver is going to be uncovered
and food is going to be
denied. Through the mind, which, after all, is their mind, the
predators inject into the lives of
human beings whatever is convenient for them. And they ensure, in this
manner, a degree of security
to act, as a buffer against their fear."
"It's
not, that I
can't accept all this at face value, don
Juan," I said. "I could, but there's something so odious about it, that it
actually repels me. It forces me to take a
contradictory stand. If
it's true, that they eat
us, how do
they do it?"
Don
Juan had a
broad smile on his face. He was as pleased as
punch. He explained, that
Sorcerers
See infant human
beings,
as strange, luminous balls of energy, covered from the top to the
bottom with a glowing coat,
something like a plastic cover, that is adjusted tightly over their
cocoon of energy. He said, that
that Glowing Coat of Awareness was, what the predators consumed, and
that, when a human being
reached adulthood, all, that was left of that Glowing Coat of
Awareness,
was a narrow fringe, that
went from the ground to the top of the toes. That fringe permitted
Humankind to continue living,
but only barely.
As if I had been in
a dream,
I heard don Juan Matus
explaining, that to
his knowledge, human was the only
species, that had the Glowing Coat of Awareness outside that Luminous
Cocoon. Therefore, he (human)
became easy prey for an Awareness of a different order, such as the
heavy awareness of the
predator. He then made the most damaging statement, he
had made so far. He said, that this narrow Fringe of Awareness was the
epicenter
of Self-Reflection, where human was
irremediably (incurable) caught. By playing on our Self-Reflection,
which is
the only point of Awareness, left to us, the
predators create flares of Awareness, that they
proceed to consume in a ruthless, predatory fashion. They give us inane
(nonsense)
problems, that force those flares of Awareness
to rise, and in this manner they
keep us alive, in order for them to be fed with the
energetic flare of our pseudo-concerns. There must have
been something, to what don Juan was saying,
which was so devastating to me, that at that point I
actually got sick to my stomach. After a moment's
pause, long enough for me to recover, I asked don Juan:
"But why is it, that the Sorcerers of ancient Mexico
and all Sorcerers today, although they See the predators, don't do
anything, about
it?"
"There's
nothing,
that you and I can do about it," don Juan
said in a grave, sad voice. "All, we can do, is discipline
ourselves to the
point, where they will not touch us. How can
you ask your fellow men to go through those rigors of
discipline? They'll laugh and make fun of you, and the more aggressive
ones will
beat the shit out of you. And not so much because they don't
believe it.
222-223
Down in the depths of every
human being, there's
an
ancestral, visceral (derived
from
intuition) knowledge
about the
predators' existence."
My analytical mind
swung back and forth like a yo-yo. It
left me and came back and left me and came back
again. Whatever, don Juan was proposing, was preposterous, incredible.
At
the same time, it was
a most reasonable thing, so simple. It explained every kind
of human contradiction, I could think of. But how could one have taken
all this seriously? Don Juan was pushing me
into the path of an avalanche, that would take
me down forever. I felt another wave of a threatening
sensation. The wave didn't stem from me, yet it was attached
to me.
Don Juan was doing something to me, mysteriously positive and
terribly negative at the same time. I sensed it as an
attempt to cut a thin film, that seemed to be glued to me. His
eyes were fixed on
mine in an unblinking
stare. He
moved his eyes away and began to talk without looking at me anymore. "Whenever doubts
plague you to a dangerous point," he said,
"do something pragmatic about it. Turn off the light.
Pierce the darkness; find out what you can see." He got up, to turn
off the lights. I stopped
him.
"No, no, don Juan,"
I said, "don't turn off the lights. I'm
doing okay."
What I felt then
was a most unusual, for me, fear of the
darkness. The mere thought of it made me pant. I
definitely knew something viscerally (intuitively), but I wouldn't dare
touch it, or
bring it to the surface,
not in a million years !
"You saw the Fleeting Shadows
against the trees," don Juan said, sitting back against
his chair. "That's
pretty good. I'd like you to see them inside this room.
You're not seeing anything. You're just merely catching
Fleeting Images.
You have enough energy for that." I feared, that don Juan
would get up anyway and turn off the
lights, which he did. Two seconds later, I was
screaming my head off. Not
only did I catch a glimpse of those
Fleeting Images, I heard them buzzing by my ears.
Don
Juan doubled up with laughter, as he turned on the
lights. "What
a
temperamental fellow!" he said. "A total disbeliever, on the one hand,
and a total
pragmatist on the other. You must arrange this
internal fight. Otherwise, you're going to swell up like a big
toad and burst." Don Juan kept on pushing his barb deeper and deeper
into me. "The
Sorcerers of ancient
Mexico," he said, "Saw the predator.
They called it the
Flyer, because it leaps through the air. It is not a pretty
sight. It
is a big shadow, impenetrably dark, a black shadow, that jumps
through the air. Then, it lands flat on the ground.
The Sorcerers of ancient Mexico were quite ill at ease with the idea
of,
when it made its appearance
on Earth. They reasoned, that human must have
been a complete being at one point, with stupendous
insights, feats of Awareness, that are mythological legends nowadays.
And then everything seems
to disappear, and we
have now a sedated
human."
I wanted
to get
angry, call him a paranoiac, but somehow the
righteousness, that was usually just underneath the
surface of my being, wasn't there. Something in me was beyond the point
of
asking
myself my favorite question: What if all, that
he said, is true? At the moment he was talking to me, that night, in my heart of
hearts,
I felt, that all of what he was saying,
was true, but at the same time, and with equal force,
all that he was saying was absurdity itself.
"What are you
saying, don Juan?" I asked feebly. My throat
was constricted. I could hardly breathe.
"What I'm saying
is, that what
we have
against us, is not a simple predator. It is very smart,
and organized.
It
follows a
methodical system to render us useless. Human, the Magical Being, that
he is destined to be, is no
longer magical. He's an average piece of meat. There are no
more dreams for human, but
the dreams of an animal, who
is being raised, to become a piece of meat: trite, conventional,
imbecilic."
Don Juan's words
were eliciting (bring,
avoke, call forth) a strange, bodily reaction
in me, comparable to the sensation of nausea. It was,
as if I were going to get sick to my stomach again.
224-225
But the nausea was coming from the bottom of my being,
from the marrow of my bones. I convulsed involuntarily. Don Juan shook
me by
the shoulders forcefully.
I felt my neck wobbling back and forth
under the impact of his grip. The maneuver calmed me down at
once. I felt more in
control.
"This
predator," don Juan said, "which, of
course, is an Inorganic Being, is not altogether invisible to us, as
other Inorganic Beings are. I
think, as children we do see it and decide it's so horrific, that we
don't want to think about it.
Children, of course, could insist on focusing on the sight, but
everybody else around them
dissuades them from doing so. The only alternative left for Humankind,"
he continued, "is
discipline. Discipline is the only deterrent.
But by discipline I don't mean harsh routines. I
don't mean waking up every morning at five-thirty and throwing cold
water on yourself, until you're
blue. Sorcerers understand discipline, as the capacity to face with
serenity odds, that are not
included in our expectations. For them, discipline is an Art:
the Art of facing Infinity without
flinching (retreat, recoil, wince), not because they are
strong and tough, but because they are filled with awe."
"In what way would
the Sorcerers' discipline be a
deterrent?"
I asked.
"Sorcerers
say, that discipline
makes the Glowing Coat of Awareness unpalatable to the Flyer,"
don Juan said,
scrutinizing my face, as if to discover any signs of disbelief.
"The
result is, that the
predators become
bewildered. An inedible Glowing Coat of Awareness is
not part of their cognition, I suppose. After being bewildered, they
don't have any recourse other,
than refraining from continuing their nefarious (infamous)
task. If the predators
don't eat our Glowing Coat
of Awareness for a while," he went on, "it'll keep on growing.
Simplifying this matter to the
extreme, I can say, that
Sorcerers, by means of their discipline, push the predators away long
enough to allow their Glowing
Coat of Awareness to grow beyond the level
of the toes. Once it goes beyond the level of the toes, it grows back
to its
natural size. The Sorcerers of ancient
Mexico used to say, that the Glowing Coat of
Awareness is like a tree. If it is not pruned, it
grows to its natural size and volume. As Awareness reaches levels
higher, than the toes, tremendous maneuvers of
Perception become a matter of
course. The grand trick of those
Sorcerers
of ancient times," don Juan continued, "was to burden the
Flyers' Mind
with discipline. They found out, that if they taxed (made charge
against) the Flyers'
Mind with Inner Silence, the Foreign Installation
would flee, giving to any one of the practitioners involved in this
maneuver, the total
certainty of the Mind's Foreign Origin. The Foreign
Installation comes back, I assure you, but not as strong, and a process
begins, in which the fleeing of the 'Flyers' Mind
becomes routine, until one day it flees permanently. A sad day indeed! That's the day,
when you have to rely on your own
devices, which are
nearly zero. There's noone to tell you what to do. There's no Mind
of Foreign Origin to dictate the imbecilities, you're
accustomed to. My
teacher, the Nagual
Julian,
used to warn all his disciples," don Juan continued, "that this was
the toughest
day in a Sorcerer's life, for the Real Mind, that belongs to
us, the sum total of our experience, after a lifetime
of domination, has been rendered shy, insecure, and shifty. Personally,
I would say, that
the real battle of Sorcerers begins at that moment. The rest
is merely preparation."
I became
genuinely agitated. I wanted to know more, and yet a strange
feeling in me clamored (shouted) for
me to stop. It alluded (refer indirectly) to dark results and
punishment, something like the wrath of God, descending on me for tampering (interfere
foolishly)
with
something, veiled by God himself. I made a supreme
effort to allow my curiosity to win. "What-what-what do
you mean," I heard myself
say, "by
taxing the
Flyers' Mind?"
"Discipline taxes the Foreign Mind
no end," he replied. "So,
through their discipline,
Sorcerers vanquish
(conquer in
battle) the Foreign Installation." I was over-
whelmed
by his statements. I believed, that don
Juan was either certifiably insane or that he was
telling me something so awesome, that it froze everything in
me.
226-227
I noticed, however, how quickly I rallied (revived) my energy to
deny everything, he had said. After an instant of panic, I began to
laugh, as if don Juan had told me a joke. I even heard myself saying,
"Don
Juan, don Juan, you're incorrigible (incapable of being corrected)!"
Don Juan seemed to
understand everything, I was experiencing.
He shook his head from side to side and raised his
eyes to the heavens in a gesture of mock despair. "I am so
incorrigible," he said, "that I
am going to give the Flyers' Mind, which you carry inside you,
one more jolt. I am going to
reveal to you one of the most extraordinary secrets of Sorcery. I
am going
to describe to you a
finding, that took Sorcerers thousands
of years to verify and consolidate (solidify, strengthen)." He
looked at me
and smiled maliciously: "The
Flyers' Mind flees forever," he said, "when a Sorcerer
succeeds in
grabbing on to the Vibrating Force (of Aquamarine color), that holds
us together, as a conglomerate of energy fields. If a Sorcerer
maintains
that pressure long enough,
the Flyers' Mind flees in defeat.
And that's exactly, what you are going
to do: hold on to the
energy, that binds you together." I had the most
inexplicable reaction, I could have imagined.
Something in me actually shook, as if it had received
a jolt. I entered into a state of unwarranted fear, which I immediately
associated with my religious
background. Don Juan
looked at me from
head to toe. "You
are fearing
the wrath of God, aren't you?" he said.
"Rest assured, that's not your fear. It's the Flyers'
fear, because it knows, that you will do exactly, as I'm telling you." His words did not
calm me at all. I felt worse. I was
actually convulsing involuntarily, and I had no means
to stop it.
"Don't
worry," don Juan said calmly. "I
know for
a fact, that those attacks wear off very quickly. The Flyer's Mind has
no concentration
whatsoever."
After a moment,
everything stopped, as don Juan had
predicted. To say again, that I was bewildered, is a
euphemism (substitution of term). This was the first time ever, with
don Juan or alone, in my
life, that I didn't
know, whether
I was coming or going. I wanted to get out of the chair and
walk around, but I was deathly afraid.
I was filled with
rational assertions, and at the same time, I
was filled with an infantile (lacking maturity) fear. I began to
breathe
deeply, as a cold perspiration covered my entire body. I had somehow
unleashed on myself
a most god
awful sight: Black, Fleeting Shadows jumping all
around me, wherever I turned. I closed my eyes and
rested my head on the arm of the stuffed chair. "I don't know, which
way to turn, don Juan," I said.
"Tonight, you have really succeeded in getting me lost."
"You're
being torn by an internal struggle," don Juan said.
"Down in the depths of you, you know, that you are incapable of
refusing the agreement, that an
indispensable (necessary) part of you, your Glowing Coat of Awareness,
is going to
serve, as an incomprehensible (boundless, without limits)
source of nourishment to, naturally, incomprehensible (unintelligible,
boundless, without limits) entities.
And
another part of you will stand against this situation with all its
might.
Awareness. My parents just brought me into this
World to be food, like themselves, and that's the end "The Sorcerers'
revolution," he continued,
"is, that they refuse to honor agreements, in which they did not
participate. Nobody ever asked me,
if
I would consent (give permission, agree) to be eaten by beings of a
different kind of the
story."
Don
Juan
stood up from his chair and stretched his arms and legs. "We have been
sitting here
for
hours. It's time to go into the house. I'm gonna
eat. Do you want to eat with me?" I declined. My
stomach was in an uproar (confusion). "I think you'd
better go to sleep," he said. "The blitz
(intense campain or effort) has devastated you." I didn't need any
further coaxing (persuade, urge). I collapsed onto my bed
and fell asleep like the dead. At home, as time went
by, the idea of the Flyers became one of the main fixations of my life.
I got
to the
point, where I felt, that don Juan was
absolutely right about them. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't discard his logic.
228-229
The more I
thought about
it, and the more I
talked to and observed myself and my fellow
men, the
more intense the
conviction, that something was rendering us
incapable of any activity
or any interaction or any thought, that didn't have
the self, as its focal point. My concern, as well, as
the concern of everyone I knew or talked to, was the self. Since I
couldn't find any
explanation for such universal homogeneity, I
believed, that don Juan's line of thought was the most
appropriate way of
elucidating the
phenomenon.
I went as deeply, as I could into readings about myths and
legends. In reading, I experienced something I had
never felt before. Each of the books, I read, was an interpretation of
myths and legends.
In each one of
those books, a homogeneous mind was palpable.
The styles differed, but the drive behind the words
was homogeneously the same. Even though the theme was something as abstract, as
myths and legends, the authors always managed to
insert statements about themselves. The homogeneous
drive behind every one of those books was not the stated theme of the
book; instead, it
was self-service. I had never felt this before. I attributed my reaction to
don Juan's influence. The
unavoidable question, that I posed to myself, was: Is
he influencing me to see this, or is there really a foreign mind
dictating everything we do? I
lapsed (falled away), perforce (by necessaty), into denial again, and I
went
insanely from denial - to acceptance - to denial. Something in
me knew,
that, whatever don
Juan was driving at, was an energetic fact, but
something equally important in me knew, that all of
that was guff (foolish talk, nonsense). The end result of my internal
struggle was a sense of
foreboding (apprehension), the sense
of something, imminently (impending) dangerous, coming at
me. I
made extensive anthropological inquiries into the subject
of the Flyers in other cultures, but I couldn't find
any references to them anywhere. Don Juan seemed to be the only source
of information
about this
matter. The next time I saw him, I
instantly jumped to talk about the
Flyers.
"I have tried my best to be rational about this subject matter," I
said, "but I can't. There are
moments, when I fully agree with you about the
predators."
"Focus your attention on the Fleeting Shadows, that you actually see,"
don Juan said with a
smile.
I told don Juan, that those Fleeting Shadows
were going to be the end of my rational life. I saw them everywhere. Since I had
left his house, I was incapable of going to
sleep in the dark. To sleep, with the lights on, did
not bother me at all. The moment I turned the lights off, however,
everything around me began
to jump. I never saw
complete figures or shapes. All I
saw were Fleeting Black Shadows.
"The Flyers' Mind
has not left you," don Juan said. "It has
been seriously injured. It's trying its best to rearrange its
relationship
with you. But something in you is severed
forever. The Flyer knows that. The real danger is,
that the Flyers' Mind may win by getting you tired and forcing you to
quit by playing the contradiction between: what
it says and what I say. You see, the Flyers' Mind
has no competitors," don Juan
continued. "When it proposes something, it agrees
with its own proposition, and it makes you believe, that you've done
something of
worth. The Flyers' Mind
will say to you, that, whatever Juan Matus is
telling you, is pure nonsense, and then the same mind (Reptilian mind in
humans, LM) will agree with
its own proposition, 'Yes, of course, it is nonsense,' you will say.
That's the way they overcome
us. The Flyers are an
essential part of the Universe," he went
on, "and they must be taken, as what they really are:
awesome, monstrous. They are the means, by which the Universe tests us.
We are
energetic probes, created by the Universe," he continued,
as if he
were oblivious to my presence,
"and it's because
we
are possessors of (Sun) Energy, that has Awareness, that we are the
means,
by which
the Universe becomes aware of Itself. The Flyers are the
implacable (inflexible) challengers. They cannot be taken as
anything else.
If we succeed
in doing that, the Universe allows us to continue." I wanted don Juan
to say more. But he said only: "The blitz (intense effort)
ended, the last time you were here; there's only so
much you could say about the Flyers. It's time for another kind of
maneuver."
I couldn't sleep
that night.
230-231
I fell into a light sleep in the early hours of the morning, until don
Juan dragged
me out of my bed and took me for a hike in the mountains. Where
he lived, the configuration (outline) of the land was very
different from that of the Sonoran desert, but he told me not to
indulge in comparison,
that after walking for a quarter of a mile, every place in
the World was just the same. "Sightseeing is for
people in cars," he said. "They go at
great speed without any effort on their part. Sightseeing is not for
walkers. For instance, when you are riding in a
car, you may see a gigantic mountain, whose sight
overwhelms you with its beauty. The sight of the same mountain will not overwhelm you in the same
manner if you look at it while you're going on
foot; it will overwhelm you in a different way,
especially if you have to climb it or go around it." It was very hot
that morning. We walked on a dry riverbed.
One thing, that this valley and the Sonoran desert
had in common, was their millions of insects. The gnats and flies all
around me were like
dive bombers, that
aimed at my nostrils,
eyes,
and ears. Don Juan told me not to pay attention to their buzzing. "Don't
try to disperse them with your hand," he
uttered in a firm tone. "Intend them away. Set up an energy barrier
around you. Be silent, and from
your Silence the barrier will be constructed. Nobody knows how this is
done. It is one of those
things, that the Old Sorcerers called energetic facts. Shut off your
internal dialogue. That's all
it takes. I want to propose a weird idea to you," don
Juan went on, as he kept walking ahead of me. I had to
accelerate my steps to be closer to him, so as not to miss anything he
said. "I
have to stress,
that it's a weird idea, that will find
endless resistance in you," he said. "I will tell you beforehand, that you won't
accept it easily. But the fact, that it's
weird, should not be a deterrent. You are a social
scientist. Therefore, your mind is always open to inquiry, isn't that
so?"
Don Juan was shamelessly making fun of me. I knew it, but it didn't bother me. Perhaps
due to the fact, that he was walking so fast,
and I had to make a tremendous effort to keep up with
him, his sarcasm just sloughed off (came off) me, and instead of making
me feisty (quarrelsome),
it made me
laugh. My undivided attention was focused on, what he was saying, and
the insects either stopped
bothering me, because I
had
intended a barrier of energy around me or, because I was so busy
listening to don
Juan, that I didn't
care about their buzzing around me
anymore. "The
weird idea," he said slowly, measuring the
effect of his words, "is, that every human being on this Earth seems to
have exactly the same
reactions, the same thoughts, the same feelings. They seem to respond
in more or less the same way
to the same stimuli. Those reactions seem to be sort of
fogged up by
the language, they speak, but
if we scrape that off, they are exactly the same reactions, that
besiege (harass) every human being on
Earth. I would like you to become curious about this, as a
social scientist, of course, and
see, if you
could formally account for such homogeneity."
Don Juan collected
a series of plants. Some of them could
hardly be seen. They seemed to be more in the realm
of algae, moss. I held his bag open, and we didn't speak anymore. When
he had
enough
plants, he headed back for his house, walking
as fast, as he could. He said, that he wanted to clean and separate those plants and
put them in a proper order, before they dried
up too much. I was deeply involved in thinking about
the task, he had delineated (sketched out) for me. I began by trying to
review in
my mind, if I knew of any
articles or papers, written on this subject.
I thought, that I would have to research it, and I
decided to begin my research by reading all the works available on
"national character."
I got
enthusiastic about the topic, in a haphazard way, and
I really wanted to start for home right away, for
I
wanted to take his task to heart, but before we reached his house, don
Juan sat down on
a high ledge (narrow shelf on the wall), overlooking the valley. He
didn't say
anything for a while. He was not out of breath. I couldn't conceive of why he
had stopped to sit down.
232-233
"The
task of
the day, for you," he said abruptly, in a foreboding tone, "is one of
the most mysterious things
of Sorcery,
something, that goes beyond language,
beyond explanations. We went for a hike today, we
talked, because the mystery of Sorcery must be cushioned in the
mundane. It must stem from nothing, and go back again
to nothing. That's the Art of
Warrior-Travelers: to go through the eye of a needle,
unnoticed. So, brace yourself by propping your back against this rock
wall, as far, as
possible from the edge. I will be by you, in case you
faint or fall down."
"What are you
planning to do, don Juan?" I asked, and my
alarm was so patent (obvious), that I noticed it and lowered my
voice.
"I
want
you to cross your legs and enter into
Inner Silence," he said. "Let's say, that you want to find out what
articles you could look for to
discredit or substantiate, what I have asked you to do in your academic
milieu (surroundings). Enter into
Inner
Silence, but don't fall asleep. This is not a journey through the Dark
Sea of Awareness. This is
Seeing from Inner Silence." It was
rather difficult for me to enter into
Inner Silence without falling asleep. I fought a nearly invincible
(unbeatable)
desire to fall asleep. I
succeeded, and found myself looking at the bottom of the valley from an
impenetrable darkness
around me. And
then, I saw something, that chilled me to the marrow of
my bones. I saw a gigantic
shadow, perhaps fifteen feet across, leaping in the air and then
landing with a silent thud. I felt
the thud in my bones, but I didn't hear it. "They
are really heavy," don Juan said in my
ear. He was holding me by the left arm, as hard, as he could. I saw
something, that looked like a
mud shadow wiggle on the ground, and then take another gigantic leap,
perhaps fifty feet long, and
land again, with the same ominous silent thud (dull heavy sound). I
fought not to lose my
concentration. I was frightened beyond anything, I could rationally use
as a description. I kept my
eyes fixed on the jumping shadow on the bottom of the valley. Then I
heard a most peculiar buzzing,
a mixture of the sound of flapping wings and the buzzing of a radio,
whose dial has not quite
picked up the frequency of a radio station, and the thud, that followed
was something
unforgettable. It shook don Juan and me to the core: a gigantic black
mud shadow had
just landed by our
feet. "Don't
be frightened," don Juan said
imperiously (pressing). "Keep your Inner Silence and it will move away." I was
shivering from head to toe. I had the
clear knowledge, that, if I didn't keep my Inner Silence alive, the mud
shadow would cover me up
like a blanket and suffocate me. Without losing the darkness around me,
I screamed at the top of my
voice. Never had I been so angry, so utterly frustrated. The mud shadow
took another leap, clearly
to the bottom of the valley. I kept on screaming, shaking my legs. I
wanted to shake off whatever
might come to eat me. My state of nervousness was so intense, that I
lost track of time. Perhaps I
fainted.
When I came to my
senses, I was lying in my bed in don Juan's house. There
was a towel, soaked in icy-cold water, wrapped
around my forehead. I was burning
with fever. One of don Juan's female cohorts rubbed my
back, chest, and forehead with rubbing alcohol, but this did not
relieve me. The heat,
I was experiencing, came from within myself. It was
wrath and impotence, that generated it. Don Juan
laughed, as if what was happening to me, was the funniest thing in the
world. Peals (loud burst)
of laughter
came out of him in an endless
barrage (bombardment). "I would never have
thought, that you would take Seeing a
Flyer so much to heart," he said. He took me by the
hand and led me to the back of his house, where he dunked me in a huge
tub of
water,
fully clothed, shoes, watch, everything.
"My watch, my
watch!" I screamed.
Don Juan twisted
with laughter. "You shouldn't wear a watch,
when you come to see me," he said. "Now you've fouled
up your
watch!"
I took off my watch
and put it by the side of the tub. I
remembered, that it was waterproof and that nothing
would happen to it.
234
Being dunked in the tub helped me enormously. When don Juan pulled me
out of the freezing water,
I had gained a degree of control.
"That
sight is preposterous!" I kept on
repeating, unable to say anything else. The predator, don Juan had
described, was not something
benevolent. It was enormously heavy, gross, indifferent. I felt its
disregard for us. Doubtless, it
had crushed us ages ago, making us, as don Juan had said, weak,
vulnerable, and docile. I took off
my wet clothes, covered myself with a poncho, sat in my bed, and
veritably wept my head off, but
not for myself. I had my wrath, my Unbending Intent, not
to let
them eat me. I wept for my fellow men,
especially for my father. I never knew, until that instant, that I
loved
him so
much.
"He
never had a chance," I heard myself
repeating, over and over, as if the words were not really mine. My poor
father, the most
considerate Being I knew, so tender, so gentle, so helpless.
Starting
on the Definitive Journey
The Jump into the Abyss
237
There was only one trail, leading to the flat mesa. Once we were on the
mesa itself, I realized,
that it was not as extensive, as it had appeared, when
I had looked at it from a distance. The vegetation on the mesa (flat-topped
elevation) was not different
from the vegetation below: faded green woody
shrubs, that had the ambiguous
(uncertain)
appearance of
trees. At first, I didn't see the chasm (an abyss, gap or narrow
gorge). It was only
when don Juan led me to it, that I became aware, that the mesa ended in a precipice
(extremely steep cliff or mass of rocks);
it wasn't really a mesa, but merely the flat
top of a good-sized mountain. The mountain was round
and eroded on its east and south faces; however, on part of its west
and north sides, it
seemed to have
been cut with a knife. From the edge of the
precipice,
I was able to see the bottom of the
ravine, perhaps six hundred feet below. It was covered with the same
woody shrubs, that
grew everywhere. A
whole row of small
mountains to the south and to the north of
that mountain top gave the clear impression,
that they had been part of a gigantic canyon,
millions of years old, dug out by a no longer existing
river. The edges of that
canyon had been erased by erosion.
238-239
At certain points they had been leveled with the
ground. The only portion still intact was the area, where I was
standing. "It's
solid rock," don Juan
said, as if he were reading my thoughts. He
pointed with his chin toward
the bottom of the ravine. "If anything were to fall
down from this edge to the bottom, it would get smashed to flakes on the
rock, down there."
This was the
initial dialogue between don Juan and myself,
that day, on that mountaintop. Prior to going there,
he had told me, that his time on Earth had come to an end. He was
leaving on his
Definitive Journey. His statements were devastating to me. I truly lost
my grip, and entered into a
blissful state of
fragmentation, perhaps similar to, what people experience, when they
have
a mental
breakdown. But there was a core fragment of myself, that
remained cohesive: the me of my childhood. The rest
was vagueness, in certitude (certainty). I had been fragmented for so
long, that, to
become
fragmented once
again, was the only way out of my
devastation. A most peculiar interplay between
different levels of my Awareness took place afterward. Don Juan, his cohort don Genaro, two
of his apprentices, Pablito and Nestor, and I
had climbed to that mountaintop.
Pablito,
Nestor, and
I were there to take care of our last task as apprentices: to jump
into an
abyss, a most mysterious affair, which don Juan had explained to me
at various levels of Awareness, but which has
remained an enigma to me to this day. Don Juan
jokingly said, that I should get my writing pad and start taking notes
about our last
moments together. He gently poked me in the ribs and assured me, as he
hid his laughter,
that it would have been
only proper, since I
had started on the Warrior'
Travelers' path by taking notes. Don Genaro cut in
and said, that other Warrior-Travelers, before us, had stood on that
same
flat
mountaintop, before embarking on their journey to the Unknown. Don Juan
turned to me and in a soft
voice said, that soon I
would be entering into Infinity by the force of my personal power, and
that he and
don Genaro were there only to bid me farewell.
Don Genaro cut in again and
said, that I was there also to do the same for
them.
"Once
you have entered into Infinity," don Juan said, "you can't depend on us
to bring you back.
Your decision is needed then. Only you can decide,
whether or not to return. I must also warn you, that few Warrior-Travelers survive
this type of encounter with Infinity. Infinity
is enticing beyond belief. A Warrior-Traveler finds,
that to return to the World of disorder, compulsion, noise, and pain is
a most unappealing
affair. You must know, that your decision to stay or to
return is not a matter of a reasonable choice, but a
matter of Intending it. "If
you choose not
to return," he continued, "you will
disappear, as if the Earth had swallowed you. But, if
you choose to come back, you must tighten your belt and wait like a
true Warrior-Traveler, until
your
task, whatever it might be, is finished either in success
or in defeat."
A very subtle
change began to take place in my Awareness
then. I started to remember faces of people, but I
wasn't sure, I had met them; strange feelings of anguish (mental
torture) and affection
started to mount. Don Juan's
voice was no longer
audible. I longed for people, I sincerely doubted, I had ever met. I
was
suddenly possessed by the
most unbearable love for those persons,
whoever they may have been. My feelings for them were
beyond words, and yet I couldn't tell, who they were. I only sensed
their
presence, as if I had lived
another life before, or as if I were feeling
for people in a dream. I sensed, that their outside
forms shifted; they began by being tall and ended up petite. What was
left intact was their
essence, the very thing, that produced my unbearable
longing for them.
Don Juan came to my side and said
to me: "The agreement was, that you remain in the Awareness of the Daily World." His voice
was harsh and authoritative.
"Today you are
going to fulfill a concrete task," he went on, "the
last link of a long chain; and you must do it in your utmost mood of
reason."
I had never heard
don Juan talk to me in that tone of
voice.
240-241
He was a different man at that instant, yet he was
thoroughly familiar to me. I meekly obeyed him and went back to the
Awareness of the
World of
Everyday Life.
I didn't know, that I was
doing this, however. To me, it appeared, on that day, as if I had acquiesced (accep,
comply passively) to don Juan
out of fear and respect. Don Juan spoke to me next
in the tone, I was accustomed to. What he said
was also very familiar. He
said, that the backbone of
a Warrior-Traveler is humbleness and efficiency, acting without
expecting anything
and withstanding
anything, that lies ahead of him. I went at that point
through another shift in my level of
Awareness. My mind focused on a thought, or a feeling
of anguish. I knew then, that I had made a pact with some people to die
with them, and I
couldn't remember, who they were. I felt, without the shadow
of a doubt, that it was wrong, that I should die
alone. My anguish became unbearable. Don Juan spoke to
me. "We are alone," he said. "That's our
condition, but to die alone is not to die in loneliness." I took big gulps of
air to erase my tension. As I breathed
deeply, my mind became clear. "The
great issue with us, males, is our frailty,"
he went on. "When our Awareness begins to grow, it grows like a column,
right on the midpoint of
our Luminous Being, from the ground up. That column has to reach a
considerable height, before we
can rely on it. At this time in your life, as a Sorcerer, you easily
lose your grip on your new
Awareness. When you do that, you forget everything, you have done and
seen on the Warrior-Travelers'
path, because your Consciousness shifts back to the Awareness of your
everyday life. I have
explained to you, that the task of every male Sorcerer is to reclaim
everything, he has done and
seen on the Warrior-Travelers' path, while he was on new levels of
Awareness. The problem of every
male Sorcerer is, that he easily forgets, because his Awareness loses
its new level and falls to
the ground at the drop of a hat."
"I understand
exactly what you're saying, don Juan," I
said. "Perhaps
this is the first time, I have come to the full realization of,
why I forget everything, and
why
I remember everything later. I have always
believed, that my shifts were due to a personal pathological condition; I know now why
these changes take place, yet
I can't
verbalize, what I know."
"Don't worry about
verbalizations," don Juan said. "You'll
verbalize all you want in due time. Today, you must
act on your Inner Silence, on what you know without knowing. You know
to perfection,
what
you
have to do, but this knowledge is not quite
formulated in your thoughts yet."
On the level of
concrete thoughts or sensations, all I had
were vague feelings of knowing something, that was
not part of my mind. I had, then, the clearest sense of having taken a
huge step down; something seemed to have dropped
inside me. It was almost a jolt. I knew, that I had entered into another level
of Awareness at that
instant.
Don
Juan told me then, that it is obligatory,
that a Warrior-Traveler say good-bye to all the people he leaves behind. He must say
his good-bye in a loud and clear voice, so
that his shout and his feelings will remain forever
recorded in those mountains. I hesitated for a long
time, not out of bashfulness, but because I didn't know whom to include
in my thanks.
I had completely internalized the Sorcerers' concept, that
Warrior-Travelers can't owe anything to
anyone. Don Juan had drilled a Sorcerers' axiom into
me: "Warrior-Travelers pay elegantly, generously, and with unequaled ease every
favor, every service, rendered to them. In this manner, they get rid of
the burden of being
indebted."
I had paid, or I
was in the process of paying, everyone, who
had honored me with their care or concern. I had
recapitulated my life to such an extent, that I had not left a single
stone unturned. I
truthfully believed in those days, that I didn't owe
anything to anyone. I expressed my beliefs and hesitation to don Juan. Don Juan said,
that I had indeed recapitulated my life thoroughly, but he added, that
I was far from being
free of indebtedness.
242-243
"How
about
your ghosts?" he went on. "Those you can no longer touch?"
He knew, what he
was
talking about. During my Recapitulation,
I had recounted to him every incident of my life. Out
of the hundreds of incidents, that I related to him, he had isolated
three, as samples of indebtedness,
that I
incurred very early in life, and added
to that, my indebtedness to the person, who was
instrumental in my meeting him. I had thanked my friend profusely, and
I had sensations,
that
something out there acknowledged my thanks. The
other three had remained stories from my life, stories of people, who had
given me an inconceivable (unbelievable)
gift, and whom
I
had never thanked. One of these stories had to do
with a man I'd known, when I was a child. His name was Mr. Leandro Acosta. He was my
grandfather's arch-enemy, his true nemesis (retrebutive justice). My
grandfather had accused this man repeatedly of
stealing chickens from his chicken farm. The man wasn't a vagrant
(vagabond), but
someone,
who
did
not have a steady, definite job. He was a
maverick of sorts, a gambler, a master of many trades: handyman, self-styled
curer, hunter and provider of plant and insect
specimens for local herbalists and curers, and any
kind of bird or mammal life for taxidermists or pet shops. People believed, that he
made tons of money, but that he couldn't keep
it or invest it. His detractors (depreciate) and friends alike
believed, that he could have established the most prosperous business
in the area, doing what
he knew best:
searching for plants and hunting animals,
but that he was cursed with a strange disease of the
spirit, that made him restless, incapable of tending (seek to) to
anything for
any length of
time. One
day, while I
was taking a stroll on the edge of my
grandfather's farm, I noticed, that someone was watching me from between
the thick bushes at the forest's edge. It was
Mr. Acosta. He was squatting inside the bushes of the
jungle itself and would have been totally out of sight, had it not been
for my sharp
eight-year-old eyes. "No
wonder my
grandfather thinks, that he comes to steal chickens," I thought. I
believed, that noone
else, but me, could have
noticed him;
he was utterly
concealed by his motionlessness. I had caught the difference between the
bushes and his silhouette by feeling, rather than
sight. I approached him. The fact, that people
rejected him so viciously, or liked him so passionately, intrigued me
no end.
"What are you doing
there, Mr. Acosta?" I asked
daringly.
"I'm taking a shit,
while I look at your grandfather's farm,"
he said, "so you better scram, before I get up, unless
you like the smell of shit."
I moved away a
short distance. I wanted to know, if he was
really doing, what he was claiming. He was. He got up.
I thought, he was going to leave the bush and come onto my
grandfather's
land and
perhaps walk across to the road, but he didn't. He began to walk
inward,
into the jungle.
"Hey, hey, Mr.
Acosta!" I yelled. "Can I come with
you?"
I noticed, that he
had stopped walking; it was again more a
feeling, than an actual sight, because the bush was
so thick. "You
can certainly
come with me, if you can find an entry
into the bush," he said. That
wasn't
difficult for me. In my hours of idleness, I had
marked an entry into the bush with a goodsized rock.
I had found out through an endless process of trial and error, that
there was a
crawling
space there, which, if I followed for three or
four yards, turned into an actual trail, on which
I could stand
up and walk. Mr.
Acosta came to me and said, "Bravo, kid! You've done it. Yes, come with
me if you want
to."
That was the
beginning of my association with Mr. Leandro
Acosta. We went on daily hunting expeditions. Our
association became so obvious, since I was gone from the house from
dawn to sunset,
without anybody ever knowing, where I went, that finally my
grandfather admonished (warning) me severely. "You must select
your acquaintances," he said,
244-245
"or you will
end up being like them. I will not tolerate this man,
affecting you in any way imaginable. He could certainly transmit to you
his elan (enthusiasm, vigour), yes. And
he could influence your mind to be just like his:
useless. I'm telling you, if you don't put an end to this, I will. I'll send the
authorities after him, on charges of stealing my
chickens, because you know damn well, that he comes
every day and steals them."
I tried to show my
grandfather the absurdity of his charges.
Mr. Acosta didn't have to steal chickens. He had the
vastness of that jungle at his command. He could have drawn from that
jungle anything he
wanted. But my arguments infuriated my grandfather even
more. I realized then, that my grandfather secretly
envied
Mr. Acosta's freedom, and Mr. Acosta was transformed for me by
this realization from a
nice hunter into the
ultimate expression of, what is, at the
same time, both: forbidden and desired. I attempted to
curtail my encounters with Mr. Acosta, but the lure was just too
overwhelming for me.
Then, one day, Mr. Acosta
and three of his friends proposed,
that I do something, that Mr. Acosta had never done
before: catch a vulture alive, uninjured. He explained to me, that the
vultures of the area,
which were enormous, with
a five- to six-foot wingspan, had
seven different types of flesh in their bodies, and
each one of those seven types served a specific curative purpose. He
said, that the desired state
was, that the
vulture's body not be injured. The
vulture had to be killed by tranquilizer, not by violence. It was easy to
shoot them, but in that case, the meat lost its
curative value. So the art was to catch them alive, a
thing, that he had never done. He had
figured out, though, that with my help and the help
of his three friends, he had the problem licked. He assured me, that
his was a natural
conclusion, arrived at after hundreds of occasions, on
which he had observed the behavior of vultures. "We need a dead
donkey, in order to perform this feat,
something, which we have," he declared ebulliently (overflowing
with excitement). He looked at
me, waiting for me to ask the question, of what would be done with the
dead
donkey.
Since the question was not asked, he
proceeded.
"We
remove
the intestines, and we put some sticks in there, to keep the roundness
of the
belly.The
leader of the turkey vultures is the king;
he is the biggest, the most intelligent," he went on. "No sharper eyes exist. That's
what makes him a king. He'll be the one, who
will spot the dead donkey, and the first, who will
land on it. He'll land downwind from the donkey to really smell, that
it is dead. The intestines
and soft organs, that we are going to draw out of
the donkey's belly, we'll pile by his rear end, outside. This way, it looks
like a wild cat has already eaten some of
it. Then, lazily, the vulture will come closer to the
donkey. He'll take his time.
He'll come hopping-flying, and then he
will land on the dead
donkey's hip and begin to rock the donkey's body. He
would turn it over, if it were not for the four sticks, that we will stake
into the ground, as part of the armature.
He'll stand on the hip for a while; that will be the
clue for other vultures to come and land there in the vicinity. Only
when he has three or four
of his companions,
down with him, will the king vulture
begin his work."
"And what is my
role in all this, Mr. Acosta?" I
asked.
"You hide inside
the donkey," he said with a deadpan
expression. "Nothing to it. I give you a pair of specially designed leather
- gloves, and you sit there and wait, until
the king turkey vulture rips the anus of the dead
donkey open with his enormous powerful beak and sticks his head in, to
begin eating. Then
you grab him by the neck with both hands and don't let
go. My three friends and I will be hiding on
horseback in a deep ravine. I'll be watching the operation with binoculars. When
I
see, that you have grabbed the king vulture by
the neck, we'll come at full gallop and throw
ourselves on top of the vulture and subdue him."
"Can you subdue
that vulture, Mr. Acosta?" I asked him. Not
that I doubted his skill, I just wanted to be
assured.
"Of course I can!"
he said with all the confidence in the
world. "We're all going to be wearing gloves and
leather leggings.
246-247
The vulture's talons (claws) are quite powerful. They could break a
shinbone
like a twig."
There was no way
out for me. I was caught, nailed by an
exorbitant (excessive) excitation. My admiration for Mr. Leandro
Acosta knew no limits at that moment. I saw him, as a true
hunter: resourceful
cunning, knowledgeable.
"Okay, let's do it then!" I
said.
"That's my boy!"
said Mr. Acosta. "I expected as much from
you." He had put a thick blanket behind his saddle,
and one of his friends just lifted me up and put me on Mr. Acosta's
horse, right behind the saddle,
sitting on the
blanket.
"Hold on to the
saddle," Mr. Acosta said, "and, as you hold
on to the saddle, hold the blanket, too." We took off at a
leisurely trot. We rode for perhaps an hour,
until we came to some flat, dry, desolate lands. We
stopped by a tent, that resembled a vendor's stand in a market. It had
a flat roof for
shade. Underneath that roof was a dead brown donkey.
It didn't seem that old; it looked like an adolescent donkey. Neither Mr. Acosta,
nor his friends explained to me, whether they had found or killed the
dead donkey. I
waited for them to tell me, but I wasn't going to ask.
While they made the preparations, Mr. Acosta explained, that the tent
was in place, because vultures were on the
lookout from huge distances out there, circling very
high, out of sight, but certainly capable of seeing everything, that
was going on.
"Those creatures
are creatures of sight alone," Mr. Acosta
said. "They have miserable ears, and their noses are
not as good, as their eyes. We have to plug every hole of the carcass.
I don't want you to
be peeking out of any hole, because they will see
your eye and never come down. They must see nothing." They put some
sticks inside the donkey's belly and crossed
them, leaving enough room for me to crawl in. At one
moment I finally ventured the question, that I was dying to ask.
"Tell me, Mr.
Acosta, this donkey surely died of illness,
didn't he? Do you think its disease could affect
me?"
Mr. Acosta raised
his eyes to the sky. "Come on! You cannot
be that dumb. Donkey's diseases cannot be transmitted
to man. Let's live this adventure and not worry about stupid details.
If I were shorter, I'd
be inside that donkey's
belly myself. Do you know what it is to catch the king of turkey
buzzards (vultures)?"
I believed him. His
words were sufficient to set up a cloak
of unequaled confidence over me. I wasn't going to
get sick and miss the event of events. The dreaded
moment came when Mr. Acosta put me inside the donkey. Then they
stretched the
skinover
the armature and began to sew it closed.
They left, nevertheless, a large area open at the bottom, against the ground, for air
to circulate in. The horrendous moment for
me came, when the skin was finally closed over my head
like the lid of a coffin. I breathed hard, thinking only about the
excitement of
grabbing the king of
vultures by the neck.
Mr. Acosta gave me
last-minute instructions. He said, that he would let me know by a
whistle, that resembled
a birdcall, when the king vulture was flying around and when
it had landed, so as to keep me informed and prevent
me from fretting or getting impatient. Then I heard them pulling down
the tent,
followed by their horses galloping away. It was a good thing, that
they hadn't left a single space open to look out
from, because that's, what I would have done. The temptation, to look
up
and see, what
was going on, was nearly irresistible.
A long time went by, in
which I didn't think of anything. Then I heard
Mr. Acosta's whistling and I presumed the king
vulture was circling around. My presumption turned to certainty, when I
heard the flapping
of powerful wings, and then suddenly, the dead donkey's body
began to rock, as if it were in a windstorm. Then I
felt a weight on the donkey's body, and I knew, that the king vulture
had landed on the
donkey and was not moving anymore. I heard the flapping
of other wings and the whistling of Mr. Acosta in the
distance. Then I braced myself for the inevitable. The body of the
donkey began to shake, as
something started to
rip the skin.
248-249
Then, suddenly, a huge, ugly head with a red crest, an enormous beak,
and a piercing, open eye
burst in. I yelled with fright and grabbed the neck
with both hands.
I think, I stunned the king vulture for an instant, because he didn't
do anything, which gave me the opportunity to
grab his neck even harder and
then: all hell broke
loose. He ceased to be stunned and began to pull with such force, that
I was smashed
against the structure, and in the next instant I was partially
out of the donkey's body, from armature and all, holding
on to the neck of the invading beast for dear life. I
heard Mr. Acosta's galloping horse in the distance. I heard him
yelling:
"Let go, boy, let go,
he's going to fly away with you!"
The king vulture
indeed was going to either fly away with me,
holding on to his neck or rip me apart with the force
of his talons. The reason, he couldn't reach me, was, because his head
was sunk halfway into
the viscera (intestines) and the armature. His talons (claws) kept
slipping on the loose intestines and they
never
actually
touched me. Another thing, that saved me, was, that the force of
the vulture was involved in
pulling his neck out from
my clasp and he could not move his talons far forward enough to really injure me. The next thing I
knew, Mr. Acosta had landed on top of the
vulture at the precise moment, that my leather gloves
came off my hands. Mr. Acosta was beside himself with
joy. "We've done it, boy, we've done it!" he said. "The next
time, we
will have longer stakes on the ground, that the vulture cannot yank
out, and you will be strapped to the
structure."
My relationship
with Mr. Acosta had lasted long enough for
us to catch a vulture. Then my interest, in following
him, disappeared as mysteriously, as it had appeared, and I never
really
had the opportunity
to thank him for all the things, that he had taught
me. Don Juan said, that he had taught me the patience
of a hunter at the best time to learn it; and above all, he had taught me to draw
from solitariness all the comfort, that a
hunter needs.
"You cannot confuse
solitude with solitariness," don Juan
explained to me once. "Solitude for me is psychological, of the
mind. Solitariness
is physical. One is debilitating, the other
comforting." For
all
this, don Juan had said, I was indebted to Mr. Acosta forever, whether
or not I
understood indebtedness
the way Warrior-Travelers
understand it. The second person, don Juan thought I
was indebted to, was a ten-year-old child I'd known growing up. His name was Armando
Velez.
Just like his name, he was extremely
dignified, starchy, a little old man. I liked him
very much, because he was firm and yet very friendly. He was someone,
who could
not easily
be intimidated. He would fight anyone, if he
needed to and yet he was not a bully at all. The two
of us used to go on fishing expeditions.
We used to catch very small
fish, that lived under rocks
and had to be
gathered by hand. We would put the tiny
fish, we caught, to dry in the sun and eat them raw,
all day sometimes. I also liked the fact, that he was
very resourceful and clever as well, as being ambidextrous (using both
hands equally well). He
could throw
a rock with his left hand farther, than with his right. We had
endless competitive games, in which, to my
ultimate chagrin, he always won. He used to
sort of apologize to me for winning by saying: "If I
slow down and let you win, you'll hate me. It'll be an affront (insult)
to your
manhood. So try
harder."
Because of his
excessively starchy behavior, we used to call
him "Senor Velez," but the "Senor" was shortened to
"Sho," a custom typical of the region in South America, where I come
from. One
day, Sho Velez asked me something quite unusual. He began his
request, naturally, as a challenge to me. "I bet
anything," he said, "that I know something, that you wouldn't dare do."
"What are you
talking about, Sho Velez?"
"You wouldn't dare
go down a river in a
raft."
"Oh yes I would.
I've done it in a flooded river. I got
stranded on an island for eight days once. They had
to drift food to me."
This was the truth.
My other best friend was a child
nicknamed Crazy Shepherd.
250-251
We got stranded in a flood
on an island once,
with no
way for anyone to rescue us. Town's people expected the flood
to overrun
the island and kill us both.
They drifted baskets of food down the
river in the hope, that they would land on the island,
which they did. They kept us alive in this
fashion, until the water had subsided enough for them
to reach us with a raft and pull us to the banks of the river.
"No, this is a
different affair," Sho Velez continued with
his erudite attitude. "This one implies going on a
raft on a subterranean river."
He pointed out,
that a huge section of a local river went
through a mountain. That subterranean section of the
river had always been a most intriguing place for me. Its
entrance into
the mountain was a foreboding
cave of
considerable size, always filled with
bats and smelling of ammonia. Children of the area
were told, that it was the entrance to hell: sulfur fumes, heat,
stench.
"You bet your
friggin' boots, Sho Velez, that I will never
go near that river in my lifetime!" I said, yelling.
"Not in ten lifetimes! You have to be really crazy to do something like
that."
Sho Velez's serious
face got even more solemn. "Oh," he
said, "then I will have to do it all by myself. I thought for a minute, that
I could goad (give stimulus) you into going with me. I was
wrong. My loss."
"Hey, Sho Velez,
what's with you? Why in the world would you
go into that hellish place?"
"I have to," he
said in his gruff (harsh) little voice. "You see, my
father is as crazy, as you are, except, that he is a
father and a husband. He has six people, who depend on him. Otherwise,
he would be as crazy, as
a
goat. My two sisters, my two brothers, my mother and
I depend on him. He is everything to us."
I didn't know, who
Sho Velez's father was. I had never seen
him. I didn't know, what he did for a living. Sho
Velez revealed, that his father was a businessman, and that everything,
that he owned, was on
the line, so to speak. "My
father has
constructed a raft and wants to go. He wants
to make that expedition. My mother says, that he's
just letting off steam, but I don't trust him," Sho Velez continued. "I
have seen your crazy look in his eyes. One
of these
days, he'll do it, and I am sure, that he'll die. So, I am going
to take his raft and go into that river myself. I
know, that I will die, but my father won't."
I felt something
like an electric shock go through my neck,
and I heard myself saying in the most agitated tone
one can imagine, "I'll do it, Sho Velez, I'll do it. Yes, yes, it'll be
great! I'll go with
you!"
Sho Velez had a
smirk on his face. I understood it, as a
smirk of happiness at the fact, that I was going with
him, not at the fact, that he had succeeded in luring me. He expressed
that feeling in his
next sentence. "I know, that if you are with me, I will survive," he
said. I
didn't care, whether Sho
Velez survived or not. What had galvanized me
was his courage. I knew, that Sho Velez had the guts
to do, what he was saying. He and Crazy Shepherd were the only gutsy
kids in town.
They both had something, that I considered unique and unheard of:
courage. Noone else in that whole town had any. I
had tested them all. As far, as I was concerned, everyone of them was
dead,including
the love of my life, my grandfather. I knew this without the
shadow of a doubt, when I was ten. Sho Velez's daring
was a staggering realization for me. I wanted to be with him to the
bitter end. We made
plans to meet at
the crack of dawn, which we did, and the two of
us carried his father's
lightweight raft for three
or
four miles out of town, into some low, green mountains to the entrance
of the
cave, where the river became subterranean.
The smell of bat manure
was overwhelming. We crawled
on the raft and
pushed
ourselves into the stream. The raft was equipped with flashlights,which we had to turn on
immediately. It was pitch black inside the
mountain, humid and hot. The water was deep enough
for the raft and fast enough, that we didn't need to paddle.
The
flashlights would
create grotesque shadows. Sho Velez whispered in
my ear, that perhaps it was
better not to look at
all,
because it was truly something more, than frightening.
252-253
He was right; it
was nauseating,
oppressive. The lights stirred bats, so that they began to
fly around us, flapping their wings aimlessly. As we
traveled deeper into the cave, there were not even bats anymore, just
stagnant air, that was
heavy and hard to
breathe. After, what seemed like hours
to me, we came to a sort of pool, where the water was
very deep; it hardly moved. It looked as if the main stream had been
dammed. "We
are stuck," Sho
Velez whispered in my ear again.
"There's no way for the raft to go through, and there's no way for us to go
back."
The current was
just too great for us to even attempt a
return trip. We decided, that we had to find a way
out. I realized then, that if we stood on top of the raft, we could
touch the ceiling of the
cave, which meant, that the water had been dammed
almost all the way to the top of the cave. At the entrance it was cathedral-like,
maybe fifty feet high. My only conclusion was,
that we were on top of a pool, that was about fifty
feet deep. We tied the raft to a rock and began to
swim downward into the depths, trying to feel for a movement of water, a current.
Everything was humid and hot on the surface, but
very cold a few feet below. My body felt the change
in temperature and I became frightened, a strange animal fear, that I
had never
felt before. I
surfaced
, Sho Velez must have felt the same.
We bumped into each other on the surface.
"I think we're
close to dying," he said solemnly. I didn't share his
solemnity or his desire to die. I
searched frantically for an opening. Floodwaters must
have carried rocks, that had created a dam. I found a hole big enough
for my ten-year-old body
to go through. I pulled Sho Velez down and showed the
hole to him. It was impossible for the raft to go through it. We pulled our
clothes from the raft and tied them into a
very tight bundle and swam
downward with them, until
we found the hole again and went through it. We ended
up on a water slide, like the ones in an amusement park. Rocks, covered with
lichen and moss, allowed us to slide for a great
distance without being injured
at all. Then we
came into an enormous cathedral-like
cave, where the water continued flowing, waist deep.
We saw the light of the sky at the end of the cave and waded out.
Without saying a word, we
spread out our clothes
and let them dry in the sun, then
headed back for town. Sho Velez was nearly inconsolable (worried),
because he had
lost his father's raft. "My
father would
have died there," he finally conceded (admit). "His
body would never have gone through the hole, we went
through. He's too big for it. My father is a big, fat man," he said.
"But he would have been
strong enough to walk
his way back to the
entrance."
I doubted it. As I
remembered, at times, due to the
inclination, the current was astoundingly fast. I conceded (admited), that perhaps a
desperate, big man could have finally walked
his way out with the aid of
ropes and a lot of
effort.The
issue, of whether Sho Velez's father would
have died there or not, was not resolved then, but that didn't matter to me. What
mattered was, that, for the first time in my
life I had felt the sting of envy. Sho Velez was the
only being, I have ever envied in my life. He had someone to die for,
and he had proved to
me, that he would
do it; I had noone to die for, and I had
proved nothing at all. In a symbolic fashion, I gave
Sho Velez the total cake. His triumph was complete. I bowed out. That was his town, those were
his people, and he was the best among them as
far, as I was concerned. When we parted that day, I
spoke a banality, that turned out to be a deep truth, when I said, "Be
the king of them,
Sho Velez. You are the best."
I never spoke to
him again. I purposely ended my friendship
with him. I felt, that this was the only gesture, I
could make to denote, how profoundly I had been affected by him. Don Juan believed,
that my indebtedness to Sho Velez was
imperishable (not disappearing), that he was the only one, who had ever
taught me, that we must have something we could die for, before we
could think, that we have something
to live for.
254-255
"If you have nothing to die for," don Juan said to me once, "how can
you claim, that you
have
something
to live for? The two go hand in hand,
with death at the helm (position of control)."
The third person,
don Juan thought, I was indebted to beyond
my life and my death, was my grandmother on my
mother's side. In my blind affection for my grandfather, the male, I
had forgotten
the real source of strength in that household: my very
eccentric grandmother. Many years before I came to
their household, she had saved a local Indian from being lynched.
He was
accused of being a Sorcerer. Some irate (enraged) young men were
actually
hanging him from a tree on my grandmother's property.
She came upon the lynching and stopped it. All the lynchers seemed to
have
been
her godsons and they wouldn't dare go against her.
She pulled the
man down and took him home
to cure him. The rope had
already cut a deep wound on his neck. His wounds
healed, but he never left my grandmother's side. He claimed, that his
life had ended
the
day
of the lynching, and that, whatever new life
he had, no longer belonged to him; it belonged to her. Being a man of his word, he
dedicated his life to serving my
grandmother. He was her valet, majordomo, and
counselor. My aunts said, that it was he, who had advised my
grandmother to adopt
a
newborn
orphan child, as her son, something, that
they resented more, than bitterly. When I came into
my grandparents' house, my grandmother's adopted son was already in his
late thirties.
She had sent him to study in France. One afternoon, out of the
blue, a most elegantly dressed husky (strong) man got out of a
taxi in front of the house. The driver carried his leather suitcases to
the patio.
The husky man tipped the driver generously. I noticed in one
glance, that the husky man's features were very
striking. He had long, curly hair, long, curly eyelashes. He was
extremely
handsome
without
being physically beautiful. His best
feature was, however, his beaming, open smile, which he immediately turned on me. "May I
ask
your name, young man?" he said with the most beautiful stage voice, I
had ever
heard.
The
fact, that he had addressed me as young
man, had won me over instantly.
"My name is Carlos
Aranha,
sir," I said, "and may I
ask in turn, what is yours?"
He made a gesture
of mock surprise. He opened his eyes wide
and jumped backward, as if he had been attacked. Then
he began to laugh uproariously. At the sound of his laughter, my
grandmother came out to
the patio. When she saw
the husky man, she screamed like
a small girl and threw her arms around him in a most
affectionate embrace. He lifted her up, as if she weighed nothing and
twirled her around. I
noticed then, that he was
very tall. His huskiness hid his
height. He actually had the body of a professional fighter. He
seemed to notice, that I was eyeing him. He flexed his biceps.
"I've
done some
boxing in my day, sir," he said, thoroughly
aware, of what I was thinking. My grandmother
introduced him to me. She said, that he was her son Antoine, her baby,
the apple of
her eye; she said, that he was a dramatist, a theater
director, a writer, a poet. The fact, that he was so
athletic, was his winning ticket with me. I didn't understand at first,
that he was adopted.
I noticed, however, that he didn't look at all like
the rest of the family. While every one of the members of my family were
corpses, that walked, he was alive, vital from
the inside out. We hit it off marvelously. I liked
the fact, that he worked out every day, punching a bag.
I liked
immensely, that not only
did he punch the bag,
he kicked it, too, in the most
astounding style, a mixture of boxing and kicking.
His body was as hard, as a rock. One day Antoine
confessed to me, that his only fervent (passionate) desire in life was
to be a
writer of note. "I
have
everything," he said. "Life has been very generous
to me. The only thing, I don't have, is the only thing
I want: talent. The muses do not like me. I appreciate, what I read,
but
I cannot
create
anything,
that I like to read. That's my
torment.
256-257
I lack the discipline or
the charm to entice the muses, so my life is as empty, as
anything can be." Antoine went on
to
tell me, that the one reality, that he
had, was his mother. He called my grandmother his
bastion, his support, his twin soul. He ended up by voicing a very
disturbing thought to me. "If I didn't have my mother,"
he said, "I wouldn't
live."
I realized then, how
profoundly tied he was to my
grandmother. All the horror stories, that my aunts had told me about the spoiled
child Antoine, became suddenly very vivid for
me. My grandmother had
really spoiled him beyond
salvation. Yet they seemed so very happy together. I saw them sitting
for hours
on end, his head on
her lap, as if he were still a child. I had
never heard my grandmother
converse with anybody for
such lengths of time. Abruptly, one day Antoine
started to produce a lot of writing. He began to direct a play at the
local theater,
a play, that he had written himself. When it was staged, it
became an instant success. His poems were published
in the local paper. He seemed to have hit a creative streak. But only a
few months later it all came to an end.
The editor of the town's paper publicly denounced Antoine; he accused him of plagiarism
and published in the paper the proof of
Antoine's guilt. My grandmother, of course, would not
hear of her son's misbehavior. She explained it all, as a case
of profound
envy. Everyone of those people in that town was envious of the
elegance, the style of her son. They were envious of
his personality, of his wit. Indeed, he was the personification of
elegance and
savoir (taste, aroma, zestfulness, smell) faire. But
he was a plagiarist for sure; there was no doubt
about it. Antoine never explained his behavior to
anyone. I liked him too much to ask him anything about it. Besides, I didn't care.
His
reasons were his reasons, as far, as I was
concerned. But something was broken; from then on,
our lives moved in leaps and bounds, so to speak. Things changed so
drastically in the
house from one day
to the next, that I grew accustomed to expect
anything, the best or the worst.
One night my grandmother walked into Antoine's room in a most dramatic
fashion. There was a
look
of
hardness in her eyes, that I had never seen
before. Her lips trembled, as she spoke. "Something terrible
has happened, Antoine," she
began. Antoine interrupted her. He begged her to let
him explain.
She
cut him off abruptly. "No, Antoine,
no," she said firmly. "This has nothing to do with you. It has
to do
with me. At this very difficult time for you, something of greater
importance yet has happened. Antoine, my dear son, I
have run out of time. I want you to understand, that
this is inevitable," she went on. "I have to leave, but you must
remain. You
are the sum total of everything, that I have done in this life. Good
or bad, Antoine, you are, all I am. Give life a try.
In the end, we will be together again anyway. Meanwhile,
however, do,
Antoine, do.
Whatever, it doesn't matter what, as long, as you
do." I
saw Antoine's
body, as it shivered with anguish (mental torture). I saw how
he contracted his total being, all the muscles of his
body, all his strength. It was as if he had shifted gears from his
problem, which was like a
river, to the ocean. "Promise
me, that
you won't die, until you die!" she shouted
at him. Antoine nodded his head. My grandmother, the next
day, on the advice of her Sorcerer-
counselor,
sold all her holdings, which were quite sizable, and
turned the money over to her son Antoine. And the following day, very
early in
the morning, the strangest scene, that I had ever witnessed, took
place in front of my ten-year-old eyes: the moment,
in which Antoine said good-bye to his mother. It was a scene, as
unreal,
as the set of a
moving picture; unreal in the sense, that it seemed to
have been concocted, written down somewhere, created
by a series of adjustments, that a writer makes and a director carries
out. The
patio of my grandparents' house was the setting. Antoine was the
main protagonist, his mother the leading actress.
258-259
Antoine was
traveling that
day. He was going to the port.
He was going to catch an
Italian liner and go over
the
Atlantic to Europe on a leisurely cruise. He was as elegantly dressed,
as ever.
A taxi driver was waiting for him outside the house, blowing the
horn of his taxi impatiently. I had witnessed
Antoine's last feverish night, when he tried as desperately, as anyone
can try, to write a poem
for his mother.
"It is crap," he
said to me. "Everything, that I write is
crap. I'm a nobody."
I assured him, even
though I was nobody to assure him, that
whatever he was writing was great. At one moment, I
got carried away and stepped over certain boundaries, I should never
have crossed.
"Take it from me,
Antoine," I yelled. "I am a worse nobody,
than you! You have a mother. I have nothing. Whatever
you are writing is fine."
Very politely, he
asked me to leave his room. I had
succeeded in making him feel stupid, having to listen
to advice from a nobody kid. I bitterly regretted my outburst. I would
have liked him to keep
on being my friend. Antoine
had his elegant
overcoat neatly folded, draped over his right
shoulder. He was wearing a most beautiful green suit,
English cashmere.
My grandmother spoke. "You have to hurry up, dear," she said. "Time is
of the essence. You
have to
leave.
If you don't, these people will kill you for the
money."
She was referring
to her daughters, and their husbands, who
were beyond fury, when they found out, that
their mother had quietly disinherited them, and that the hideous
Antoine, their archenemy,
was going to get away with everything, that was
rightfully theirs. "I'm
sorry, I have
to put you through all this," my
grandmother apologized. "But, as you know, time is independent of our wishes."
Antoine spoke with
his grave, beautifully modulated voice.
He sounded more, than ever
like a stage actor:
"It'll take but a minute, Mother, I'd like
to read something, that I have written for you." It was a poem of
thanks. When he had finished reading, he
paused. There was such a wealth of feeling in the
air, such a tremor.
"It was sheer
beauty, Antoine," my grandmother said,
sighing. "It expressed everything, that you wanted to
say. Everything, that I wanted to hear." She paused for an instant.
Then her lips broke into
an exquisite smile. "Plagiarized,
Antoine?" she asked. Antoine's
smile in response
to his mother was equally beaming.
"Of
course, Mother," he said. "Of course." They embraced,
weeping. The horn of the taxi sounded more
impatient yet. Antoine looked at me, where I was hiding
under the stairway. He nodded his head slightly, as if to say,
"Good-bye. Take
care."
Then he turned around, and without looking at his mother again,
he ran toward the door. He was thirty-seven years
old, but he looked like he was sixty, he seemed to carry such a
gigantic weight on his
shoulders. He stopped
before he reached the door, when
he heard his mother's voice admonishing (warning) him for the
last time.
"Don't turn around
to look, Antoine," she said. "Don't turn
around to look, ever. Be happy, and do. Do! There is
the trick. Do!"
The scene filled me
with a strange sadness, that lasts to
this day, a most inexplicable melancholy, that don
Juan explained, as my first-time knowledge, that we do run out of time. The next day my
grandmother left with her
counselor/manservant/valet on a journey to a mythical place, called Rondonia,
where her sorcerer-helper was going to elicit her
cure. My grandmother was terminally ill, although I
didn't know it. She never returned, and don Juan explained the
selling of her holdings
and giving them to
Antoine, as a supreme Sorcerers' maneuver,
executed by her counselor, to detach her from the care
of her family. They were so angry with Mother for her deed, that they
didn't care
whether or not she returned. I had the feeling, that they didn't
even realize, that she had left.
260-261
On the top of that flat mountain, I recollected those three events, as
if they had happened only
an instant before. When I expressed my thanks to
those three persons, I succeeded in bringing them back to that mountaintop. At the
end of my shouting, my loneliness was
something inexpressible. I was weeping
uncontrollably.
Don
Juan very patiently explained to me, that loneliness is inadmissible in
a Warrior. He said,
that:
Warrior-Travelers
can count on
one Being, on which they can focus all their love, all their care: this
marvelous Earth, the
Mother, the Matrix, the Epicenter of Everything, we are and everything
we do; the very Being, to
which all of us return; the very Being, that allows Warrior-Travelers
to leave on their Definitive
Journey.
Don Genaro
proceeded to perform then an Act of
Magical Intent
for my benefit. Lying on his stomach, he executed a series of
dazzling movements. He became a Blob
of Luminosity, that seemed to be swimming, as if the
ground were a pool. Don Juan said, that it was Genaro's way of
hugging the immense
Earth, and, that in
spite of the difference in size, the Earth
acknowledged Genaro's gesture. The sight of Genaro's
movements and the explanation of them replaced my loneliness with
sublime joy.
"I can't stand the
idea, that you are leaving, don Juan," I
heard myself saying. The sound of my voice and what I
had said made me feel embarrassed. When I began to sob, involuntarily,
driven by selfpity, I felt
even more
chagrined.
"What is the matter with me, don Juan?" I muttered. "I'm not ordinarily like this."
"What's happening
to you is, that your Awareness is on your
toes again," he replied, laughing. Then I lost any
vestige of control and gave myself fully to my feelings of dejection
and despair.
"I'm going to be
left alone," I said in a shrieking voice.
"What's going to happen to me? What's going to become
of me?"
"Let's put it this
way," don Juan said calmly. "In order for me to leave this
World and face the
Unknown, I need all my strength, all my forbearance, all my luck;
but above
all, I need every bit of a Warrior-Traveler's guts of steel. To
remain behind and fare like a Warrior-Traveler, you
need everything, of what I myself need.
To venture out there, the way we
are going
to, is no joking matter, but neither is it, to stay
behind."
I had an emotional
outburst and kissed his
hand. "Whoa,
whoa, whoa!"
he said. "Next thing you're going to
make a shrine for my guaraches!" The anguish, that
gripped me, turned from self-pity to a
feeling of unequaled loss.
"You are leaving!" I muttered.
"My god! Leaving
forever!"
At that moment don
Juan did something to me, that he had
done repeatedly, since the first day I had met him. His
face puffed up, as if the deep breath, he was taking, inflated him. He
tapped my back forcefully
with the palm of his left hand and said, "Get up
from your toes! Lift yourself up!" In the next
instant, I was once again coherent, complete, in
control. I knew, what was expected of me. There was no
longer any hesitation on my part, or any concern about myself. I didn't
care, what was going
to happen to me, when don Juan left. I knew, that his
departure was imminent. He looked at me and, in that look, his eyes
said it all. "We
will never be
together again," he said softly. "You
don't need my help anymore; and I don't want to offer
it to you, because, if you are worth your salt as a Warrior-Traveler,
you'll spit in my eye
for offering it to you. Beyond a certain point, the
only joy of a Warrior-Traveler is his aloneness. I wouldn't like you to try to help me,
either. Once I leave, I am gone. Don't think
about me, for I won't think about you. If you are a
worthy Warrior-Traveler, be impeccable! Take care of your world. Honor
it; guard
it with your life!" He
moved away from
me. The moment was beyond self-pity or
tears or happiness. He shook his head, as if to say
good-bye, or as if he were acknowledging, what
I felt.
262
“Forget
the
self and you will fear nothing, in whatever level of Awareness you find
yourself to be," he said.
He had
an outburst of levity (lightness, buoyancy).
He teased me for the last time on this Earth. "I hope you find
love!" he said. He
raised his palm toward
me and stretched his fingers like a child,
then contracted them against the palm. "Ciao," he said. I knew, that it was
futile to feel sorry or to regret anything, and,
that it was as difficult for me to stay behind, as it was for
don Juan to leave. Both of us were caught in an
irreversible energetic
maneuver, that
neither of us could
stop.
Nevertheless, I wanted to join don Juan, follow him, wherever he
went. The
thought crossed my mind, that, perhaps, if I died, he would take me
with him.
I
saw then how don
Juan Matus, the Nagual, led the fifteen other
Seers, who were his companions, his wards, his
delight, one by one to disappear in the haze of
that mesa, toward the north. I saw how every one of them turned into a
Blob of Luminosity, and
together they ascended and floated above the mountaintop like phantom
lights in the sky. They
circled above the mountain once, as don Juan had said, they would do:
their last survey, the one for
their eyes only; their last look at this marvelous Earth. And then they
vanished.
I knew,
what I had
to do. I had run out of time. I took off
at my top speed toward the precipice and leaped into
the abyss. I felt the wind on my face for a moment, and then the most
merciful blackness swallowed
me, like a
peaceful subterranean
river.
The
Return Trip
263
I was vaguly aware of the loud noise of a motor, that seemed to be
racing in a stationary
position. I thought, that the attendants were fixing
a car in the parking lot at the back of the building, where I
had my
office/apartment. The noise became so intense, that it finally caused
me to wake up. I silently
cursed the boys, who ran
the
parking lot for fixing their car right under my bedroom window. I
was hot,
sweaty, and tired.
I sat up on
the edge of my bed, then had the
most painful cramps in my calves. I rubbed them for a
moment. They seemed to have contracted so tightly, that I was afraid,
that I would
have horrendous bruises (Cramps
are created by the alternate current of energy of Inorganic Beings! LM).
I automatically headed for the
bathroom to look for some liniment (medical fluid for stiffness). I
couldn't walk.
I was dizzy. I fell down, something, that had never happened to me
before. When I had
regained a
minimum of control, I noticed, that I
wasn't worried at all about the cramps in my calves. I had always been a near
hypochondriac. An unusual pain in my calves, such as
the one I was having now, would ordinarily have
thrown me into a chaotic state of anxiety. I went
then to the window to close it, although I couldn't hear the noise
anymore. I realized, that
the window was locked and, that it was dark
outside.
264-265
It was night ! The room was stuffy. I opened the windows. I couldn't
understand, why I had closed them. The night air was
cool and fresh. The parking lot was empty. It occurred
to me, that the noise must have been made by a car, accelerating in the
alley between
the parking lot and my building. I thought nothing of it
anymore, and went to my bed to go back to sleep, I
lay across it with my feet on the floor. I wanted to sleep in this
fashion to help the circulation
in my calves,
which were very sore, but I wasn't
sure, whether it would have been better to keep them
down or perhaps lift them up on a pillow. As I was
beginning to rest comfortably and fall asleep again, a thought came to
my mind with
such ferocious
force, that it made me stand up in one
single reflex. I had jumped into an abyss in Mexico !
The next thought,
that I had, was a quasi-logical deduction.
Since I had jumped into the abyss deliberately, in
order to die, I must now be a ghost. How strange,
I thought, that I
should return, in ghostlike
form, to my
office/apartment on the corner of
Westwood and Wilshire in Los Angeles, after I had
died. No wonder my feelings were not the same. But, if I were a ghost,
I
reasoned, why would
I have felt the blast of fresh air on my face, or the
pain in my calves?
I touched the
sheets of my bed; they felt real to me. So did
its metal frame. I went to the bathroom. I looked at
myself in the mirror. By the looks of me, I could easily have been a
ghost.
I looked like
hell. My eyes were sunken, with huge black circles
under them. I was dehydrated, or dead. In an automatic reaction, I drank water
straight from the tap.
I could actually swallow
it. I drank gulp after gulp, as if I hadn't drunk
water for days. I felt my deep inhalations. I was alive! My god, I was
alive! I knew it beyond the shadow of a doubt, but I wasn't
elated, as I should have been. A most unusual thought
crossed my mind then: I had died and revived before. I was accustomed
to it;
it
meant nothing to me. The vividness of the thought, however, made it
into a quasi-memory. It was a quasi-memory, that didn't stem
from
situations, in which
my life had been
endangered. It was something quite different from that. It was, rather,
a vague
knowledge of something, that had never happened and had no reason
whatsoever to be in my
thoughts. There was
no doubt in my
mind, that I had jumped into an abyss in
Mexico. I was now in my
apartment in Los Angeles,
over
three thousand miles, from where I had jumped, with no
recollection, whatsoever,
of having made
the return trip. In an automatic fashion, I
ran the water in the tub and sat in it. I didn't feel
the warmth of the water; I was chilled to the bone.
Don Juan had taught
me, that at moments
of crisis, such as this one, one must use running water, as a cleansing
factor.
I
remembered this and got under the shower. I let the
warm water run over my body for perhaps over an hour. I wanted to think calmly
and rationally, about what was happening to me,
but I couldn't. Thoughts
seemed to have been erased
from my mind. I was thoughtless, yet I was filled to capacity with sensations, that came to
my
whole body in barrages (bombardment), that I was incapable
of examining. All, I was able to do, was, to feel their
onslaughts and let them go through me. The only conscious choice, I
made,
was to
get dressed and leave. I went to eat breakfast, something I always
did at any time of the day or night, at Ship's
Restaurant on Wilshire, a block away from my office/apartment. I had walked from my office
to Ship's so many times, that I knew every
step of the way. The same walk
this time was a
novelty
for me. I didn't feel my steps. It was, as if I had a cushion under my
feet, or
as if the sidewalk were carpeted. I practically glided. I was
suddenly at the door of the restaurant, after
what I thought might have been only two or three steps. I knew, that I
could swallow
food, because
I had drunk water
in my
apartment.
I also knew, that I could talk, because I had cleared
my throat
and cursed, while the water ran on me. I walked into the
restaurant, as I had always done. I sat at the counter
and a waitress, who knew me came to me.
266
"You don't look too good today, dear," she said. "Do you have the flu?"
"No," I replied,
trying to sound cheerful. "I've been
working too hard. I've been up for twenty-four hours
straight, writing a paper for a class. By the way, what day is today?"
She looked at her
watch and gave me the date, explaining,
that she had a special watch, that was a calendar,
too, a gift from her daughter. She also gave me the time: 3:15
A.M. I
ordered steak and eggs, hash browned potatoes, and buttered white
toast. When she went away to fill my order, another
wave of horror flooded my mind: Had it been only an illusion, that I
had jumped into that
abyss in Mexico, at twilight the previous day? But even
if the jump had been only an illusion, how could I
have returned to L.A. from such a remote place only ten hours later?
Had I slept for ten hours?
Or was it, that it
had taken ten hours for me to fly,
slide, float, or whatever to Los Angeles? To have
traveled by conventional means to Los Angeles from the place, where I
had jumped into the
abyss, was
out of the question,
since it
would have taken two days just to travel to Mexico City from
the place,
where I had jumped. Another
strange thought
emerged in my mind. It had the same clarity of
my quasi-memory of having
died and revived before,
and
the same quality of being totally foreign to me: My continuity was
now broken
beyond repair. I had really died, one way or another, at the
bottom of that gully. It was impossible to comprehend
my being alive, having breakfast at Ship's. It was impossible for me to
look back
into my past and see the uninterrupted line of continuous events,
that all of us see, when we look into the past. The only explanation,
available to me, was, that I had
followed
don Juan's directives; I had moved my Assemblage
Point to a
position, that prevented my death, and from my
Inner Silence I had made the return journey to L.A.
There was no other rationale for me to hold on to. For the
first time ever, this line of thought was
thoroughly acceptable to me, and thoroughly satisfactory.
267
It didn't
really explain anything,
but it certainly pointed out a
pragmatic procedure, that I had tested before in
a mild form, when I met don Juan in that
town of our choice, and this thought seemed to put
all my being at ease.
Vivid thoughts began to
emerge in my mind. They had the
unique quality of clarifying issues. The first one, that
erupted, had to do with
something, that had plagued me all along. Don Juan had described it,
as a
common occurrence among male Sorcerers: my incapacity to remember
events, that had transpired,
while I was in states of
Heightened Awareness. Don Juan had explained
Heightened Awareness, as a minute displacement of my Assemblage Point, which I achieved, every
time I saw him, by actually pushing forcefully
on my back. He helped me,
with such displacements,
to
engage energy fields, that were ordinarily peripheral to my Awareness.
In other
words, the energy fields, that were usually on the edge of my
Assemblage Point, became central to it during that
displacement. A displacement of this nature had two consequences for
me: an
extraordinary
keenness of thought and perception, and the incapacity to
remember, once I was back in my normal state of
Awareness, what had transpired, while I had been in that other state. My relationship
with my cohorts had been an example of both
of these consequences. I had cohorts, don Juan's
other apprentices, companions for my Definitive Journey. I interacted
with them only in Heightened
Awareness. The
clarity and scope of our
interaction was supreme. The drawback for me was,
that in my daily life they were only poignant (touching, affecting) quasi-memories, that
drove me to desperation
with anxiety and expectations. I could say, that I
lived my normal life on the perennial lookout for somebody, who was going to
appear all of a sudden in front of me,
perhaps emerging from an office building, perhaps
turning a corner and bumping into me.
Wherever I went, my eyes darted everywhere, ceaselessly and
involuntarily, looking for people, who
didn't exist and yet existed like noone else. While I sat at Ship's that
morning, everything, that had
happened to me in Heightened Awareness, to the most
minute detail, in all the years with don Juan, became again a
continuous memory
without
interruption.
268
Don
Juan had
lamented (regreted deeply), that a male Sorcerer, who is the Nagual,
perforce (by necessity, willy-nilly) had to be fragmented,
because of the bulk of his energetic mass. He
said, that each fragment lived a specific range of a total scope of
activity, and the events, that
he experienced in each fragment, had to be joined someday to give a
complete, conscious picture of
everything, that had taken place in his total life. Looking into my
eyes, he had told me, that that
unification takes years to accomplish, and that he had been told of
cases of Naguals, who never
reached the total scope of their activities in a conscious manner and
lived
fragmented.
What I experienced,
that morning at Ship's, was beyond
anything, I could have imagined in my wildest fantasies. Don Juan had
said to me time after time, that the World of
Sorcerers was not an immutable (not susceptable to changes) World,
where the word
is final, unchanging, but that it's a world of eternal fluctuation,
where nothing
should be taken for granted. The jump into the abyss had
modified my cognition so drastically, that it allowed
now the entrance of possibilities both portentous (ominous, foreboding)
and indescribable.
But anything, that I could
have said about the unification
of my cognitive fragments, would have paled in
comparison to the reality of it. That fateful morning at Ship's I
experienced something
infinitely more potent, than I did the day, that I
saw Energy, as it Flows in the Universe, for the first time, the
day, that
I ended up in the bed
of my office/apartment, after having been on
the campus of UCLA, without
actually going home in the
fashion my cognitive system demanded, in order for the whole event to
be real.
In Ship's, I integrated all the fragments of my Being. I had acted
in each one of them with perfect certainty and
consistency, and yet I had had no idea, that I had done that. I was, in
essence, a gigantic
puzzle, and to fit each
piece of that puzzle into place,
produced an effect, that had no name. I sat at the
counter at Ship's, perspiring profusely, pondering uselessly, and
obsessively asking questions,
that couldn't
be answered.
269
How could all this be possible? How could I have been fragmented in
such a fashion? Who are
we really? Certainly,
not the people, all of us have been
led to believe, we are. I had memories of events, that
had never happened, as far, as some core of myself was concerned. I
couldn't even
weep. "A
Sorcerer weeps,
when he is fragmented," don Juan had said
to me once. "When he's complete, he's taken by a
shiver, that has the potential, because it is so intense, of ending his
life."
I was experiencing
such a shiver! I doubted, that I would
ever meet my cohorts again. It appeared to me, that
all of them had left with don Juan. I was alone. I wanted to think
about it, to mourn my loss,
to plunge into a satisfying sadness, the way I had
always done. I couldn't. There was nothing to mourn, nothing to feel sad about.
Nothing mattered. All of us were
Warrior-Travelers, and all of us had been swallowed
by Infinity. All along, I had listened to don Juan
talk about the Warrior-Traveler.
I had liked the description immensely, and I
had identified with it on a purely emotional basis. Yet I had never
felt, what he really meant
by that, regardless
of how many times he had explained
his meaning to me. That night, at the counter of Ship's, I knew
what don Juan had been talking
about. I was a Warrior-Traveler. Only energetic facts
were meaningful for me. All the rest were trimmings, that had no
importance at all.
That night, while I sat waiting for my food, another vivid
thought erupted in my mind. I felt a wave of empathy,
a wave of identification with don Juan's premises. I had finally
reached the goal of his teachings:
I was one with
him,
as I had never been before.
It had never been the case, that I was just fighting don Juan or his
concepts, which were revolutionary
for me, because they didn't fulfill the linearity of
my thoughts, as a Western man. Rather, it was, that don Juan's
precision,
in presenting his concepts,
had always scared
me half to death. His efficiency
had appeared to be dogmatism. It was that appearance,
that had forced me to seek elucidations, and had made me act, all
along, as if I had been
a reluctant believer.
270
Yes, I had jumped into an abyss, I said to myself, and I didn't die,
because, before I reached the
bottom of that gully, I let the Dark Sea of Awareness
swallow me.
I surrendered to it, without fears or regrets. And that Dark Sea had
supplied me with whatever was necessary for me not
to die, but to end up in my bed in L.A. This
explanation would have explained nothing to me two days before. At
three in the morning,
in Ship's, it
meant everything to me. I banged my hand on the
table, as if
I were alone in the room. People
looked at me and smiled knowingly.
I didn't care.
My
mind was focused on an insoluble dilemma: I was alive despite the fact, that
I had jumped into an
abyss, in order to die ten hours before. I
knew, that such a dilemma could never be resolved. My
normal cognition required a linear explanation, in order to be
satisfied, and linear
explanations were not possible. That was the crux (critical point) of the
interruption of continuity. Don Juan had said, that
that interruption was Sorcery. I knew this now, as clearly, as I was
capable of. How right don
Juan had been, when he
had said, that, in order for me to
stay behind,
I needed all my strength, all my
forbearance, and above all, a Warrior-Traveler's guts of steel. I wanted to think about
don Juan, but I couldn't. Besides, I
didn't care about don Juan. There seemed to be a
giant barrier between us. I truly believed at that moment, that the
foreign thought, that had
been insinuating itself to me, since I had woken up,
was true:
I
was someone else. An exchange had taken place
at the moment of my
jump. Otherwise, I would have relished the
thought of don Juan; I would have longed for him. I
would have even felt a twinge of resentment, because he hadn't taken me
with him.
That would have been my normal self. I truthfully wasn't the same.
This thought gained momentum, until it invaded
all my
Being. Any residue of my old self, that I may have retained,
vanished then. A new
mood took
over. I was alone!
Don Juan had left me inside a dream, as his agent
provocateur (causing curiosity).
I felt
my body begin to lose its rigidity; it became
flexible, by degrees, until I could breathe deeply and freely.
271
I laughed out loud. I didn't care, that people were staring
at me and weren't smiling this
time. I was alone, and there was nothing, I could have
done about it! I
had the physical sensation of
actually entering into a passageway, a passageway, that had a force
of its
own. It pulled me in. It was a silent passageway. Don Juan was that
passageway, quiet and immense.
This was the first
time
ever, that I felt, that don Juan was void of physicality. There was
no room
for sentimentality or longing.
I couldn't possibly have
missed him, because he was there, as a depersonalized emotion,
that lured me in. The
passageway challenged
me. I had a sensation of ebullience, ease.
Yes, I could travel that
passageway, alone or in
company, perhaps forever. And to do this was not an imposition for me,
nor was
it a pleasure. It was more, than the beginning of the Definitive
Journey, the unavoidable fate of a Warrior-Traveler,
it was the beginning of a new era. I should have been weeping with the
realization,
that I had found that passageway, but I
wasn't. I was facing Infinity at Ship's! How extraordinary! I
felt a
chill on my back. I heard don Juan's voice saying, that the Universe
was indeed unfathomable.
At that moment, the
back door of the restaurant, the one,
that led to the parking lot, opened and a strange
character entered: a man perhaps in his early forties, disheveled
(untidy, unkempt) and
emaciated (very skinny), but with
rather handsome features. I had seen him for years
roaming around UCLA, mingling (mixing) with the students. Someone had told me, that
he was an outpatient of the nearby Veterans'
Hospital. He seemed to be
mentally unbalanced. I had
seen him time after time at Ship's, huddled over a cup of coffee,
always at the same
end of the
counter. I had also seen, how he waited outside,
looking through the window,
watching for his favorite
stool to become vacant, if someone was sitting there. When he entered the
restaurant, he sat at his usual place, and then he
looked at me. Our eyes met. The next thing I knew, he
had let out a formidable scream, that chilled me, and everyone present,
to the bone.
272
Everyone looked at me, wide-eyed, some of them with unchewed food in
their mouths.
Obviously, they thought, I had screamed. I had set up the
precedents by banging the counter and then laughing
out loud. The man jumped off his stool and ran out of the restaurant,
turning back to stare
at me while, with his hands,
he made agitated
gestures over his head. I
succumbed to an
impulsive urge and ran after the man. I
wanted him to tell me, what he had seen in me, that had
made him scream. I overtook him in the parking lot and asked him to
tell me, why he had screamed.
He covered his
eyes and screamed again, even
louder. He was like a child, frightened by a nightmare, screaming at the
top of his lungs. I left him and went back
to the restaurant.
"What happened to
you, dear?" the waitress asked with a
concerned look. "I thought you ran out on me."
"I just went to see
a friend," I said.
The waitress looked
at me and made a gesture of mock
annoyance and surprise. "Is
that guy your
friend?" she asked.
"The only friend I
have in the world," I said, and that was
the truth, if I could define "friend" as someone, who Sees through the
veneer, that covers you and knows, where you really
come from.
"Magical Passes" -
CARLOS CASTANEDA
http://imiedged.webs.com/documents/CarlosCastanadaMagicalPasses.pdf
The Practical Wisdom of the Shamans of Ancient Mexico
CONTENTS
Introduction•1
Magical Passes•9
Tensegrity•21
Six Series of Tensegrity•29
The First Series: The Series for Preparing Intent •37
The First Group: Mashing Energy for Intent•40
The Second Group: Stirring Up Energy for Intent • 49
The Third Group: Gathering Energy for Intent•58
The Fourth Group: Breathing In the Energy of Intent•66
The Second Series: The Series for the Womb•71
The First Group: Magical Passes Belonging to Taisha Abelar•75
The Second Group: A Magical Pass Directly Related to Florinda
Donner-Grau•79
The Third Group: Magical Passes That Have to Do Exclusively with Carol
Tiggs•81
The Fourth Group: Magical Passes That Belong to the Blue
Scout•84
The Third Series: The Series of the Five Concerns: The Westwood
Series•89
The First Group: The Center for Decisions•90
The Second Group: The Recapitulation •102
The Third Group: Dreaming •115
The Fourth Group: Inner Silence•127
The Fourth Series: The Separation of the Left Body and the Right Body:
The Heat Series •139
The First Group: Stirring Energy on the Left Body and the Right
Body•143
The Second Group: Mixing Energy from the Left Body and the Right Body
•154
The Third Group: Moving the Energy of the Left Body and the Right Body
with the Breath•165
The Fourth Group: The Predilection (preference) of the Left Body and
the Right
Body•172
The Five Magical Passes for the Left Body•173
The Three Magical Passes for the Right Body•187
The Fifth Series: The Masculinity Series •194
The First Group: Magical Passes in Which the Hands Are Moved in Unison
but Held Separately•197
The Second Group: The Magical Passes for Focusing Tendon
Energy•204
The Third Group: The Magical Passes for Building Endurance •210
The Sixth Series: Devices Used in Conjunction with Specific Magical
Passes •217
The First Category •219
The Second Category •224
INTRODUCTION
1
Don
Juan Matus, a master sorcerer, a nagual, as master sorcerers are called
when they lead a group of other sorcerers, introduced me to the
cognitive world of shamans who lived in Mexico in ancient times. Don
Juan Matus was an Indian who was born in Yuma, Arizona. His father was
a Yaqui Indian from Sonora, Mexico, and his mother was presumably a
Yuma Indian from Arizona. Don Juan lived in Arizona until he was ten
years old. He was then taken by his father to Sonora, Mexico, where
they were caught in the endemic Yaqui wars against the Mexicans. His
father was killed, and as a ten-yearold child don Juan ended up in
Southern Mexico, where he grew up with relatives. At the age of twenty,
he came in contact with a master sorcerer. His name was Julian Osorio.
He introduced don Juan into a lineage of sorcerers that was purported
to be twenty-five generations long. He was not an Indian at all, but
the son of European immigrants to Mexico. Don Juan related to me, that
the nagual Julian had been an actor, and, that he was a dashing person
- a raconteur, a mime, adored by everybody, influential, commanding. In
one of his theatrical tours to the provinces, the actor Julian Osorio
fell under the influence of another nagual, Elias Ulloa, who
transmitted to him the knowledge of his lineage of sorcerers. Don Juan
Matus, following the tradition of his lineage of shamans, taught some
bodily movements which he called magical passes to his tour disciples:
Taisha Abelar, Florinda Donner-Grau, Carol Figgs, and myself. He taught
them to us in the same spirit, in which they had been for generations,
with one notable departure:
2
he eliminated the excessive
ritual, which had surrounded the teaching and performance of those
magical passes for generations. Don Juan's comments in this respect
were, that ritual had lost its impetus (stimulus), as new
generations of
practitioners became more interested in efficiency and
functionalism. He recommen-
ded to me, however, that under no
circumstances should I talk about the magical passes with any of his
disciples or with people in general. His reasons were, that the magical
passes pertained exclusively to each person, and, that their effect was
so shattering, it was better just to practice them without discussing
them. Don Juan Matus taught me everything, he knew about the sorcerers
of his lineage. He stated, asserted, affirmed, explained to me every
nuance of his knowledge. Therefore, everything I say about the magical
passes is a direct result of his instruction. The magical passes were
not invented. They were discovered by the shamans of don Juan's
lineage, who lived in Mexico in ancient times, while they were in
shamanistic states of heightened awareness. The discovery of the
magical passes was quite accidental. It began as very simple queries
about the nature of an incredible sensation of well-being, that those
shamans experienced in those states of heightened awareness when they
held certain bodily positions, or when they moved their limbs in some
specific manner. Their sensation of well-being had been so intense that
their drive to repeat those movements in their normal awareness became
the focus of all their endeavors. By all appearances, they succeeded in
their task, and found themselves the possessors of a very complex
series of movements that, when practiced, yielded them tremendous
results in terms of mental and physical prowess. In fact, the results
of performing these movements were so dramatic that they called them
magical passes. They taught them for generations only to shaman
initiates, on a personal basis, following elaborate rituals and secret
ceremonies. Don Juan Matus, in teaching the magical passes, departed
radically from tradition. Such a departure forced don Juan to
reformulate the pragmatic goal of the magical passes. He presented this
goal to me not so much as the enhancement of mental and physical
balance, as it had been in the past, but as the practical possibility
of redeploying energy. He explained, that such a departure was due to
the influence of the two naguals, who had preceded him. It was the
belief of the sorcerers of don Juan's lineage, that there is
an inherent amount of energy, existing in each
one of us, an amount
which is not subject to the onslaughts of outside forces for augmenting
it or for decreasing it.
3
They believed, that this quantity of energy
was sufficient to accomplish something, which those sorcerers deemed to
be the obsession of every man on Earth: breaking the
parameters
of normal perception. Don Juan Matus was convinced, that our incapacity
to break those parameters was induced by our culture and social milieu.
He maintained, that our culture and social milieu deployed every bit of
our inherent energy in fulfilling established behavioral patterns,
which didn't allow us to' break those parameters of normal perception.
"Why in the world would I, or anyone else, want to break those
parameters?" I asked don Juan on one occasion.
"Breaking
those parameters is the unavoidable issue of mankind," he replied.
"Breaking them means the entrance into unthinkable worlds of a
pragmatic value in no way different from the value of our world of
everyday life. Regardless of whether or not we accept this premise, we
.ire obsessed with breaking those parameters, and we fail miserably at
it, hence the profusion of drugs and stimulants and religious rituals
and ceremonies among modern man."
"Why do you think we have failed so miserably, don Juan?" I asked.
"Our
failure to fulfill our subliminal wish," he said, "is due to the fact
that we tackle it in a helter-skelter way. Our tools are too crude.
They .ire equivalent to trying to bring down a wall by ramming it with
the head. Man never considers this breakage in terms of energy. For
sorcerers, success is determined only by the accessibility or the
inaccessibility energy. Since it is impossible," he continued, "to
augment our inherent energy, the only avenue open for the sorcerers of
ancient Mexico was the redeployment of that energy. For them, this
process of redeployment began with the magical passes, and the way they
affected the physical body."
Don Juan stressed in every way
possible, while imparting his instruction, the fact, that the enormous
emphasis the shamans of his lineage had put on physical prowess
(отвага, удаль) and mental well-being had lasted to the
present
day. I was able to corroborate the truth of his statements by observing
him and his fifteen sorcerer-companions. Their superb physical and
mental balance was the most obvious feature about them. Don Juan's
reply when I once asked him directly why sorcerers put so much stock in
the physical side of man was a total surprise to me.
4
I had always thought, that he himself was a spiritual man.
"Shamans
are not spiritual at all," he said. "They are very practical beings. It
is a well known fact, however, that shamans are generally regarded as
eccentric, or even insane. Perhaps, that is what makes you think that
they are spiritual. They seem insane, because they are always trying to
explain things, that cannot be explained. In the course of such futile
attempts to give complete explanations that cannot be completed under
any circumstances, they lose all coherence and say inanities. You need
a pliable body, if you want physical prowess and level headedness," he
went on. "These are the two most important issues in the lives of
shamans, because they bring forth sobriety and pragmatism: the only
indispensable requisites for entering into other realms of perception.
To navigate, in a genuine way, in the unknown necessitates an attitude
of daring, but not one of recklessness. In order to establish a balance
between audacity and recklessness, a sorcerer has to be extremely
sober, cautious, skillful, and in superb physical condition."
"But why in superb physical condition, don Juan?" I asked. "Isn't the
desire or the will to journey into the Unknown enough?"
"Not
in your pissy life!" he replied rather brusquely. "Just to conceive
facing the Unknown - much less enter into it - requires guts of steel,
and a body, that would be capable of holding those guts. What would be
the point of being gutsy if you didn't have mental alertness, physical
prowess, and adequate muscles?"
The superb physical condition, that
don Juan had steadily advocated from the first day of our association,
the product of the rigorous execution of the magical passes, was, by
all indications, the first step toward the redeployment of our inherent
energy. This redeployment of energy was, in don Juan's view, the most
crucial issue in the lives of shamans, as well as in the life of any
individual. Redeployment of energy is a process, which consists of
transporting, from one place to another, energy which already exists
within us. This energy has been displaced from centers of vitality in
the body, which require that displaced energy in order to bring forth a
balance between mental alertness and physical prowess. The shamans of
don Juan's lineage were deeply engaged with the redeployment of their
inherent energy. This involvement wasn't an intellectual endeavor, nor
was it the product of induction or deduction, or logical conclusions.
5
It was the result of their ability to perceive energy as it flowed in
the Universe.
"Those
sorcerers called this ability to perceive energy as it flowed in the
Universe - Seeing," don Juan explained to me. "They described Seeing,
as a state of heightened Awareness in which the human body is capable
of perceiving energy as a flow, a current, a wind like vibration. To
See energy as it flows in the universe is the product of a momentary
halt of the system of interpretation proper to human beings."
"What is this system of interpretation, don Juan?" I asked.
"The
shamans of ancient Mexico found out," he replied, "that every part of
the human body is engaged, in one way or another, in turning this
vibratory flow, this current of vibration, into some form of sensory
input. The sum total of this bombardment of sensory input is then,
through usage, turned into the system of interpretation that makes
human beings capable of perceiving the world the way they do. To make
this system of interpretation come to a halt," he went on, "was the
result of tremendous discipline on the part of the sorcerers of ancient
Mexico. They called this halt Seeing, and made it the cornerstone one
of their knowledge. To see energy as it flowed in the Universe was, for
them, an essential tool that they employed in making their
classificatory schemes. Because of this capacity, for instance, they
conceived the total Universe available to the perception of human
beings as an onion like affair, consisting of thousands of layers. The
daily world of human beings, they believed, is but one such layer.
Consequently, they also believed, that other layers are not only
accessible to human perception, but are part of man's natural heritage."
Another
issue of tremendous value in the knowledge of those sorcerers, an
issue, which was also a consequence of their capacity to see energy as
it flowed in the Universe, was the discovery of the human energetic
configuration. This human energetic configuration was, for them, a
conglomerate of energy fields agglutinated together by a vibratory
force, that bound those energy fields into a luminous ball of energy.
For the sorcerers of don Juan's lineage, a human being has an oblong
shape like an egg, or a round shape like a ball. Thus, they called them
luminous eggs or luminous balls. This sphere of luminosity was
considered by them to be our true self - true in the sense, that it is
irreducible in terms of energy.
It is irreducible, because the totality of human resources are engaged
in the net of perceiving it directly as energy.
6
Those
shamans discovered, that on the back face of this luminous ball there
is a point of greater brilliance. They figured out, through processes
of observing energy directly, that this point is key in the act of
turning energy into sensory data and then interpreting it. For this
reason, they called it the assemblage point (better to call it -
Perception Point, LM), and deemed, that perception is indeed assembled
there. They described the assemblage point as being located behind the
shoulder blades, an arm's length away from them. They also found out
that the assemblage point for the entire human race is located on the
same spot, thus giving every human being an entirely similar view of
the world. A finding of tremendous value for them, and for shamans of
succeeding generations, was that the location of the assemblage point
on that spot is the result of usage and socialization. For this reason,
they considered it to be an arbitrary position, which gives merely the
illusion of being final and irreducible. A product of this illusion is
the seemingly unshakable conviction of human beings, that the world
they deal with daily is the only world, that exists, and that its
finality is undeniable.
"Believe me," don Juan said to me once,
"this sense of finality about the world is a mere illusion. Due to the
fact, that it has never been challenged, it stands as the only possible
view. To see energy as it flows in the universe is the tool for
challenging it. Through the use of this tool, the sorcerers of my
lineage arrived at the conclusion, that there are indeed a staggering
number of worlds available to man's perception. They described those
worlds as being all-inclusive realms, realms, where one can act and
struggle. In other words, they are worlds where one can live and die,
as in this world of everyday life."
During the thirteen years of my
association with him, don Juan taught me the basic steps toward
accomplishing this feat of seeing. I have discussed those steps in all
of my previous writings, but never have I touched on the key point in
this process: the magical passes. He taught me a great number of them,
but along with that wealth of knowledge, don Juan also left me with the
certainty that I was the last link of his lineage. Accepting, that I
was the last link of his lineage implied automatically for me the task
of finding new ways to disseminate the knowledge of his lineage, since
its continuity was no longer an issue. I need to clarify a very
important point in this regard: Don Juan Matus was not ever interested
in teaching his knowledge; he was interested in perpetuating his
lineage.
7
His three other disciples and I were the means -
chosen, he said, by the spirit itself, for he had no active part in it
- that were going to ensure that perpetuation. Therefore, he engaged
himself in a titanic effort to teach me all he knew about sorcery, or
shamanism, and about the development of his lineage. In the course of
training me, he realized that my energetic configuration was, according
to him, so vastly different from his own that it couldn't mean anything
else but the end of his line. I told him that I resented enormously his
interpretation of whatever invisible difference existed between us. I
didn't like the burden of being the last of his line, nor did I
understand his reasoning.
"The shamans of ancient Mexico," he said
to me once, "believed that choice, as human beings understand it, is
the precondition of the cognitive world of man, but, that it is only a
benevolent interpretation of something, which is found when awareness
ventures beyond the cushion of our world, a benevolent interpretation
of acquiescence. Human beings are in the throes of forces, that pull
them every which way. The art of sorcerers is not really to choose, but
to be subtle enough to acquiesce. Sorcerers, although they seem to make
nothing else but decisions, make no decisions at all," he went on. "I
didn't decide to choose you, and I didn't decide that you would be the
way you are. Since I couldn't choose to whom I would impart my
knowledge, I had to accept whomever the spirit was offering me. And
that person was you, and you are energetically capable only of ending,
not of continuing."
He maintained, that the ending of his line had
nothing to do with him or his efforts, or with his success or failure
as a sorcerer seeking total freedom. He understood it as something,
that had to do with a choice exercised beyond the human level, not by
beings or entities, but by the impersonal forces of the Universe.
Finally, I came to accept what don Juan called my fate. Accepting it
put me face to face with another issue, that he referred to as locking
the door when you leave. That is to say, I assumed the responsibility
of deciding exactly what to do with everything he had taught me and
carrying out my decision impeccably. First of all, I asked myself the
crucial question of what to do with the magical passes: the facet of
don Juan's knowledge most imbued with pragmatism and function. I
decided to use the magical passes and teach them to whoever wanted to
learn them. My decision to end the secrecy,
8
that had
surrounded them for an undetermined length of time was, naturally, the
corollary of my total conviction, that I am indeed the end of don
Juan's lineage. It became inconceivable (unbelievable)to me
that I should carry secrets which were not even mine.
To shroud the magical passes in secrecy was not my decision. It was my
decision, however, to end
such a condition. I endeavored from then on to come up with a more
generic form of each magical
pass, a form suitable to everyone. This resulted in a configuration of
slightly modified forms of
each one of the magical passes. I have called this new configuration of
movements Tensegrity, a
term which belongs to architecture, where it means "the property of
skeleton structures, that
employ continuous tension members and discontinuous compression members
in such a way that each
member operates with the maximum efficiency and economy."
In order to explain, what the
magical passes of the sorcerers, who lived
in Mexico in ancient times are, I would like to make a clarification:
"ancient times" meant, for
don Juan, a time ten thousand years ago and beyond, a figure, that
seems incongruous (inharmonious, incompatible with surroundings), if
examined
from the point of view of the classificatory schemes of modern
scholars. When I confronted don Juan
with the discrepancy between his estimate and what I considered to be a
more realistic one, he
remained adamant in his conviction. He believed it to be a
fact, that people who lived in the
New World ten thousand years ago were deeply concerned with matters of
the Universe and Perception,
that modern human has not even begun to fathom.
Regardless of our differing
chronological interpretations, the effectiveness of the magical passes
is undeniable to me, and I
feel obligated to elucidate the subject strictly following the manner,
in which it was presented to
me. The directness of their effect on me has had a deep influence on
the way, in which I deal with
them. What I am presenting in this work is an intimate reflection of
that influence.
MAGICAL
PASSES
9
The first time don Juan talked to me at length about magical
passes was when he made a
derogatory comment about my weight.
"You are way too chubby," he said, looking at me from head to toe
shaking his head in disapproval.
"You are one step from being fat. Wear and tear is beginning to show in
you. Like any other member
of our race, you are developing a lump of fat on your neck, like a
bull. It's time that you take
seriously one of the sorcerers' greatest findings: the magical passes."
"What magical passes are you talking about, don Juan?" I asked. "You
never mentioned this topic to
me before. Or, if you have, it must have been so lightly, that
I can't
recall anything about
it."
"Not only have I told you a great deal about magical passes," he said,
"you know a great number of
them already. I have been teaching them to you all along."
As far, as I was concerned, it wasn't true, that he had taught me any
magical passes all along. I
protested vehemently.
"Don't be so passionate about defending your wonderful Self," he joked,
making a ridiculous gesture
of apology with his eyebrows. "What I meant to say is, that you imitate
everything I do, so I have
been cashing: in on your imitation capacity.
10
I have shown you various magical passes, all along, and you have always
taken them to be my delight
in cracking my joints. I like the way you interpret them: cracking my
joints! We are going to keep
on referring to them in that manner. I have shown you ten different
ways of cracking my joints," he
continued. "Each one of them is a magical pass that fits to perfection
my body and yours. You could
say, that those ten magical passes are in your line and mine. They
belong to us personally and
individually, as they belonged to other sorcerers, who were just like
the two of us in the
twenty-five generations, that preceded us."
The magical passes don Juan was referring to, as he himself had said,
were ways, in which I thought
he cracked his joints. He used to move his arms, legs, torso, and hips
in specific ways, I thought,
in order to create a maximum stretch of his muscles, bones, and
ligaments. The result of these
stretching movements, from my point of view, was a succession of
cracking sounds, which I always
thought, that he was producing for my amazement and amusement. He,
indeed, had asked me time and
time again to imitate him. In a challenging manner, he had even dared
me to memorize the movements
and repeat them at home until I could get my joints to make cracking
noises, just like his. I had
never succeeded in reproducing the sounds, yet I had definitely, but
unwittingly, learned all the
movements. I know now, that not achieving that cracking sound, was a
blessing in disguise, because
the muscles and tendons of the arms and back should never be stressed
to that point. Don Juan was
born with a facility to crack the joints of his arms and back, just as
some people have the
facility to crack their knuckles.
"How did the old sorcerers invent those magical passes, don Juan?" I
asked. "Nobody invented them,"
he said sternly. "To think that they were invented implies instantly
the intervention of the mind,
and this is not the case when it comes to those magical passes. They
were, rather, discovered by
the old shamans. I was told, that it all began with the extraordinary
sensation of well-being, that
those shamans experienced when they were in shamanistic states of
heightened awareness. They felt
such tremendous, enthralling vigor, that they struggled to repeat it in
their hours of vigil (watch during
sleeping hours).
"At first," don Juan explained to me once, "those shamans believed,
that it was a mood of
well-being, that heightened awareness created in general.
11
Soon, they found out, that not all the states of shamanistic heightened
awareness, which they
entered, produced in them the same sensation of well-being. A more
careful scrutiny revealed to
them, that whenever that sensation of well-being occurred, they had
always been engaged in some
specific kind of bodily movement. They realized, that while they were
in states of heightened
awareness, their bodies moved involuntarily in certain ways, and, that
those certain ways were
indeed the cause of that unusual sensation of physical and mental
plenitude."
Don Juan speculated, that it had always appeared to him, that the
movements, that the bodies of
those shamans executed automatically in heightened awareness, were a
sort of hidden heritage of
Humankind, something, that had been put in deep storage, to be revealed
only to those, who were
looking for it. He portrayed those sorcerers as deep sea divers, who
without knowing it, reclaimed
it. Don Juan said, that those sorcerers arduously began to piece
together some of the movements
they remembered. Their efforts paid off. They were capable of
re-creating movements, that had
seemed to them to be automatic reactions of the body in a state of
heightened awareness. Encouraged
by their success, they were capable of re-creating hundreds of
movements, which they performed
without ever attempting to classify them into an understandable scheme.
Their idea was, that in
heightened awareness, the movements happened spontaneously, and, that
there was a force, that
guided their effect, without the intervention of their volition. Don
Juan commented, that the
nature of their findings always led him to believe, that the sorcerers
of ancient times were
extraordinary people, Because the movements, that they discovered, were
never revealed in the same
fashion to modern shamans, who also entered into heightened awareness.
Perhaps this was because
modern shamans had learned the movements beforehand, in some fashion or
another, from their
predecessors, or perhaps, because
the sorcerers of ancient times had
more energetic mass.
"What do you mean, don Juan,
that they had more energetic mass?" I asked.
"Were they bigger men?"
"I don't think they were
physically any bigger," he said, "but
energetically, they appeared to the eye of a Seer as an Oblong Shape.
They called themselves
Luminous Eggs. I have never seen a Luminous Egg in my life. All I have
seen are Luminous Balls. It
is presumable, then, that Human has lost some energetic mass over the
generations."
12
Don Juan explained to me, that to a
Seer, the Universe is composed of an
infinite number of energy fields. They appear to the eye of the Seer as
luminous filaments, that
shoot out every which way. Don Juan said that those filaments
crisscross through the Luminous
Balls, that Human Beings are, and, that it was reasonable to assume,
that if Human Beings were once
Oblong Shapes, like Eggs, they were much higher, than a Ball.
Therefore, energy fields, that
touched Human Beings at the Crown of the Luminous Egg, are no longer
touching them now, that they
are Luminous Balls. Don Juan felt, that this meant to him a loss of
Energy Mass, which seemed to
have been crucial for the purpose of reclaiming that hidden treasure:
the magical
passes.
"Why are the passes of the old shamans called magical passes, don
Juan?" I asked him on one
occasion.
"They are not just called magical passes," he said, "they are magical!
They produce an effect, that
cannot be accounted for by means of ordinary explanations. These
movements are not physical
exercises or mere postures of the body; they are real attempts at
reaching an optimal state of
being. The magic of the
movements," he went on, "is a subtle change,
that the practitioners experience on executing them. It is an ephemeral
quality, that the movement
brings to their physical and mental states, a kind of Shine, a Light in
the Eyes. This subtle
change is a Touch of the Spirit. It is as if the practitioners, through
the movements, re-establish
an unused link with the Life Force, that sustains them."
He further explained, that another reason, that the movements are
called magical passes, is that by
means of practicing them, shamans are transported, in terms of
perception, to other states of
being, in which they can sense the World in an indescribable manner.
"Because of this quality, because of this Magic," don Juan said to me,
"the passes must be
practiced not as exercises, but as a way of beckoning Power."
"But can they be taken as physical movements, although they have never
been taken as such?" I
asked.
"You can practice them any way you wish," don Juan replied. "The
magical passes enhance awareness,
regardless of how you take them. The intelligent thing would be to take
them as what they are:
magical passes, that on being practiced, lead the practitioner to drop
the mask of
socialization."
13
"What is the mask of socialization?" I asked.
"The veneer, that all of us defend and die for," he said. "The veneer
we acquire in the world. The
one, that prevents us from reaching all our potential. The one, that
makes us believe we are
immortal. The Intent of thousands of Sorcerers permeates (spread or
flow throughout) these
movements. Executing them, even in a casual way, makes the Mind come to
a halt."
"What do you mean, that they make the Mind come to a halt?" I asked.
"Everything, that we do in the world," he said, "we recognize and
identify by converting it into
lines of similarity, lines of things, that are strung together by
purpose. For example, if I say to
you fork, this immediately brings to your mind the idea of spoon,
knife, tablecloth, napkin, plate,
cup and saucer, glass of wine, chili con carne, banquet, birthday,
fiesta. You could certainly go
on naming things, strung together by purpose, nearly forever.
Everything we do is strung like this.
The strange part for Sorcerers is, that they see, that all
these lines of affinity, all these
hues of things strung together by purpose, are associated with human's
idea, that things are
unchangeable and forever, like the word of God."
"I don't see, don Juan, why you bring the word of God into this
elucidation. What does the word of
God have to do with what you are trying to explain?"
"Everything!" he replied. "It
seems to be, that in our minds, the
entire Universe is like the word of God: absolute and unchanging. This
is the way we conduct
ourselves. In the depths of our minds, there is a checking device, that
doesn't permit us to stop
to examine, that the word of God, as we accept it and believe it to be,
pertains to a dead World. A
live World, on the other hand, is in constant flux. It moves. It
changes. It reverses itself. The
most abstract reason why the magical passes of the Sorcerers of my
lineage are magical," he went
on, "is, that in practicing them, the body of the practitioner
realizes, that everything, instead
of being an unbroken chain of objects, that have affinity for each
other, is a current, a flux. And
if everything in the Universe is a Flux, a Current, that Current can be
stopped. A dam can be put
on it, and in this manner, its flux can be halted or deviated."
Don Juan explained to me on one occasion the overall effect, that the
practice of the magical
passes had on the Sorcerers of his lineage, and correlated this effect
with what would happen to
modern practitioners.
14
"The Sorcerers of my lineage," he said, "were shocked half to death
upon realizing, that practicing
their magical passes brought about the halt of the otherwise
uninterrupted flux of things. They
constructed a series of metaphors to describe this halt, and in their
effort to explain it, or
reconsider it, they flubbed it. They lapsed into ritual and ceremony.
They began to enact the act
of halting the flux of things. They believed, that if certain
ceremonies and rituals were focused
on a definite aspect of their magical passes, the magical passes
themselves would beckon a specific
result. Very soon, the number and complexity of their rituals and
ceremonies became more
encumbering, than the number of their magical passes.
It is very important," he went
on, "to focus the attention of the
practitioner on some definite aspect of the magical passes. However,
that fixation should be light,
funny, void of morbidity and grimness. It should be done for the hell
of it, without really
expecting returns."
He gave the example of one of
his cohorts, a Sorcerer by the name of
Silvio Manuel, whose delight and predilection (preference) was to adapt
the magical
passes of the Sorcerers of
ancient times to the steps of his modern dancing. Don Juan described
Silvio Manuel as a superb
acrobat and dancer, who actually danced the magical passes.
"The Nagual Elias Ulloa," don
Juan continued, "was the most prominent
innovator of my Lineage. He was the one, who threw all the ritual out
the window, so to speak, and
practiced the magical passes exclusively for the purpose, for which
they were originally used at
one time in the remote past: for the purpose of Redeploying Energy. The
Nagual Julian Osorio, who
came after him," don Juan continued, "was the one, who gave ritual the
final death blow. Since he
was a bona fide professional actor, who at one time had made his living
acting in the theater, he
put enormous stock into, what Sorcerers called the shamanistic theater.
He called it the theater of
Infinity, and into it, he poured all the magical passes, that were
available to him. Every movement
of his characters was imbued to the gills with magical passes. Not only
that, but he turned the
theater into a new avenue for teaching them. Between the Nagual Julian,
the actor of Infinity, and
Silvio Manuel, the dancer of Infinity, they had the whole thing pegged
down. A new era was on the
horizon! The era of pure Redeployment!"
Don Juan's explanation of Redeployment was, that human beings,
perceived as conglomerates of energy
fields, are Sealed Energetic Units, that have definite boundaries,
which don't permit the entrance
or the exit of energy.
15
Therefore, the energy existing within that conglomerate of energy
fields, is all, that each human
individual can count on.
"The natural tendency of human beings," he said, "is to push their
energy away from the centers of
vitality, which are located on the right side of the body, right at the
edge of the rib cage on the
area of the liver and gallbladder; on the left side of the body, again,
at the edge of the rib
cage, on the area of the pancreas and spleen; on the back, right behind
the other two centers,
around the kidneys, and right above them, on the area of the adrenal
glands; at the base of the
neck on the V spot, made by the sternum (breastbone) and clavicle
(collarbone); and around the
uterus and ovaries in Women."
"How do human beings push this
energy away, don Juan?" I
asked.
"By worrying," he replied. "By
succumbing to the stress of everyday life.
The duress of daily actions takes its toll on the body."
"And what happens to this
energy, don Juan?" I asked.
"It gathers on the periphery of
the Luminous Ball," he said, "sometimes
to the point of making a thick bark like deposit. The magical passes
relate to the total Human
Being as a physical body, and as a Conglomerate of Energy Fields. They
agitate the energy, that has
been accumulated in the Luminous Ball and return it to the physical
body itself. The magical passes
engage both the body itself, as a physical entity, that suffers the
dispersion of energy, and the
body as an Energetic Entity, which is capable of redeploying that
dispersed energy. Having energy
on the periphery of the Luminous Ball," he continued, "energy, that is
not being redeployed, is as
useless, as not having any energy at all. It is truly a terrifying
situation to have a surplus of
energy stashed away, inaccessible for all practical purposes. It is
like being in the desert, dying
of dehydration, while you carry a tank of water, that you cannot open,
because you don't have any
tools. In that desert, you can't even find a rock to bang it with."
The true magic of the magical
passes is the fact, that they cause,
crusted-down energy, to enter again into the centers of vitality, hence
the feeling of well-being
and prowess, which is the practitioner's experience. The Sorcerers of
don Juan's lineage, before
they entered into their excessive ritualism and ceremony, had
formulated the basis for this
redeployment. They called it saturation, meaning, that they inundated
their bodies with a profusion
of magical passes, in order to allow the force, that binds us together,
to guide those magical
passes to cause the maximum Redeployment of Energy.
16
"But don Juan, are you telling me, that every time you crack your
joints, or every time I try to
imitate you, we are really redeploying energy!" I asked him once,
without really meaning to be
sarcastic.
"Every time we execute a magical
pass," he replied, "we are indeed
altering the basic structures of our Beings. Energy, which is
ordinarily crusted down, is released
and begins to enter into the vortexes of vitality of the body. Only by
means of that reclaimed
energy can we put up a dike, a barrier to contain an otherwise
uncontainable and always deleterious
flow."
I asked don Juan to give me an
example of putting a dam on what he was
calling a deleterious flow. I told him, that I wanted to visualize it
in my mind.
"I'll give you an example," he
said. "For instance, at my age, I should
be prey to high blood pressure. If I went to see a doctor, the doctor,
upon seeing me, would
assume, that I must be an old Indian, plagued with uncertainties,
frustrations, and bad diet; all
of this, naturally, resulting in a most expected and predictable
condition of high blood pressure:
an acceptable corollary of my age. I don't have any problems with high
blood pressure," he went on,
"not because I am stronger, than the average man or because of my
genetic frame, but because my
magical passes have made my body break through any patterns of
behavior, that result in high blood
pressure. I can truthfully say, that every time I crack my joints,
following the execution of a
magical pass, I am blocking off the flow of expectations and behavior,
that ordinarily result in
high blood pressure at my age. Another example I can give you is the
agility of my knees," he
continued. "Haven't you noticed how much more agile I am, than
you?
When it comes to moving my
knees, I'm a kid! With my magical passes, I
put a dam on the current of behavior and physicality, that makes the
knees of people, both men and
women, stiff with age."
One of the most annoying
feelings I had ever experienced was caused by
the fact, that don Juan Matus, although he could have been my
grandfather, was infinitely younger
than I. In comparison, I was stiff, opinionated, repetitious. I was
senile. He, on the other hand,
was fresh, inventive, agile, resourceful. In short, he possessed
something, which, although I was
young, I did not: youth.
He delighted in telling me repeatedly, that young age was not youth,
and that young age was in no
way a deterrent to senility.
17
He pointed out, that if I watched my fellow men carefully and
dispassionately, I would be able to
corroborate, that by the time they reached twenty years of age, they
were already senile, repeating
themselves inanely.
"How is it possible, don Juan," I said, "that you could be younger,
than I?"
"I have vanquished (defeated) my mind," he said, opening his eyes wide
to denote bewilderment. "I
don't have a mind to tell me, that it is time to be old. I don't honor
agreements, in which I
didn't participate. Remember this: It is not just a slogan for
Sorcerers to say, that they do not
honor agreements, in winch they did not participate. To be plagued by
old age is one such
agreement."
We were silent for a long time. Don Juan seemed to be waiting, I
thought, for the effect, that his
words might cause in me. What I thought to be my psychological unity
was further ripped apart by a
clearly dual response on my part. On one level, I repudiated (отвергал)
with all my might the
nonsense, that don Juan was verbalizing; on another level, however, I
couldn't fail to notice how
accurate his remarks were. Don Juan was old, and yet he wasn't old at
all. He was ages younger than
I. He was free from encumbering thoughts and habit patterns. He was
roaming around in incredible
worlds. He was free, while I was imprisoned by heavy thought patterns
and habits, by petty and
futile considerations about myself, which I felt, on that occasion, for
the first time, weren't
even mine. I asked don Juan on another occasion something, that had
been bothering me for a long
time. He had stated, that the
Sorcerers of ancient Mexico discovered
the magical passes, which were some sort of hidden treasure, placed in
storage for a Human to
find. I wanted to know, who would put something like that
in storage for a Human. The only
idea, that I could come up with, was derived from Catholicism. I
thought of God doing it, or a
guardian angel, or the Holy Spirit.
"It is not the Holy Spirit," he said, "which is only holy to you,
because you're secretly a
Catholic. And certainly it is not God, a benevolent father, as you
understand God. Nor is it a
Goddess, a nurturing Mother, watching over the affairs of men, as many
people believe to be the
case. It is rather an
Impersonal Force, that has endless things in
storage for those, who dare to seek them. It is a Force in the
Universe, like Light or Gravity. It
is an agglutinating factor, a Vibratory Force, that joins conglomerate
of energy fields, that human
beings are into one concise, cohesive unit.
18
This Vibratory Force is the factor, that doesn't allow the entrance or
the exit of energy from the
Luminous Ball. The Sorcerers of ancient Mexico," he went on, "believed,
that the performance of
their magical passes was the only factor, that prepared and led the
body to the transcendental
corroboration of the existence of that Agglutinating Force."
From don Juan's explanations, I derived the conclusion, thatthe Vibratory
Force he spoke about, which agglutinates our fields of energy, is
apparently similar to what
modern-day astronomers believe must happen at the Core of all the
Galaxies, that exist in the
Cosmos. They believe, that there, at their Cores, a Force of
Incalculable Strength holds the Stars
of Galaxies in place. This Force, called a "Black Hole," is a
theoretical construct, which seems to
be the most reasonable explanation as to why Stars do not fly away,
driven by their own rotational
speeds. Don Juan said, that the old Sorcerers knew, that Human Beings,
taken as conglomerates of
energy fields, are held together not by energetic wrappings or
energetic ligaments, but by some
sort of Vibration, that renders everything at once alive and in place.
Don Juan explained, that
those Sorcerers, by means of their practices and their discipline,
became capable of handling that
Vibratory Force once they were fully conscious of it. Their expertise
in dealing with it became so
extraordinary, that their actions were transformed into legends,
mythological events, that existed
only as fables. For instance, one of the stories, that don Juan told
about the ancient Sorcerers
was, that they were capable
of dissolving their physical mass by
merely placing their full consciousness and Intent on that Force. Don
Juan stated that, although
they were capable of actually going through a pinhole, if they deemed
it necessary, they were never
quite satisfied with the result of this maneuver of dissolving their
mass. The reason for their
discontent was, that once their mass was dissolved, their capacity to
act vanished. They were left
with the alternative of only witnessing events, in which they were
incapable of participating.
Their ensuing frustration, the result of being incapacitated to act,
turned, according to don Juan,
into their damning flaw: their obsession with uncovering the nature of
that Vibratory Force, an
obsession driven by their concreteness, which made them want to hold
and control that Force. Their
fervent desire was to strike from the ghostlike condition of
masslessness, something which Jon Juan
said could not ever be accomplished.
19
Modern-day practitioners, cultural heirs of those Sorcerers of
antiquity, having found out, that it
is not possible to be concrete and utilitarian about that Vibratory
Force, have opted for the only
rational alternative: to become conscious of that Force with no other
purpose in sight except the
elegance and well-being, brought about by knowledge.
"The only permissible time," don
Juan said to me once, "when modern-day
Sorcerers use the Power of this Vibratory Agglutinating Force, is when
they burn from within, when
the time comes for them to leave this World. It is simplicity itself
for Sorcerers to place their
absolute and total consciousness on the binding Force with the Intent
to burn, and off they go,
like a puff of air."
Tensegrity
21
Tensegrity is the modern version of the magical passes of the shamans
of ancient Mexico. The word
Tensegrity is a most appropriate definition, because it is a mixture of
two terms, tension and
integrity: terms, which connote the two driving forces of the magical
passes. The activity created
by contracting and relaxing the tendons and muscles of the body is
tension. Integrity is the act of
regarding the body as a sound, complete, perfect unit. Tensegrity is
taught as a system of
movements, because that is the only manner, in which the mysterious and
vast subject of the magical
passes could be faced in a modern setting. The people, who now practice
Tensegrity, are not shaman
practitioners in search of shamanistic alternatives, involve rigorous
discipline, exertion (exercise,
put into
vigorous action),
and
hardships. Therefore, the emphasis of the magical passes has to be on
their value as movements, and
all the consequences, that such movements bring forth. Don Juan Matus
had explained, that the first
drive of the Sorcerers of his lineage, who lived in Mexico in ancient
times, in relation to the
magical passes, was to saturate themselves with movement. They
arranged every posture, every movement of the body, that they could
remember, into groups. They
believed, that the longer the group, the greater its effect of
Saturation, and the greater the need
for the practitioners to use their memory to recall it.
22
The shamans of don Juan's lineage, after arranging the magical passes
into long groups and
practicing them as sequences, deemed (consider, считали), that this
criterion (мерило) of
Saturation had fulfilled its purposes, and they dropped it. From then
on, what was sought was the
opposite: the fragmentation of the long groups into single segments,
which were practiced as
individual, independent units. The mannerб in which don Juan Matus
taught the magical passes to his
four disciples - Taisha Abelar, Florinda Donner-Grau, Carol Tiggs, and
myself - was the product of
this drive for fragmentation. Don
Juan's personal opinion was, that
the benefit of practicing the long groups was patently obvious; such
practice forced the shaman
initiates to use their kinesthetic memory. He considered the use of
kinesthetic memory to be a real
bonus, which those shamans had stumbled upon accidentally, and which
had the marvelous effect of
shutting off the noise of the Mind: the Internal Dialogue. Don Juan had
explained to me, that the
way, in which we reinforce our Perception of the World and keep it
fixed at a certain level of
efficiency and function, is by TALKING TO OURSELVES.
"The entire Human Race," he said
to me on one occasion, "keeps a
determined level of function and efficiency by means of the Internal
Dialogue. The Internal
Dialogue is the Key to maintaining the Assemblage Point (Perception
Point, LM) stationary at the
position shared by the entire Human Race: at the height of the shoulder
blades, an arm's length
away from them. By accomplishing the opposite of the Internal
Dialogue," he went on, "that is to
say Inner Silence, practitioners can break the fixation of their
Assemblage Points, thus acquiring
an extraordinary fluidity of Perception."
The practice of Tensegrity has been arranged around the performance of
the long groups, which in
Tensegrity have been renamed series to avoid the generic implication of
calling them just groups,
as don Juan called them. In order to accomplish this arrangement, it
was necessary to reestablish
the criteria of Saturation, which had prompted the creation of the long
groups. It took the
practitioners of Tensegrity years of meticulous and concentrated work
to reassemble a great number
of the dismembered groups. Reestablishing the criteria of Saturation by
performing the long series
gave, as a result, something, which don Juan had already defined as the
modern goal of the magical
passes: the Redeployment of Energy.
23
Don Juan was convinced, that this had always been the unspoken goal of
the magical passes, even at
the time of the old Sorcerers. The old Sorcerers didn't seem to have
known this, but even if they
did, they never conceptualized it in those terms. By all indications,
what the old Sorcerers sought
avidly and experienced as a sensation of well-being and plenitude when
they performed the magical
passes was, in essence, the effect of unused energy, being reclaimed by
the centers of vitality in
the body. In Tensegrity, the long groups have been reassembled, and a
great number of the fragments
have been kept as single, functioning units. These units have been
strung together by purpose - for
instance, the purpose of Intending, or the purpose of Recapitulation,
or the purpose of Inner
Silence, and so on - creating in this fashion the Tensegrity series. In
this manner, a system has
been achieved, in which the best results are obtained by performing
long sequences of movements,
that definitely tax the kinesthetic memory of the practitioners. In
every other
respect,the way Tensegrity is
taught is a faithful reproduction of the
way, in which don Juan taught the magical passes to his
disciples.
He inundated them with a profusion of detail and let their minds be
bewildered by the number and
variety of magical passes taught to them, and by the implication, that
each of them individually
was a pathway to Infinity. His disciples spent years overwhelmed,
confused, and above all
despondent, because they felt, that being inundated in such a manner
was an unfair onslaught on
them.
"When I teach you the magical
passes," he explained to me once, when I
questioned him about the subject, "I am following the traditional
Sorcerers' device of clouding
your linear view. By saturating your kinesthetic memory, I am creating
a pathway for you to Inner
Silence. Since all of us," he continued, "are filled to the brim with
the doings and undoings of
the World of everyday life, we have very little room for kinesthetic
memory. You may have noticed,
that you have none. When, you want to imitate my movements, you cannot
remain facing me. You have
to stand side by side with me in order to establish in your own body
what's right and what's left.
Now, if a long sequence of movements were presented to you, it would
take you weeks of repetition
to remember all the movements. While you're trying to memorize the
movements, you have to make room
for them in your memory by pushing other things out of the way. That
was the effect, that the old
Sorcerers sought."
24
Don Juan's contention was, that if
his disciples kept on doggedly practicing the magical passes, in spite
of their confusion, they
would arrive at a threshold, when their Redeployed Energy would tip the
scales, and they would be
able to handle the magical passes with absolute clarity. When don Juan
made those statements, I
could hardly believe them. Nevertheless, at one moment, just as he had
said, I ceased to be
confused and despondent. In a most mysterious way, the magical passes,
since they are magical,
arranged themselves into extraordinary sequences, that cleared up
everything. Don Juan explained,
that the clarity I was experiencing, was the result of the Redeployment
of My Energy. The concern
of people, practicing Tensegrity nowadays, matches exactly my concern
and the concern of don Juan's
other disciples, when we first began to perform the magical passes.
They feel bewildered by the
number of movements. I reiterate to them what don Juan reiterated to me
over and over: that what is
of supreme importance is to practice, whatever Tensegrity sequence is
remembered. The Saturation,
that has been carried on, will give, in the end, the results sought by
the shamans of ancient
Mexico: the Redeployment of Energy, and its three concomitants - the
Shutting off of the Internal
Dialogue, the possibility for Inner Silence, and the Fluidity of the
Assemblage Point. As a
personal assessment, I can say, that by Saturating me with the magical
passes, don Juan
accomplished two formidable feats:
One, he brought to the surface a
flock of hidden resources, that I had,
but didn't know existed, such as the ability to concentrate and the
ability to remember
detail;
and two, he gently broke my
obsession with my linear mode of
interpretation.
"What is happening to you," don
Juan explained to me, when I questioned
him about what I was experiencing in this respect, "is, that you are
feeling the advent (arrival)
of Inner Silence, once your Internal Dialogue has been minimally
offset.
A new flux of things has begun
to enter into your Field of Perception.
These things were always there, on the periphery of your general
Awareness, but you never had
enough energy to be deliberately conscious of them. As you chase away
your Internal Dialogue, other
items of Awareness begin to fill in the empty space, so to speak.
"The new Flux of Energy," he
went on, "which the magical passes have
brought to your centers of vitality, is making your Assemblage Point
more fluid. It's no longer
rigidly palisaded. You're no longer driven by our ancestral fears,
which make us incapable of
taking a step in any direction.
25
Sorcerers say, that energy makes us free, and that is the absolute
truth."
The ideal state of Tensegrity practitioners, in relation to the
Tensegrity movements, is the same,
as the ideal state of a practitioner of shamanism in relation to the
execution of the magical
passes. Both are being led by the movements themselves into an
unprecedented
culmination. From
there, the practitioners of Tensegrity will be
able to execute, by themselves, for whatever effect they see fit,
without any coaching from outside
sources, any movement from the bulk of movements, with which they have
been saturated; they will be
able to execute them with precision and speed, as they walk, or eat, or
rest, or do anything,
because they will have the energy to do so. The execution of the
magical passes, as shown in
Tensegrity, doesn't necessarily requirea
particular space or
prearranged time. However, the movements should be done away from sharp
currents of air. Don Juan
dreaded currents of air on a perspiring body. He firmly believed, that
not every current of air was
caused by the rising or lowering oftemperature
in the atmosphere,
and, that some currents of air were actually caused by conglomerates of
consolidated energy fields,
moving purposefully through space. Don
Juan was convinced, that
such conglomerates of energy fields possessed a specific type of
Awareness, particularly
deleterious, because Human Beings cannot ordinarily detect them, and
become exposed to them
indiscriminately. The deleterious effect ofsuch conglomerates of
energy fields is especially prevalent in a large metropolis, where they
could be easily disguised
as, if nothing else, the momentum, created by the speed of passing
automobiles.
Something else to bear in mind when practicing Tensegrity is, that
since the goal of the magical
passes is something foreign to Western Human, an effort should be made
to keep the practice of
Tensegrity, detached from the concerns of our daily world. The practice of Tensegrity should not be
mixed with elements, with which we are
already thoroughly familiar, such as conversation, music, or the sound
of a radio or TV newsman
reporting the news, no matter how muffled the sound might be. The
setting of modern urban life
facilitates the formation of groups, and under these circumstances, the
only manner, in which
Tensegrity can he taught and practiced in the seminars and workshops,
is in groups of
practitioners.
26
Practicing in groups is beneficial in many aspects and deleterious in
others. It is beneficial,
because it allows the creation of a consensus of movement and the
opportunity to learn by
examination and comparison. It is deleterious, because it fosters the
reliance on others, and the
emergence of syntactic commands and solicitations, dealing with
hierarchy. Don Juan conceived, that
since the totality of human behavior was ruled by language, human
beings have learned to respond to
what he called syntactic commands, praising or deprecatory formulas,
built into language - for
example, the responses, that each individual makes, or elicits in
others, with slogans such as 'No
problem, Piece of cake, It's time to worry, You could do better, I
can't do it, My butt is too big,
I'm the best, I'm the worst in the world, I could live with that, I'm
coping, Everything's going to
be okay', etc., etc. Don Juan maintained, that what Sorcerers have
always wanted, as a basic rule
of thumb, is to run away from activities derived from syntactic
commands. Originally, as don Juan
described it, the magical passes
were performed by the shamans of ancient
Mexico individually and in solitariness, on the spur of the moment or
as the necessity
arose. He taught them to his disciples in the
same fashion. Don Juan stated, that for
the shaman practitioners, the challenge of performing the magical
passes has always been to execute
them perfectly, holding in mind only the abstract view of their perfect
execution. Ideally,
Tensegrity should be taught and practiced in the same fashion. However,
the conditions of modern
life and the fact, that the
goal of the magical passes has been
formulated to apply to a great number of people, make it imperative,
that a new approach be taken.
Tensegrity should be practiced in whatever form is easiest: either in
groups, or alone, or both. In
my particular case, the practice of Tensegrity in very large groups has
been more, than ideal,
because it has given me the unique opportunity of witnessing something,
which don Juan Matus and
all the Sorcerers of his lineage never did: the effects of Human Mass.
Don Juan and all the shamans
of his lineage, which he considered to be twenty-seven generations
long, never were capable of
witnessing the effects of Human Mass. They practiced the magical passes
alone, or in groups of up
to five practitioners. For them, the magical passes were highly
individualistic. If the number of
Tensegrity practitioners is in the hundreds, an Energetic Current isnearly instantaneously formed among
them.
27
This Energetic Current, which a
shaman could easily See, creates in the
practitioners a sense of urgency. It is like a Vibratory Wind, that
sweeps through them, and gives
them the primary elements of purpose. I have been privileged to see
something I considered to be a
portentous sight: the Awakening of Purpose, the energetic basis of
Human. Don Juan Matus used to
call this Unbending Intent. He taught me, that Unbending Intent is the
essential tool of those, who
journeyed into the Unknown. A very important
issue to consider when practicing
Tensegrity is, that the movements must be executed with the idea, that
the benefit of the magical
passes comes by itself. This idea must be stressed at any cost. At the
beginning, it is very
difficult to discern the fact, that Tensegrity
is not a standard
system of movements for developing the body. It indeed develops the
body, but only as a by-product
of a more transcendental effect. By redeploying
unused energy, the magical passes can
conduce the practitioner to a level of Awareness, in which the
parameters of normal, traditional
perception are canceled out by the fact, that they are
expanded. The
practitioner can thus be allowed even to enter into unimaginable Worlds.
"But why would I want to enter
into those Worlds?" I asked don Juan, when
he described this post-effect of the magical passes.
"Because you are a creature of
Awareness, a perceiver, like the rest of
us," he said.
"Human Beings are on a journey
of Awareness, which has been momentarily
interrupted by extraneous forces. Believe me, we are Magical Creatures
of Awareness. If we don't
have this conviction, we have nothing."
He further explained, that Human
Beings, from the moment their Journey of
Awareness was interrupted, have been caught in an eddy, so to speak,
and are spinning around,
having the impression of moving with the current, and yet remaining
stationary.
"Take my word," don Juan went
on, "because mine are not arbitrary
statements. My word is the result of corroborating, for myself, what
the shamans of ancient Mexico
found out: that we Human Beings are Magical Beings."
It has taken me thirty years of
hard discipline to come to a cognitive
plateau, in which don Juan's statements are recognizable and their
validity is established beyond
the shadow of a doubt. I know now, that Human Beings are Creatures of
Awareness, involved in an
evolutionary Journey of Awareness, Beings indeed unknown to themselves,
filled to the brim with
incredible resources, that are never used.
THE
SIX SERIES OF
TENSEGRITY
p. 29
The
six series, which are going to be discussed are the
following:
1. The Series for Preparing Intent
2. The Series for the Womb
3. The Series of the Five Concerns: The Westwood Series
4. The Separation of the Left Body and the Right Body: The Heat Series
5. The Masculinity Series
6.
The Series for Devices Used in Conjunction with Specific Magical Passes
The particular magical passes of Tensegrity, that comprise each of the
six series conform with a
criterion of maximum efficiency. In other words, each magical pass is a
precise ingredient of a
formula. This is a replica of the way, in which the long series of
magical passes were originally
used; each series was sufficient in itself to produce the maximum
release of Redeployable Energy.
In executing the magical passes, there are certain things, that must be
taken into consideration in
order to perform the movements with maximum efficiency:
1. All the magical passes of the six series can be repeated as many
times, as desired, unless
otherwise specified. If they are first done with the left side of the
body, they must be repeated
an equal number of times with the right side. As a rule, every magical
pass of the six series
begins with the left side.
2. The feet are kept separate by a distance equivalent to the
shoulders' width. This is a balanced
way to distribute the weight of the body. If the legs are spread too
far apart, the balance of the
body is impaired. The same thing happens if they are too close
together. The best way to arrive at
this distance is to begin from a position, where the two feet are close
together (fig. 1). The tips
of the feet are then pivoted on the fixed heels and opened in a letter
V shape (fig. 2). Shifting
the weight to the tips of the feet, the heels are pivoted out to the
sides an equal distance (fig.
3). The tips of the feet are brought into parallel alignment, and the
distance between the feet is
roughly the width of the shoulders. Further adjustment may be necessary
here in order to reach that
desired width and to get the optimal balance of the body.
3. During the
execution of all the magical passes of Tensegrity, the knees are kept
slightly bent,
so that when one is looking down, the kneecaps block the view of the
tips of the feet (figs. 4, 5),
except in the case of specific magical passes, in which the knees have
to be locked. Such cases are
indicated in the description of those passes. To have the knees locked
doesn't mean, that the
hamstrings (either of 2 tendons of the rear hollow of the human knee -
подколенное сухожилие) are
injuriously tense, but rather, that they are locked in a gentle way,
without unnecessary force.
This position of bending the knees is a modern addition to the
execution of the magical passes,
oneб that stems from influences of recent times. One of the leaders of
don Juan Matus's lineage was
the Тagual Lujan, a sailor from China, whose original name was
something like Lo Ban.
He
came to Mexico around the turn of the nineteenth century, and stayed
there for the rest of his
life. One of the Women Sorcerers in don Juan Matus's own party went to
the Orient and studied
martial arts. Don Juan Matus himself recommended, that his disciples
learn to move in a disciplined
fashion by taking up some form of martial arts training. Another issue
to consider in reference to
the slightly bent knees is, that when the legs are moved forward in a
kicking motion, the knees are
never whipped. Rather, the whole leg should be moved by the tension of
the muscles of the thighs.
Moving in this fashion, the tendons of the knees are never injured.
4.
The back muscles of the legs must be tensed (fig. 6). This is a very
difficult accomplishment.
Most people can learn quite easily to tense the front muscles of the
legs, but the back muscles of
the legs still remain flaccid (weak). Don Juan said, that the back
muscles of the thighs are where
personal history is always stored in the body. According to him,
feelings find their home there and
get stagnant. He maintained, that difficulty in changing behavior
patterns, could be easily
attributed to the flaccidity of the back muscles of the thighs.
5. While performing all these magical passes, the arms are always kept
slightly bent at the elbows
- never fully extended - when they are moved to strike, preventing, in
this manner, the tendons of
the elbows from becoming irritated (fig. 7).
6. The
thumb must always be kept in a locked position, meaning that it is
folded over the edge of
the hand. It should never stick out (fig. 8). The sorcerers of don
Juan's lineage considered the
thumb to be a crucial element in terms of energy and function. They
believed that at the base of
the thumb exist points where energy can become stagnant, and points
that can regulate the flow of
energy in the body. In order to avoid unnecessary stress on the thumb
or injury resulting from
jolting the hand forcefully, they adopted the measure of pressing the
thumbs against the inside
edges of the hands.
7. When the hand is made into a fist, the little finger is raised to
avoid an angular fist (fig. 9)
in which the middle, fourth, and fifth fingers droop. The idea is that
in making a square fist
(fig. 10), the fourth and fifth fingers have to be raised, thus
creating a peculiar tension in the
axilla, a tension which is most desirable for general well-being.
8. The hands, when they have to be opened, are fully extended. The
tendons of the back of the hand
are at work, presenting the palm as an even, flat surface (fig. 11).
Don Juan preferred a flat palm
to counteract the tendency (established, he felt, through
socialization) to present the hand as a
hollow palm (fig. 12). He said, that a hollow palm was the palm of a
beggar, and that whoever
practices the magical passes is a warrior, not a beggar in the
least.
9. When the fingers have to be contracted at the second knuckle and
bent fightly over the palm, the
tendons on the back of the hand are tensed to the maximum, especially
the tendons of the thumb
(fig. 13). This tension of the tendons creates a pressure on the wrists
and forearms, areas which
sorcerers of ancient Mexico believed were key in promoting health and
well-being.
10. In many Tensegrity movements, the wrists have to be bent forward or
backward to an
approximately ninety-degree angle by contracting the tendons of the
forearm (fig. 14). This bending
must be accomplished slowly, because most of the time the wrist is
quite inflexible, and it is
important that the wrist acquire the flexibility to turn the back of
the hand to make a maximum
angle with the forearm.
11.
Another important issue in the practice of Tensegrity is an act which
has been termed turning
the body on. This is a unique act in which all the muscles of the body,
and specifically the
diaphragm, are contracted in one instant. The muscles of the stomach
and abdomen are jolted, as are
the muscles around the shoulders and shoulder blades. The arms and legs
are tensed in unison with
equal force, but only for an instant (figs. 15, 16). As practitioners
of Tensegrity progress in
their practice, they can learn to sustain this tension for a while
longer.
Turning
the body on has nothing to do with the state of perennial bodily
tension that seems to be
the mark of our times. When the body is tense with preoccupation or
overwork, and the muscles of
the neck are as hard as they can be, the body is not in any way turned
on. Relaxing the muscles or
arriving at a state of tranquillity is not turning the body off,
either. The idea of the sorcerers
of ancient Mexico was that with their magical passes, the body was
alerted; it was made to be ready
for action. Don Juan Matus termed this condition turning the body on.
He said that when the
muscular tension of turning the body on ceases, the body is turned off
naturally.
12. Breath and breathing were, according to don Juan, of supreme
importance for the sorcerers of
ancient Mexico. They divided breath into breathing with the tops of the
lungs, breathing with the
midsection of the lungs, and breathing with the abdomen (figs. 17, 18,
19). Breathing by expanding
the diaphragm they called the animal breath, and they practiced it
assiduously, don Juan said, for
longevity and health.
It was
don Juan Matus's belief that many of the health problems of modern man
could be easily
corrected by deep breathing. He maintained that the tendency of human
beings nowadays is to take
shallow breaths. One of the aims of the sorcerers of ancient Mexico was
to train their bodies, by
means of the magical passes, to inhale and exhale deeply. It is highly
recommended, therefore, in
the movements of Tensegrity that call for deep inhalations and
exhalations, that these be
accomplished by slowing down the inflow or outflow of air, in order to
make the inhalations and
exhalations longer and more profound. Another important issue
concerning the breathing in
Tensegrity is that breathing is normal while executing the Tensegrity
movements, unless otherwise
specified in the description of any given magical pass.
13. Another consideration in performing the Tensegrity movements is the
realization that has to
come to practitioners that Tensegrity is in essence the interplay
between relaxing and tensing the
muscles of choice parts of the body in order to arrive at a most
coveted physical explosion, which
the sorcerers of ancient Mexico knew only as the energy of the tendons.
This is a veritable
explosion of the nerves and tendons below or at the core of the
muscles. Given that Tensegrity is
the tension and relaxation of muscles, the intensity of the muscle
tension and the length of time
that the muscles are kept in that state, in any given magical pass,
depends on the strength of the
participant. It is recommended that at the beginning of the practice,
the tension be minimal and
the length of time as brief as possible. As the body gets warmer, the
tension should become greater
and the length of time extended, but always in a moderate fashion.
THE
FIRST SERIES - The Series for Preparing
Intent
p.37
Don Juan Matus
stated that human beings as organisms perform
a stupendous maneuver of perception which, unfortunately, creates a
misconception, a false front;
they take the influx of sheer energy in the universe at large and turn
it into sensory data, which
they interpret according to a strict system of interpretation that
sorcerers call the human form.
This magical act of interpreting pure energy gives rise to the
misconception, the peculiar
conviction of human beings that their interpretation system is all that
exists. Don Juan elucidated
this phenomenon with an example. He said that tree, as tree is known to
human beings, is more
interpretation than perception. He pointed out that for human beings to
establish the presence of
tree, all they need is a cursory glance that tells them hardly
anything. The rest is a phenomenon
which he described as the calling of intent, the intent of tree; that
is to say, the interpretation
of sensory data pertaining to the specific phenomenon that human beings
call tree. He declared that
the entire world of human beings, just as in this example, is composed
of an endless repertoire of
interpretations where human senses play a minimal role. In other words,
only the visual sense
touches the energy influx which comes from the universe at large, and
it does so only in a cursory
fashion.
He maintained, that the majority of the perceptual activity of human
beings is interpretation, and
that human beings are the kind of organisms that need only a minimal
input of pure perception in
order to create their world; or, that they perceive only enough to
trigger their interpretation
system. The example that don Juan liked the best was the way in which
he said we construct, by
intending, something as overwhelming and as crucial as the White House.
He called the White House
the site of power of today's world, the center of all our endeavors,
hopes, fears, and so on, as a
global conglomerate of human beings - for all practical purposes, the
capital of the civilized
world. He said that all this wasn't in the realm of the abstract, or
even in the realm of our
minds, but in the realm of intending, because from the point of view of
our sensory input, the
White House was a building that in no way had the richness, the scope,
the depth of the concept of
the White House. He added that from the point of view of the input of
sensory data, the White
House, like everything else in our world, was cursorily apprehended
with our visual senses only;
our tactile, olfactory, auditory, and taste senses were not engaged in
any way. The interpretation
that those senses could make of sensory data in relation to the
building where the White House is
would have no meaning whatsoever. The question, that don Juan asked as
a sorcerer was where the
White House was. He said, answering his own question, that it was
certainly not in our perception,
not even in our thoughts, but in a special realm of intending, where it
was nurtured with
everything pertinent to it. Don Juan's assertion was that to create a
total universe of intending
in such a manner was our magic.
Since the theme of the first series of Tensegrity is preparing the
practitioners for intending,
it's important to review the sorcerers' definition of intending. For
don Juan, intending was the
tacit act of filling out the empty spaces left by direct sensory
perception, or the act of
enriching the observable phenomena by means of intending a completeness
that doesn't exist from the
point of view of pure perception. The act of intending this
completeness was referred to by don
Juan as calling intent. Everything he explained about intent pointed to
the fact that the act of
intending is not in the realm of the physical. In other words, it is
not part of the physicality of
the brain or any other organ. Intent, for don Juan, transcended the
world we know. It is something
like an energetic wave, a beam of energy which attaches itself to us.
Because of the extrinsic
nature of intent, don Juan made a distinction between the body as part
of the cognition of everyday
life and the body as an energetic unit which was not part of that
cognition. This energetic unit
included the unseen parts of the body, such as the internal organs, and
the energy that flowed
through them. Don Juan asserted that it was with this part that energy
could be directly perceived.
He pointed out, that because of the predominance of sight in our
habitual way of perceiving the
world, the shamans of ancient Mexico described the act of directly
apprehending energy as seeing.
For them to perceive energy as it flowed in the universe meant that
energy adopted
non-idiosyncratic, specific configurations that repeated themselves
consistently, and that those
configurations could be perceived in the same terms by anyone who Saw.
The most important example don Juan Matus could give of this
consistency of energy in adopting
specific configurations was the perception of the human body when it
was seen directly as energy.
As it was already said, shamans like don Juan perceive a human being as
a conglomerate of energy
fields that gives the total impression of a clear-cut sphere of
luminosity. Taken in this sense,
energy is described by shamans as a vibration that agglutinates itself
into cohesive units. Shamans
describe the entire universe as being composed of energy configurations
that appear to the seeing
eye as filaments, or luminous fibers that are strung in every which way
without ever being
entangled. This is an incomprehensible proposition for the linear mind.
It has a built-in
contradiction that can't be resolved: How could those fibers extend
themselves every which way and
yet not be entangled?
Don Juan emphasized the point that shamans were able only to describe
events, and that if their
terms of description seemed inadequate and contradictory, it was
because of the limitations of
syntax. Yet their descriptions were as strict as anything could be. The
shamans of ancient Mexico,
according to don Juan, described intent as a perennial force that
permeates the entire universe - a
force that is aware of itself to the point of responding to the
beckoning or to the command of
shamans. By means of intent, those shamans were capable of unleashing
not only all the human
possibilities of perceiving, but all the human possibilities of action.
Through intent, they
realized the most far-fetched formulations.
Don Juan taught me, that the limit of man's capability of perceiving is
called the band of man,
meaning, that there is a boundary, that marks human capabilities as
dictated by the human organism.
These bound are not merely the traditional boundaries of orderly
thought, but the boundaries of the
totality of resources locked within the human organism. Don Juan
believed, that these resources are
never used, but are kept dominated by preconceived (form opinion
beforehand) ideas about human
limitations, limitations that
have nothing to do with actual human potential. Don Juan stated, as
categorically as he was able
to, that since perceiving energy as it flows in the universe is not
arbitrary or idiosyncratic,
Seers witness formulations of energy that happen by themselves and are
not molded by human
interference. Thus, the perception of such formulations is, in itself
and by itself, the key that
releases the locked-in human potential that ordinarily has never
entered into play. In order to
elicit the perception of those energetic formulations, the totality of
human capabilities to
perceive has to be engaged.
The Series for Preparing Intent
is divided into four
groups.
The first is called Mashing
Energy for Intent.
The second is called Stirring Up
Energy for
Intent.
The third group is called
Gathering Energy for
Intent
The fourth group is called
Breathing In the Energy of Intent.
The
First Group: Mashing Energy for Intent
p.40
Don Juan gave me
explanations which covered all the nuances
of every group of magical passes, which are the core of the long
Tensegrity Series.
"Energy which is essential for handling intent," he said when he was
explaining to me the energetic
implications of this group, "is continuously dispelled from the vital
centers located around the
liver, pancreas, and kidneys, and settles down at the bottom of the
luminous sphere that we are.
This energy needs to be constantly stirred and rerouted. The sorcerers
of my lineage were very
emphatic in recommending a systematic and controlled stirring of energy
with the legs and
feet. For them, long walks, which were an unavoidable feature
of their lives, resulted in an excessive
stirring of energy which did not serve any purpose. Long walks were
their nemesis for this reason,
and the inflow of excessive energy had to be balanced by the execution
of specific magical passes
performed while they were walking."
Don Juan Matus told me that this set, which consists of fifteen magical
passes whose function is to
stir energy with the feet and legs, was considered by the shamans of
his lineage to be the most
effective way of doing what they called mashing energy. He stated that
each of the steps is a
magical pass which has a built-in control for the mashing of energy,
and that practitioners can
repeat these magical passes hundreds of times, if they so desire,
without worrying about an
excessive stirring of energy. In don Juan's view, energy for intending
that was stirred up
excessively ended up further depleting the centers of vitality.
1. Grinding Energy with the
Feet

The body pivots on
the balls of the feet from left to right
and right to left in unison for a moment in order to gain balance. Then
the weight of the body is
shifted to the heels, and the pivoting is done on them from then on,
with the toes slightly off the
ground while swiveling, and touching the ground when the feet reach the
maximum slant. The arms are
kept bent at the elbows with the hands pointing out, palms facing each
other. The arms move with an
impulse from the shoulders and the shoulder blades. This movement of
the arms in unison with the
legs, as in walking (the right arm moves when the left leg moves, and
vice versa), accounts for a
total engagement of the limbs and the internal organs (figs. 20, 21). A
physical by-product of
grinding energy in this fashion is an increase in circulation in the
feet, calves, and thighs up to
the groin area. Shamans throughout the centuries have also used it to
restore flexibility to limbs,
that were injured in daily use.
2. Grinding Energy with Three
Slides of the Feet
The feet are swiveled on the heels, in the same manner as in the
previous magical pass, three
times. There is a pause that lasts an instant and then they are
swiveled three times again. It is
important to notice that in all the first three magical passes of this
series, the key issue is the
engagement of the arms, which move back and forth briskly. Making the
grinding of energy a
discontinuous affair increases its effect. A physical by-product of
this magical pass is a quick
surge of energy for instances of running or fleeing danger, or for
anything that requires a quick
intervention.
3. Grinding Energy by a Sideways
Slide of the Feet
Both feet, pivoting on the heels, move to the left; they pivot on the
balls of the feet to the left
again. Next, they pivot a third time, still to the left, but on the
heels again (figs. 22, 23, 24).
The sequence is reversed by pivoting on the heels to the right; next,
on the balls of the feet to
the right; and then on the heels again, to the right. A physical
consequence of these three magical
passes is the spurring of the circulation in the total body.
4.
Mixing Energy by Striking the Floor
with the Heels
This magical pass resembles walking in place. The knee moves up briskly
while the tip of the foot
rests on the ground. The weight of the body is carried by the other
leg. The body weight shifts
back and forth, resting on whichever leg stays put, while the other one
performs the movement. The
arms are moved in the same fashion as in the previous magical pass
(fig. 25). A physical
consequence of this magical pass and the following one is very much
like that of the three
preceding magical passes: a sensation of well-being that permeates the
pelvic region after
performing the movements.
5.
Mixing Energy by Striking the Ground
with the Heels Three
Times
This magical pass is exactly like the preceding one, with the exception
that the movement of the
knees and feet is not continuous. It is interrupted after the heels are
brought to the ground three
times, in an alternating fashion. The sequence is left, right, left -
pause - right, left, right,
and so on. The first five magical passes of this group allow
practitioners a quick surge of energy,
in cases when energy is needed in the midsection or the groin, or, for
instance, when they need to
perform a long-distance run or a quick climbing of rocks or trees.
6. Gathering Energy with the
Soles of the Feet and Moving It Up the Inner
Legs
The soles of the left and the right foot move alternately up the inner
part of the opposite leg,
almost brushing it. It is important to arch the legs a little bit by
standing with the knees bent
(fig. 26).
In this magical pass, energy for intending is forced up the inner side
of the legs, which shamans
consider to be the storage place of kinesthetic memory. This magical
pass is used as an aid to
release the memory of movements, or to facilitate retaining the memory
of new ones.
7. Stirring Energy with the Knees
The knee of the left leg is bent and swung to the right as far as it
can reach, as if to give a
sideways kick with the knee, while the trunk and the arms arc gently
twisted as far as possible in
the opposite direction (fig. 27). The left leg is then brought back to
a standing position. The
same movement is performed with the right knee, alternating then back
and forth.
8. Pushing the Energy Stirred
with the Knees into the Trunk
This magical pass is the energetic continuation of the preceding one.
The left knee, bent to the
maximum, is pushed up as far as possible into the trunk. The trunk is
bent slightly forward. At the
moment the knee is pushed up, the tip of the foot points to the ground
(fig. 28). The same movement
is performed with the right leg, alternating then between the two legs.
Pointing the foot to the
ground ensures that the tendons of the ankles are tense, in order to
jolt minute centers there
where energy accumulates. Shamans consider those centers to be perhaps
the most important in the
lower limbs, so important that they could awaken the rest of the minute
energy centers in the body
through the performance of this magical pass. This magical pass and the
preceding one are executed
together for the purpose of projecting the energy for intending
gathered with the knees up into the
two centers of vitality around the liver and the pancreas.
9. Kicking Energy in Front and
in Back of the Body
A front kick of the left leg is followed by a hook kick to the back
with the right leg (figs. 29,
30). Then the order is reversed and a front kick is made with the right
leg, followed by a hook
kick to the back with the left leg. The arms are
kept to the sides, because this magical pass engages only the lower
limbs, giving them flexibility.
The aim is to lift the leg that kicks to the front as high as possible,
and the leg that kicks to
the back also as high as possible. When executing the back kick, the
trunk should bend slightly
forward to facilitate the movement. This slight bending forward of the
trunk is used as a natural
means of absorbing the energy stirred with the limbs. This magical pass
is performed to aid the
body when problems of digestion arise, due to a change in diet, or when
there is a need to travel
over great distances.
10.
Lifting Energy from the Soles of the
Feet
The left knee is bent acutely as it is lifted toward the trunk, as far
up as possible. The trunk is
bent slightly forward, almost touching the knee. The arms jut down,
making a vise that grabs the
sole of the foot (fig. 31). The ideal would be to grab the sole of the
foot in a very light
fashion, releasing it immediately. The foot comes down to the ground as
the arms and hands, with a
powerful jolt that engages the shoulders and pectoral muscles, lift up
along the sides of the legs
to the level of the pancreas and spleen (fig. 32). The same movements
are performed with the right
foot and arm, lifting the hands from the feet to the level of the liver
and gallbladder. The
movements are performed alternating between the two legs. As in the case of the
previous magical pass, bending the trunk forward
allows the energy from the soles of the feet to be transferred to the
two vital centers of energy
around the liver and the pancreas. This magical pass is used to aid the
attainment of flexibility,
and to relieve problems of digestion.
11. Pushing Down a Wall of Energy
The left foot, with the knee acutely bent, is lifted to the height of
the hips; then it pushes
forward with the- tip of the foot arched upward, as if pushing away a
solid object (fig. 33). As
soon as the foot is brought down, the right foot is lifted in the same
fashion and the movement is
repeated, alternating the feet.
12.
Stepping Over a Barrier of Energy
The left leg is nimbly lifted as if going over a hurdle which is
located edgewise in front of the
body. The leg makes a circle from left to right (fig. 34), and once the
foot lands, the other leg
is lifted to perform the same movement.
13. Kicking a Lateral Gate
This is a kick-push with the soles of the feet. The left leg is lifted
to mid-calf and the foot
pushes to the right of the body as if to hit a solid object, using the
total sole of the foot as a
striking surface (fig. 35). The foot is retrieved then to the left
side, and the same movement is
repeated with the right leg and foot.
14.
Cracking a Nugget of Energy
The left foot is lifted with the tip pointing acutely to the ground.
The knee protrudes straight
forward, deeply bent. Then the foot descends with a controlled motion,
striking toward the ground
as if it were cracking a nugget (fig. 36). Once the tip of the foot
strikes, the foot is returned
to its original standing position and the same movement is repeated
with the other leg and
foot.
15. Scraping Off the Mud of
Energy
The left foot is lifted a few inches above the ground; the entire leg
is brought forward and then
pushed backward sharply, with the foot lightly brushing the ground as
if it were scraping something
off the sole of the foot (fig. 37). The weight of the body is carried
by the opposite leg, and the
trunk leans a bit forward in order to engage the muscles of the stomach
as this magical pass is
executed. Once the left foot returns to its normal position, the same
movement is repeated with the
right foot and leg. Shamans call the last five magical passes of this
group Steps in Nature. They
are magical passes that practitioners can perform as they walk, or
conduct business, or even as
they are sitting, talking to people. Their function is gathering energy
with the feet and using it
with the legs for situations in which concentration and the quick use
of memory are required.
The
Second Group: Stirring Up Energy for Intent
The ten magical passes of the second group have to do with stirring up
energy for intending from
areas just below the knees, above the head, around the kidneys, the
liver and pancreas, the solar
plexus, and the neck. Each of these magical passes is a tool that stirs
up exclusively the energy
pertinent to intending, which is accumulated on those areas, Shamans
consider these magical passes
to be essential for daily living, because for them, life is ruled by
Intent. This set of magical
passes is perhaps for shamans what a cup of coffee is for modern man.
The slogan of 'in day, "I'm
not myself until I drink my cappuccino," or the slogan of a past
generation, "I'm not awake until I
drink my cup of Java," is rendered for them as
"I am not ready for anything until I have performed these magical
passes." The second group of this
series begins by the act, that has been termed turning the body on.
(See p.34 figs. 15, 16)
16. Stirring Up Energy with the
Feet and the Arms
After
the body has been
turned on, it is held in a slightly stooped-over position (fig. 38).
The
weight is placed on the right leg while the left leg makes a complete
circle, brushing the ground
with the tips of the toes, and landing on the ball of the foot, in
front of the body. The left arm,
in synchronization with the leg, makes a circle, the top of which goes
above the level of the head
(fig. 39). There is a slight pause of the leg and arm and they draw two
more circles in succession,
making a total of three (fig. 40). The rhythm of this magical pass is
given by counting one, slight
pause, one-one, then a very slight pause, two, pause, two-two, then a
very slight pause, and so on.
The same movement is performed with the right leg and arm. This magical
pass stirs energy at the
bottom of the luminous ball with the feet, and projects it with the
arms to the area just above the
head.
17. Rolling Energy on the
Adrenals
The
forearms are placed
behind the body, over the area of the kidneys and adrenals. The elbows
are
bent at a ninety-degree angle and the hands are held in fists, a few
inches away from the body,
without touching it. The fists move downward in a rotational fashion,
one on top of the other,
beginning with the left fist moving downward; the right fist follows,
moving downward as the left
fist moves back up. The trunk leans slightly forward (fig. 41). Then
the movement is reversed, and
the fists roll in the opposite direction as the trunk leans slightly
backward (fig. 42). Leaning
the body forward and backward in this fashion engages the muscles of
the upper arms and the
shoulders. This magical pass is used to supply the energy of intending
to the adrenals and kidneys.
18. Stirring up Energy for the
Adrenals
The trunk is bent forward, with the knees protruding beyond the line of
the toes. The hands rest
above the kneecaps, the fingers draping over them. The left hand then
rotates to the right over the
kneecap, making the elbow protrude as far forward as possible in
alignment with the left knee (fig.
43). At the same time, the right forearm, with the hand still above the
kneecap, rests us full
length over the right thigh, while the right knee is straightened
engaging the hamstring. It is important to move only the knees, and not
to swing the rear end from side to side.
The same movements
are performed with the right arm and leg (fig. 44). This magical pass
is
employed for stirring up the energy of intending around the kidneys and
adrenals. It brings the
practitioner long-range endurance and a sensation of daring and
self-confidence.
19. Fusing Left and Right Energy
A deep inhalation is taken. A very slow exhalation begins as the left
forearm is brought in front
of the shoulders, with the elbow bent at a ninety-degree angle. The
wrist is bent backward as
acutely as possible, with the fingers pointing forward, and the palm of
the hand facing to the
right (fig. 45). While the arm maintains this position, the trunk is
bent forward sharply until the protruding left
arm reaches the level of the knees. The left elbow must be kept from
sagging toward the floor, and
must be maintained away from the knees, and as far forward as possible.
The slow exhalation
continues, as the right arm makes a full circle over the head and the
right hand comes to rest an
inch or two away from the fingers of the left hand. The palm of the
right hand faces the body and
the fingers point toward the floor. The head is facing downward, with
the neck held straight. The
exhalation ends, and a deep breath is taken in that position. All the
muscles of the back and the
arms and legs are contracted as the air is slowly and deeply inhaled
(fig. 46).
The
body straightens up as an exhalation is made, and the complete magical
pass is started again
with the right arm. The maximum stretch of the arms forward permits the
creation of an opening in
the energetic vortex of the center of the kidneys and adrenals; such an
opening allows the optimal
utilization of redeployed energy. This magical pass is essential for
the redeployment of energy to
that center, which accounts, in general terms, for an overall vitality
and youth of the body.
20. Piercing the Body with a
Beam of Energy
The left arm is placed against the body in front of the navel, and the
right arm just behind the
body at the same level. The wrists are bent sharply, and the fingers
point to the floor. The palm
of the left hand faces right, and the palm of the right hand faces left
(fig. 47). The fingertips
of both hands are raised briskly to point in a straight line forward
and backward. The whole body
is tensed and the knees are bent at the instant that the fingers point
forward and backward (fig.
48). The hands are kept in that position for a moment. Then the muscles
are relaxed, the legs are
straightened, and the arms are swiveled around until the right arm is
in front and the left behind.
As at the beginning of this magical pass, the fingertips point to the
floor, and are raised again
briskly to point in a straight line forward and backward, again with a
light exhalation; the knees
are bent. By means of this magical pass, a dividing line is established
in the middle of the body,
which separates left energy and right energy.
21. Twisting Energy Over Two Centers of
Vitality
It's a good idea to begin by placing the hands facing each other, as a
device to keep the hands in
line. The fingers are kept open and clawed, as if to grab the lid of a
jar the size of the hand.
Then the right hand is placed over the area of the pancreas and spleen,
facing the body. The left
hand is placed behind the body, over the area of the left kidney and
adrenal, also with the palm
facing the body. Both wrists are then bent backward sharply, as the
trunk turns as far to the left
as possible, keeping the knees in place. Next, both hands pivot at the
wrists in unison, in a
side-to-side movement, as if to unscrew the lids of two jars, one on
the pancreas and spleen, and
the other on the left kidney (fig. 49).
The same movement is executed by reversing the order, putting the left
hand in the front, at the
level of the liver and gallbladder and the right arm in the back at the
level of the right
kidney.
With the aid of this magical pass, energy is stirred on the three main
centers of vitality: the
liver and gallbladder, the pancreas and spleen, and the kidneys and
adrenals. It is an
indispensable magical pass for those who have to be on the lookout. It
facilitates an all-around
awareness and it increases the practitioners' sensibility to their
surroundings.
22. The Half-Circle of Energy
A half-circle is drawn with the left hand, commencing in front of the
face. The hand moves slightly
to the right until it reaches the level of the right shoulder (fig.
50). There the hand turns and
draws the inner edge of a half-circle close to the left side of the
body (fig. 51). The hand turns
again in the back (fig. 52) and draws the outer edge of the
half-circle, then returns to its
initial position (fig. 53). The complete half-circle is slanted from
the level of the eyes, in
front, to a level below the rear end, in the back. It is important to
follow the movement of the
hand with the eyes. Once the half-circle drawn with the left arm is
completed, another one is drawn
with the right arm, surrounding the body in this fashion with two
half-circles. These two
half-circles are drawn to stir energy and to facilitate the sliding of
energy from above the head
to the region of the adrenals. This magical pass is a vehicle for
acquiring intense, sustained
sobriety.
23.
Stirring Energy Around the Neck
The left hand, with the palm facing upward, and the right hand, with
the palm facing downward, are
placed in front of the body, at the level of the solar plexus. The
right hand is on top of the
left, nearly touching it. The elbows are bent sharply. A deep breath is
taken; the arms are raised
slightly as the trunk is made to rotate as far to the left as possible
without moving the legs,
especially the knees, which are slightly bent in order to avoid any
unnecessary stress on the
tendons. The head is kept in alignment with the trunk and shoulders. An
exhalation begins as the
elbows are then gently pulled away from each other to a maximum
stretch, keeping the wrists
straight (fig. 54). An inhalation is taken. An exhalation begins when
the head is turned very
gently to the back to face the left elbow, and then to the front to
face the right elbow; the
rotation of the head back and forth is repeated two more times as the
exhalation ends. The trunk is
turned to the front, and the hands reverse position there. The right
hand is made to face upward
while the left hand is made to face downward, on top of the right one.
An inhalation is taken
again. The trunk is then turned to the right, and the same movements
are repeated on the right.
Shamans believe that a special type of energy for intending is
dispersed from the center for
decisions, located in the hollow V spot at the base of the neck, and
that this energy is
exclusively gathered with this magical pass.
24.
Kneading Energy with a Push of the Shoulder Blades
Both arms are placed in front of the face, at the level of the eyes,
with the elbows bent enough to
give the arms a bowlike appearance (fig. 55). The trunk is bent forward
slightly, in order to allow
the shoulder blades to expand laterally. The movement begins by pushing
the left arm forward while
it is kept arched and tense (fig. 56). The right arm follows; and the
arms move in an alternating
fashion. It is important to note that the arms are kept extremely
tense. The palms of the hands
face forward and the fingertips face each other. The driving force of
the arms is created by the
deep movement of the shoulder blades and the tenseness of the stomach
muscles. Shamans believe that
energy on the ganglia around the shoulder blades gets easily stuck and
becomes stagnant, bringing
about the decay of the center for decisions, located on the V spot at
the base of the neck. This
magical pass is employed to stir that energy.
25.
Stirring Energy Above the Head and
Cracking It
The left arm moves in a relaxed fashion, making two and a half circles
above and around the head
(fig. 57). Those circles are then cracked with the outer edge of the
forearm and the hand, which
comes down forcefully, but very slowly (fig. 58). The impact is
absorbed by the stomach muscles,
which are tensed at that moment. The muscles of the arm are kept fight,
in order to avoid injuries
to the tendons which could occur if the muscles of the arm were loose,
or if the arm were whipped.
Air is exhaled lightly as the arm strikes downward. The same movement
is repeated with the right
arm. The energy stirred and cracked in this fashion is allowed to seep
downward over the entire
body. When practitioners are overtired, and can't afford to go to
sleep, executing this magical
pass dispels sleepiness and brings forth a sensation of temporary
alertness.
The
Third Group: Gathering Energy for Intent
The nine magical
passes of the third group are employed to
bring to the three centers of vitality around the liver, the pancreas,
and the kidneys the
specialized energy which has been stirred up by the magical passes of
the previous group.
The magical passes of this group must be performed slowly and with
ultimate deliberation. Shamans
recommend that the state of mind on executing these passes be one of
total silence and the
unwavering intent to gather the energy necessary for intending. All of
the magical passes of the
third group begin with a fast shake of the hands, which are held at the
sides of the body, with the
arms hanging at a normal position. The hands shake as if the fingers
were vibrating downward, taken
by a tremor. A vibration of this nature was thought to be the means to
stir energy around the hips
and also the means to stimulate minute centers of energy where energy
could get stagnant on the
backs of the hands and the wrists. The overall effect of the first
three magical passes of this
group is one of general vitality and well-being, since energy is
carried to the three main vital
centers in the lower part of the body.
26. Reaching for Energy Stirred
Below the Knees
A small jump forward is made with the left leg, which is propelled by
the right one. The trunk is
bent markedly forward, and the left arm is stretched out to grab
something that is almost at the
floor level (fig. 59). The left leg is then retrieved to a standing
position, and the left palm
brushes immediately over the vital center of energy on the right: the
liver and gallbladder. The
same movement is repeated with the right leg and arm, brushing the palm
over the vital center on
the left: the pancreas and spleen.
27. Transporting Front Energy to
the Adrenals
A deep inhalation is taken while the hands shake. Then the left arm
shoots straight in front of the
body ;it the level of the shoulders with the palm of the hand turned
toward the left, as all the
air is sharply exhaled (fig. 60). Next, a very slow inhalation begins
while the wrist rotates from
left to right, making a complete circle, as if scooping a ball of solid
matter (fig. 61). Then the
inhalation continues while the wrist rotates hack again to its initial
position with the palm
facing to the left. Next, us if carrying the ball, the left arm makes a
semi-circle, keeping the
same shoulder level; this movement ends when the back of the bent wrist
is placed over the left
kidney. It is important that the continuous inhalation be made to last
for the duration of the
swinging of the arm from front to back. As this swinging movement is
executed, the right arm makes
a circular movement to the front of the body, ending when the hack of
the bent wrist is brought to
touch the area just above the pubis. The head is turned to the left to
face the back (fig. 62).
Next, the left hand, which is holding the ball, turns to face the body
and smashes the Kill against
the left kidney and adrenal. The palm is then gently rubbed over that
area as an exhalation is
made. The same movement is executed by reversing the arms and turning
the head to the right.
28. Scooping Energy from the Left and
the Right
The arms are moved to the sides of the body and then raised with the
hands curled inward toward the
body, brushing upward against the torso to reach the armpits, as a deep
inhalation is taken (fig.
63). Next, the arms are extended laterally, with the palms down, as the
air is exhaled forcefully.
A deep inhalation is taken then as the hands are cupped and made to
rotate on the wrists until the
palms face up, as if scooping something solid (fig. 64). Next, the
hands are brought back to the
shoulder level by bending the elbows sharply as the inhalation
continues (fig. 65). This movement
engages the shoulder blades and the muscles of the neck. After holding
this position for a moment,
the arms are extended laterally again, with a sharp exhalation. The
palms face front. The palms of
the hands are cupped and made to rotate backward, again as if scooping
a solid substance. The
slightly cupped hands are brought back to the shoulder level as before.
These movements are
repeated one more time, for a total of three. The palms then rub gently
over the two vital centers
around the liver and around the pancreas as the air is exhaled.
29.
Cracking the Circle of Energy
A circle is made by moving the left arm to the right shoulder (fig.
66), then close around the
front of the body to the back (fig. 67) and out again to in front of
the face (fig. 68). This
movement of the left arm is coordinated with the same movement done
with the right arm. Both arms
move in an alternate fashion, creating a slanted circle around the
total body. Then a backward step
to the left is taken with the right foot, followed by a step to the
right taken with the left foot,
so as to turn around to face the opposite direction. The left arm is
arched then around the left
side of the circle, as if the circle were a solid object movement which
the left arm presses
against the armpit and chest area. The right arm then performs the same
on the right side, treating the circle as if it were a solid object
(fig. 69). A deep breath
is taken, and the circle is cracked from both sides by tensing the
whole body, especially the arms,
which are brought together to the chest. The palms then rub gently on
the respective centers of
vitality on the front of the body as the air is exhaled. The uses of
this pass are quite esoteric,
because they have to do with the clarity of intent needed for decision
making. This magical pass is
used for spreading the energy of decisions accumulated around the
neck.
30.
Gathering Energy from the Front of the Body, Right Above the
Head
A deep inhalation is taken as the hands shake. Both arms are brought to
level of the face with
clenched fists, crossed in an X, with the left arm closer to the face,
and the inside of the fisted
palms toward the face. The arms are then extended a few inches to the
front as the wrists are made
to rotate on each other until the fisted palms are facing down (fig.
70) From this position, the
left shoulder and shoulder blade are extended forward, an exhalation
begins. The left shoulder is
pulled back as the right one comes forward. Next, the crossed arms are
lifted above the head and
the exhalation ends. A slow, deep inhalation is taken as the crossed
arms make a complete circle,
moving to the right around the front of the body, almost to the level
of the knees, then to the
left, and back to their initial position, right above the head (fig.
71). Then the arms are
forcefully separated as a long exhalation begins (fig. it). From there,
the arms move as far back
as possible, as the exhalation continues, drawing a circle which is
completed when the fists are
brought to the front to the level of the eyes, with the inside of the
fisted palms toward the face
(fig. 73). Then the arms are crossed again. The wrists pivot on each
other as the hands are opened
and are placed against the body, the right hand on the area of the
pancreas and spleen, and the
left hand on the area of the liver and gallbladder. The body bends
forward at the waist, at a
ninety-degree angle, as the exhalation ends (fig. 74). The use of this
magical pass is twofold:
First, it stirs energy around the shoulder blades and transports it to
a place above the head. From
there, it makes the energy circulate in a broad circle that touches the
edges of the luminous
sphere. Second, it mixes the energy of the left and the right by
placing it on the two centers of
vitality around the pancreas and the liver, with each hand on the
opposite center.
Mixing
energy in such a
fashion provides a jolt of great magnitude to the respective centers of
vitality. As the
practitioners became more proficient in their practice, the jolt
becomes more acute, and acquires
the quality of a filter of energy, which is an incomprehensible
statement, until this pass is
practiced. The sensation that accompanies it could be described as
breathing mentholated
air.
31.
Stirring and Grabbing Energy from
Below the Knees and Above the
Head
An inhalation is taken as the hands shake. Both hands are brought up by
the sides of the body to
the level of the waist, and held relaxed. The knees are bent as the
left hand
is pushed downward with the wrist turned so that the palm faces
outward, away from the body, as if
it were reaching into a bucket full of liquid substance. This movement
is performed at the same
time that the right hand shoots up above the head with equal force; the
right wrist is also turned
so that the palm faces outward, away from the body (fig. 75). A slow
exhalation begins when both
arms reach their maximum extension. The wrists are returned with great
force to a straight position
at the same time that the hands clasp into fists, as if grabbing
something solid. Keeping the fists
clenched, the exhalation continues while the right arm is brought down
and the left arm is brought
up to the level of the waist, slowly and with great strength, as if
wading through a heavy liquid
(fig. 76). Then the palms rub gently on the areas of the liver and
gallbladder and the pancreas and
spleen. The knees are straightened and the exhalation ends at this
point (fig. 77). The same
movement is executed by shifting the arms; the right arm plunges
downward while the left arm pushes
upward.
The
energy for intending that is extracted from below the knees and above
the head in this magical
pass can also be rubbed on the areas of the left and right kidneys.
32. Mixing Energy of the Left
and the Right
An inhalation is taken as the hands shake. The left arm reaches
diagonally to the extreme right
above the head and in line with the right shoulder as an exhalation
begins (fig. 78). The hand
grabs as if clasping a handful of matter, yanks it out, and brings it
to a position above the head
and in line with the left shoulder, where the exhalation ends. The left
hand remains clasped, and a
sharp inhalation is taken as the left arm circles backward (fig. 79),
ending in a fisted position
at the level of the eyes. The fist is then brought down with an
exhalation to the vital center
around the pancreas, slowly, but with great force, and the palm rubs
softly on that area (fig. 80).
The same movement is repeated with the right arm, but instead of moving
in a backward circle, the
right arm moves in a frontward circle. In the belief of shamans, the
energy of the two sides of the
body is different. The energy of the left is portrayed as being
undular, and the energy of the
right as being circular. This magical pass is used to apply
circular energy to the left and undular energy to the right in
order to strengthen the centers of vitality around the liver and
pancreas by the inflow of slightly
different energy.

33.
Grabbing Energy from Above the Head
for the Two Vital
Centers
Starting at the level of the ear, the left arm circles forward twice
(figs. 81, 82) and is then
extended over the head, as if to grab something. As this movement is
executed, a deep breath is
taken, winch ends at the moment that the hand grabs upward as if to
fetch something above the head.
Don Juan recommended that the eyes select, with a quick glance upward,
the target for the hand to
grab. Whatever is selected and grabbed is then yanked forcefully
downward and placed over the vital
center around the pancreas and spleen. The air is exhaled at this
point. The same movement is
performed with the right arm, and the energy is placed over the center
around the liver and
gallbladder. According to shamans, the energy of intent tends to
gravitate downward, and a more
rarefied aspect of the same energy remains in the area above the head.
This energy is gathered with
this magical pass.
34. Reaching for Energy Above the Head
The left arm is extended upward as far as possible, with the hand open
as if to grab something. At
the same time, the body is propelled upward with the right leg. When
the jump reaches its maximum
height, the hand turns inward at the wrist, making a hook with the
forearm (fig. 83), which then
slowly and forcefully scoops downward. The left hand rubs immediately
around the vital center of
the pancreas and spleen. This movement is performed with the right arm
in exactly the same fashion
as it was done with the left. The right hand immediately brushes across
the vital center around the
liver and gallbladder. Shamans believe, that the energy stored around
the periphery of the luminous
sphere that human beings are can be stirred and gathered by jumping
forcefully upward. This magical
pass is used as a help to dispel problems brought about by
concentrating on a given task for long
periods of time.
The
Fourth Group: Breathing In the Energy of Intent
The three magical
passes of this group are for stirring,
gathering, and transporting energy for intent from three centers -
around the feet, on the ankles,
and right below the kneecaps - and placing it on the centers of
vitality around the kidneys, the
liver, the pancreas, the womb, and the genitals. The recommendation to
practitioners on the
execution of these magical passes is that since they are accompanied by
breaths, the inhalations
and exhalations should be slow and profound; and that there should be a
crystal clear intent on the
part of the practitioners that the adrenals receive an instantaneous
boost while the deep breaths
are taken.
35. Dragging Energy from the
Kneecaps Along the Front of the
Thighs
A deep inhalation is taken as the arms hang by the sides and the hands
waver in a continuous
tremor, as if stirring a gaseous matter. An exhalation begins as the
hands are lifted to the waist,
and the palms of the hands strike down in unison, on each side of the
body, with great force (fig.
84). The arms are only slightly bent, so that the palms of the hands
are a few inches below the
stomach. The hands are three or four inches apart, held at
ninety-degree angles with the forearms,
the fingers pointing forward. Slowly and without touching, the hands
make one circle inward toward
the front of the body; the muscles of the arms, stomach, and legs are
fully contracted (fig. 85). A
second circle is drawn in the same fashion as the air is totally
expelled through clenched teeth.
Another deep inhalation is taken, and the air is slowly exhaled as
three more inward circles are
drawn in front of the body. The hands are then retrieved to the front
of the hips, and they slide
down the front of die thighs with the heels of the palms, fingers
slightly turned up, all the way
to the kneecaps. The air is fully exhaled then. A third deep inhalation
is taken while the tips of
the fingers press the bottom of the kneecaps. The head is held facing
downward, in line with the
spine (fig. 86). Then, as the bent knees are straightened, the hands,
with the fingers clawed, are
dragged up the thighs to the hips, as the air is slowly exhaled. With
the last portion of the
exhalation, the hands are then brushed on the respective centers of
vitality around the pancreas
and the liver.
36. Dragging Energy from the Sides of
the Legs
A deep inhalation is taken as the hands, held by the sides of the body,
shake with a continuous
tremor. The hands strike down exactly as in the previous magical pass.
An exhalation begins there,
while the hands draw, in a similar fashion, two small outward circles
by the sides of the body. The
muscles of the arms, stomach, and legs are tensed to the maximum. The
elbows are held fight but
slightly bent (fig. 87). After the two circles have been drawn, all the
air is expelled, and a deep
inhalation is taken. Three more outward circles are drawn as the air is
slowly exhaled. The hands
are then brought to the sides of the hips. The fingers are slightly
raised as the heels of the
hands rub all the way down the sides of the legs until the fingers
reach the outside knobs of the
ankles. The head is facing downward, in line with the body (fig. 88).
The exhalation ends there,
and a deep inhalation is taken with the index and middle fingers
pressing the bottom of the knobs
(fig. 89). A slow exhalation begins as the hands, with the
fingers clawed, are dragged up the sides of the
legs to the hips. The exhalation is completed while the palms are
brushed on the two respective
centers of vitality.
37. Dragging Energy from the Front of
the
Legs
Again, a deep inhalation is taken as the hands, held by the sides of
the body, are shaken. Both
arms make a circle by the sides of the body, beginning toward the back,
and going over the head
(fig. 90) to strike forcefully in front of the body with the palms down
and the fingers pointing
forward. A slow exhalation begins there, while the hands, starting with
the left, move forward and
backward three times in alternating succession, as if sliding over a
smooth surface. The exhalation
ends when the heels of both hands are touching the rib cage (fig. 91).
A deep inhalation is taken
then. The left hand moves in a sliding motion to the left followed by
the right hand sliding to the
right; this sequence is executed a total of three times in alternating
succession. They end with
the heels of the palms against the rib cage, the thumbs nearly touching
each other (fig. 92). Next, both hands are made to slide down the front
of the legs until they reach the tendons on the
front of the ankles (fig. 93). The exhalation ends there. A deep
inhalation is taken as the tendon
is tensed by lifting the big toe until the tendon seems to pop/up; the
index and middle fingers of
each hand vibrate the tendons by pressing on them (fig. 94). With the
fingers clawed, the hands are
dragged up the front of the legs to the hips as a slow exhalation
begins. The palms are gently
rubbed on the centers of vitality as the exhalation ends.
THE SECOND
SERIES
The Series for the Womb
71
According to don
Juan Matus, one of the most specific
interests of the shamans, who lived in Mexico in ancient times, was
what they
called the Liberation
of the Womb. He explained,
that the Liberation of
the Womb entailed the awakening of its
secondary functions, and that since the primary function of the Womb,
under normal circumstances,
was reproduction, those sorcerers were solely concerned with what they
considered to be its
secondary function: Evolution.
Evolution, in the case of the
Womb, was, for them, the awakening and full
exploitation of the Womb's capacity to process Direct Knowledge - that
is to say, the possibility
of apprehending sensory data and interpreting it directly, without the
aid of the processes of
interpretation, with which we are familiar.
For shamans, the moment in which
practitioners are transformed from
Beings, that are socialized to reproduce into Beings capable of
evolving, is the moment when they
become conscious of Seeing Energy as it flows in the Universe.
In the opinion of shamans,
Females can See Energy directly more readily,
than Males, because of the effect of their Wombs. It is also their
opinion, that under normal
conditions, regardless of the facility, that Women have, it is nearly
impossible for Women or for
Men to become deliberately conscious, that they can See Energy
directly. The reason for this
incapacity is something, which shamans consider to travesty: the fact,
that there is no one to
point out to human beings, that it is natural for them to See Energy
directly.
Shamans maintain, that Women,
because they have a womb, are so versatile,
so individualistic in their ability to see energy directly, that this
accomplishment, which should
be a triumph of the human spirit, is taken for granted. Women are never
conscious of their
ability. In
this respect, males are more proficient.
72
Since it is more difficult for them to See energy directly, when they
do accomplish this feat, they
don't take it for granted. Therefore male sorcerers were the ones, who
set up the parameters of
perceiving energy directly and the ones, who tried to describe the
phenomenon.
"The basic
premise of sorcery," don Juan said to me one day, "discovered by the
shamans of my lineage, who
lived in Mexico in ancient times is, that we are Perceivers. The
totality of the human body is an
instrument of Perception. However, the predominance of the visual in us
gives to Perception the
overall mood of the eyes. This mood, according to the old
Sorcerers, is merely the heritage of a
purely predatorial state.
The effort of the old Sorcerers,
which has lasted to our days, was geared toward placing themselves
beyond the Realm of the Predator's Eye. They conceived the Predator's
Eye to be visual par excellence, and
that the Realm beyond the Predator's Eye is the Realm of Pure
Perception, which is not visually
oriented."
On another occasion, he said,
that it was a bone of contention for the
sorcerers of ancient Mexico, that Women, who have the organic frame,
the Womb, that could
facilitate their entrance into the Realm of Pure Perception, have no
interest in using it. Those
shamans viewed it as a Woman's Paradox to have Endless Power at her
disposal and no interest
whatsoever in gaining access to it. However, don Juan had no doubt,
that this lack of desire to do
anything wasn't natural; it was learned (and mind manipulated, LM).
The aim of the Magical Passes for the Womb is to give the Female
practitioners of Tensegrity an inkling (hint), which has
to be more, than an intellectual titillation, of the possibility of
canceling out the effect of
this noxious socialization, that
renders Women indifferent.
Nevertheless, a warning is in order; don Juan Matus advised his Female
disciples to proceed with
great caution when practicing these Magical Passes. The
Magical Passes for the Womb are Passes, that foster (promote) the
Awakening of the secondary functions of the uterus and ovaries, and
those
secondary functions are the apprehension (understanding) of sensory
data and the interpretation of them.
Don Juan called the Womb the
Perceiving Box. He was as
convinced, as the other Sorcerers of his lineage, that the uterus
and ovaries, if they are pulled out of the reproductive cycle, can
become tools of Perception, and
become indeed the Epicenter of Evolution. He
considered, that the first step of
Evolution is the acceptance of the premise, that human beings are
Perceivers. It was not redundancy
on his part to insist ceaselessly, that this has to be done before
anything else.
73
"We already know, that we are Perceivers. What else can we be?" I would
say in protest every time
he insisted.
"Think about it!" he would reply every time I protested. "Perception
plays only a minute role in
our lives, and yet, the only thing we are for a fact is Perceivers. Human beings apprehend energy
at large and turn it into sensory data. Then they interpret these
sensory data into the World of
everyday life. This interpretation is what we call Perception.
The shamans of ancient Mexico, as
you already know," don Juan went on, "were convinced, that
interpretation took place on a Point of
intense brilliance, the assemblage point (better to name it Perception
Point or Sun Energy Point, it is both, LM), which they found
when they saw the human body as a conglomerate of Energy Fields, that
resembled a Sphere of Luminosity.
The advantage of Women is their
capacity to transfer the interpretation
function of the assemblage point to the Womb. The result of this
transfer function is something,
that cannot be talked about, not because it is something forbidden, but
because it is something
indescribable. The Womb," don Juan continued, "is veritably in a
chaotic state of turmoil, because
of this veiled capacity, that exists in remission from the moment of
birth, until death, but which
is never utilized.
This function of interpretation
never ceases to act and yet it has never
been raised to the level of full consciousness."
Don Juan's assurance was, that the shamans of ancient Mexico, by means of
their magical passes, had raised among their Female practitioners the
Interpretive Capacity of the
Womb to the level of Consciousness, and by doing this, they had
instituted an evolutionary change
among them; that is to say, they had turned the Womb from an organ of
reproduction into the Tool of
Evolution.
Evolution is defined in the world of modern man as the capacity of
different species to modify
themselves through the processes of natural selection or the
transmission of traits, until they can
successfully reproduce in their offspring the changes brought about in
themselves. The evolutionary
theory, that has lasted to our day, from the time it was formulated
over a hundred years ago, says,
that the origin and the perpetuation of a new species of animal or
plant is brought about by the
process of natural selection, which favors the survival of individuals,
whose characteristics
render them best adapted to their environment, and that the evolution
is brought about by the
interplay of three principles:
74
First, heredity, the conservative force, that transmits similar organic
forms from one generation
to another;
second, variation, the differences present in all forms of
life;
third, the struggle for existence, which determines which
variations confer advantages in a
given environment. This last principle gave rise to the phrase still in
current use: "the survival
of the fittest."
Evolution, as a theory, has
enormous loopholes; it leaves tremendous room
for doubt. It is at best an open-ended process, for which scientists
have created classificatory
schemes; they have created taxonomies ( to their hearts' content. But
the fact remains, that it is a
theory full of holes. What we know about
Evolution doesn't tell us what Evolution
is. Don Juan Matus
believed, that Evolution was the product of
Intending at a very profound level. In the case of
Sorcerers, that profound level was marked
by what he had called Inner Silence.
"For instance," he said, when he was explaining this phenomenon,
"Sorcerers are sure, that
dinosaurs flew, because they intended flying. But what is very
difficult to understand, much less
accept, is that wings are only one solution to flying, in this case,
the dinosaurs' solution.
Nevertheless, this solution is not the only one, that is possible. It's
the only one available to
us by imitation. Our airplanes are flying with wings imitating the
dinosaurs, perhaps, because
flying has never been intended again since the dinosaurs' time. Perhaps
wings were adopted, because
they were the easiest solution."
Don Juan was of the opinion, that if we were to intend it now, there is
no way of knowing what
other options for flying would be available besides wings. He insisted,
that because Intent is
Infinite, there was no logical way, in which the mind, following
processes of deduction or
induction, could calculate or determine what these options for flying
might be. The magical
passes of the Series for the Womb are extremely potent, and should be
practiced sparingly. In ancient times, men were
barred from executing them. In more
recent times, there has been a tendency among Sorcerers to render (make
available) these Magical Passes more
generic (general), and thus the possibility arose, that they could also
be of service to Men. This
possibility, however, is very delicate and requires careful handling,
great concentration, and
determination. The
Male practitioners of Tensegrity, who teach these Magical Passes, have
opted, because of their Potent Effect, to practice them by brushing the
energy, that they generate only lightly on the area of the genitals
themselves. This measure
has proven to be enough to provide a beneficial jolt without any
profound or deleterious
effects.
75
Don Juan explained, that the
Sorcerers of his lineage, at a given
moment, allowed Males to practice these Magical Passes, because of the
possibility, that the energy
engendered (generated) by them, would awaken the secondary function of
the Male sexual organs. He said, that
those Sorcerers considered, that the Secondary Function of the Male
sexual organs is not at all
similar to that of the Womb; no interpretation of sensory data can take
place, because the male
sexual organs hang outside of the cavity of the body.
Because of these particular
circumstances, their conclusion was, that the secondary function of the
male organs is something,
which they termed Evolutionary Support: a sort of springboard, that
catapults Men to perform
extraordinary feats of what Sorcerers of ancient Mexico called
Unbending Intent, or clear-headed
purpose and concentration.
The Series for the Womb is divided into four sections, which correspond
to the three Female
disciples of don Juan Matus: Taisha Abelar, Florinda Donner-Grau, and
Carol Figgs; and to the Blue
Scout, who was born into don Juan's World.
The first is composed of three magical passes belonging to Taisha
Abelar;
the second is composed of one magical pass directly related to Florinda
Donner-Grau;
the third, of three magical passes that have to do exclusively with
Carol Figgs;
the forth, of five magical passes, that belong to the Blue
Scout.
The magical passes of each section are pertinent to a specific type of
individual, Tensegrity has
rendered them capable of being utilized by anybody, although they are
still slanted in the
direction of the type of person, that each of those four women is.
The First Group : Magical Passes
Belonging to Taisha Abelar
The three magical
passes of this group are geared to
gathering energy for the womb from six specific areas: the left and
right front of the body, the
left and right sides of the body at the height of the hips, and from
behind the shoulder blades and
above the head. The explanation, that The shamans of ancient Mexico
gave was, that energy,
especially suited for the Womb, accumulates on those areas, and that
the movements of these magical
passes are the appropriate antennas, that gather that energy
exclusively.
p.76
1. Extracting Energy from the
Front of the Body with the Index and Middle
Fingers
The
first sensation, that a Tensegrity
practitioner seeks while executing this magical pass, is a pressure on
the tendons of the back of
the hand, a sensation which is obtained by opening the index and middle
fingers as far, as possible
while they are fully extended. The last two fingers are curled over the
palm of the hand, and the
thumb holds them in place (fig. 95).
The magical pass starts by placing the left foot in front of the body
in a T position,
perpendicular to the right one. The left arm and the left leg make a
series of synchronized forward
circling movements. The leg circles by first lifting the ball of the
foot, and then the whole foot,
and a step is taken, that rolls forward in the air and ends on the
heel, with the toes up, as the
body leans forward, creating pressure on a muscle on the front of the
left calf.
In synchronization with this movement, the left arm rotates forward
over the head, also making a
complete circle. The index and middle fingers are fully extended, and
the palm faces to the right.
The pressure on the tendons of the back of the hand has to be
maintained with maximum stress during
the entire movement (fig. 96). At the end of the third circling
movement of the arm and foot, the
entire foot is placed on the ground with a forceful stomp, shifting the
weight of the body forward.
At the same time, the arm shoots out in a stabbing motion, with the
index and middle fingers fully
extended and the palm of the hand facing right; the muscles of the
entire left side of the body are
kept tense and contracted (fig. 97).
An
undulating movement is made, as if drawing, with the two extended
fingers pointing forward, a
letter S that is lying on its side. The wrist is bent so that the
fingers point upward once the S
is completed (fig. 98). Next, the wrist bends so the fingers again
point forward and the S is cut
in half with a horizontal stroke of the two fingers from right to left.
Then the wrist is bent so
the two fingers point upward once more, and a sweeping movement is made
from left to right with the
palm turned toward the face. The palm of the hand is turned to face
outward, as the arm sweeps from
right to left. The left arm is retrieved to the level of the chest, and
two forward stabbing
motions are executed with the fingers fully extended and the palm of
the hand facing downward. The
palm of the hand is turned toward the face once more, and the hand
sweeps again from left to right
and from right to left, exactly as before.
The body leans back slightly, shifting the weight to the back leg. Then
the hand, with the two
fingers curved like a claw, reaches out at waist level in front of the
body as if to grab
something, contracting the muscles and tendons of the forearm and hand
as if forcefully extracting
some heavy substance (fig. 99). The clawed hand is retrieved to the
side of the body. All the
fingers of the hand are then fully extended, with the thumb locked and
the fingers separated at the
middle and fourth fingers, making a letter V, which is brushed over the
womb, or over the sexual
organs, in the case of men (fig. 100). A quick jump is made to shift
legs, so that the right foot
is in front of the left one, again making a T. The same movements are
repeated with the right arm
and leg.
2.
Jumping to Stir Energy for the Womb
and
Grabbing It with the Hand
This magical pass begins by placing the right foot perpendicular to the
left one in a T position. A
tap is made with the right heel; this tap serves as an impulse for a
small hop of the right foot
which ends with the right toes pointing forward, followed immediately
by a one-step lateral hop of
the left foot that ends with the left heel on the ground, perpendicular
to the right foot. The rest
of the left foot touches the ground, shifting the weight to the left
leg, as the left arm moves in
a grabbing motion to clasp something in front of the body with a clawed
hand (fig. 101). The hand
then rubs gently on the area of the left ovary. A tap of the left heel
serves as an impulse for a
sequence of movements that is a mirror image of the preceding ones.
Energy stirred up by the motion
of the feet in this magical pass bounces upward, is caught with each
hand in rum, and is placed
over the uterus and the left and the right ovaries.
3.
Slapping Energy on
the Ovaries
The third magical pass begins by circling the left arm over the head,
to the back, in toward the
shoulder blades, and out again to the front until it reaches the level
of the chin; the palm faces
up. The hand draws another circle that goes up and over toward the
right; it continues downward,
all the way to the right waist and then sweeps upward over the head,
completing the figure of a
number eight. The palm flips to face the front (fig. 102). Then the
hand descends forcefully, as if
slapping the area just in front of the left ovary (fig. 103). The hand
then brushes gently on the
area of the left ovary. The same pattern is repeated with the right arm.
The
Second Group: A Magical Pass Directly Related to Florinda
Donner-Grau
In this group, there is only one magical pass. The effect of this
magical pass is utterly congruous
with the personality of Florinda Donner-Grau. Don Juan Matus regarded
her as being very
straightforward, so to-the-point that sometimes her directness became
unbearable. Her activities in
the sorcerers' world, as a consequence of her directness, have always
been geared toward the goal
of evolution, or the transformation of the womb from a receptacle and
promoter of fertility to an
organ of awareness, through which thoughts which are not part of our
normal cognition can be
processed.
4. Sphinx Paws
This magical pass begins with a quick, deep inhalation. The air is
sharply exhaled with a forceful
strike of the wrists to the front of the body. This is achieved with
the hands turned downward
sharply, at right angles to the forearms; the fingers point to the
ground, and the striking surface
is the backs of the hands at the wrists.
The hands are pulled upward to the level of the shoulders, the palms
facing forward, in a straight
line with the forearms. A deep inhalation is taken. The hands are held
in this position as the
trunk turns to the left. The hands then strike, with the palms down, to
the level of the hips (fig.
104). The air is exhaled sharply. The hands are raised above the
shoulders again as the trunk turns
to the front, and a deep inhalation is taken. With the hands still
above the shoulders, the trunk
is turned to the right. Next both hands strike, with the palms down, to
the level of the hips as
the air is exhaled.
Both hands move then to the right of the body, with the palms slightly
cupped and turned to the
left, as if to scoop a liquid substance. Both arms move from right to
left to right, drawing the
figure of a reclining number eight in front of the body. This is
achieved by first moving the arms
all the way to the left, following a twist of the waist, and then
returning back to the right,
following a reverse twist of the waist. The slightly cupped palms are
turned to face the right, as
if to continue scooping a liquid substance in the opposite direction
(fig. 105).
As the figure eight is completed, the left hand stops to rest on the
left hip, while the right arm
continues moving to the right; the arm goes up over the head and makes
a big loop to the back that
ends when the hand is brought back to the front, to the level of the
chin; the palm of the hand
faces up. The hand continues moving, making another loop to the left,
going in front of the face,
over the left shoulder. Next it moves in a straight line across the
body at the level of the hip,
cutting through the figure eight (fig. 106). From there, the palm moves
back toward the body and is
made to slide over the right ovary, as if the hand were a knife that
comes to rest in its sheath.
The exact same movements are performed, but striking to the right side
of the body first, in order
to allow the left arm to execute the last movement.
The
Third Group: Magical Passes That Have to Do Exclusively with Carol
Tiggs
The three magical passes of the third group deal with the energy that
is directly on the area of
the womb. This emphasis makes these three magical passes
extraordinarily potent. Moderation is
strongly recommended in order to bring the sensations of awakening the
womb to a manageable level.
In this fashion the linear-minded interpretation of these sensations as
premenstrual pangs or
heaviness on the ovaries can be avoided.
Don Juan Matus told his three female disciples that the secondary
functions of the womb, upon being
awakened by the appropriate magical passes, give the sensorial input of
discomfort, but that what
takes place at an energetic level is the influx of energy into the
vortex of the womb. Energy which
has, up to this point, remained unused and on the periphery of the
luminous sphere is suddenly
dropped into that vortex.
5.
Packing Energy on the Womb
The first magical pass begins by bringing the two hands to the area of
the womb. The wrists are
bent sharply, and the hands are cupped, the fingers pointing to the
womb. The two hands are
extended so that the tips of the fingers point toward each other. Then
they make an ample circle,
first going upward and out, and then down, with both hands together,
ending right over the womb
(fig. 107). Next, the hands separate to the width of the body (fig.
108), and are brought
forcefully toward the center of the womb as if a thick ball were being
squashed. The same movement
is repeated, and the hands are brought closer together, as if the ball
were being further squashed.
Then it is torn apart by a powerful movement of the hands, which grab
and rip (fig. 109). The hands
are then brushed over the area of the uterus and the ovaries.
6.
Stirring and Guiding Energy Directly into
the Womb
This magical
pass begins
with an
exhalation as the arms are stretched out in front of the body, with the
backs of the hands
touching. A deep breath is taken as the arms move laterally away from
each other, drawing
half-circles which end with the forearms touching in front of the body
at the level of the chest,
and the arms extended forward with the elbows slightly bent. The palms
face up. Then the trunk
bends forward slightly as the forearms move backward so that the elbows
are moored on the solar
plexus with the forearms still touching, side by side (fig. 110). Next,
a slow exhalation begins,
which must last through the following movements: The back side of the
left wrist is placed on top
of the inner side of the right wrist, maneuvering the arms to make the
figure of the letter X; the
wrists rotate so that the palms circle in toward the body, and then
back out to face front, without
losing the X shape of the wrists; the left hand ends up on top of the
right one (fig. 111). The
hands are made into fists and separated vigorously (fig. 112), and then
brought to the area of the
left and right ovaries as the exhalation ends.
7. Squeezing Out Injurious Energy from the Ovaries
The left hand is held in front of the body with the palm up.
The elbow
is bent at a right angle and
tucked against the rib cage. The index and middle fingers of the left
hand are extended while the
thumb holds the other two fingers against the palm. The two extended
fingers of the left hand are
grabbed from underneath by the right hand, and squeezed as if drawing
something from the base of
the two extended fingers of the left hand and making it move to the
tips (fig. 113). Then the right
hand shakes vigorously whatever it drew from those two fingers with a
backhanded, downward striking
motion on the right side of the body. The left thumb releases the other
two fingers, and the hand
is held in a letter V shape, with the index and middle fingers
together, and the fourth and fifth
fingers together. The palm of the hand is lightly brushed over the area
of the left ovary. The same
movements are repeated with the right hand.
For the second part of this magical pass, the trunk is bent sharply
for, ward. The left arm hangs
in between the legs, the elbow cushioned against the umbilical region.
Exactly the same movements
performed in the first part of the magical pass are executed again,
except this time the two
extended fingers of the left hand are grabbed by the right hand from
above (figs. 114, 115). The
same movements are repeated on the right.

The
Fourth Group: Magical Passes That Belong to the Blue
Scout
The magical passes of this group are the natural conclusion
of the
whole series. An impersonal mood
is the driving force of this group of passes. The inhalations and
exhalations are sharp, but not
deep, and the movements are accompanied by an explosive hissing sound
of air being
expelled.
The value of the Blue Scout's magical passes resides in the capacity of
each of them to give the
womb the hardness that it requires in order to arrive at its secondary
functions, which can be
easily defined, in the case of the Blue Scout, as the ability to be
alert without pause. The
criticism of sorcerers about our normal state of being is that we seem
to be perennially on
automatic pilot; we say things that we don't mean to say, we ignore
things that we shouldn't
ignore. In other words, we are aware of what surrounds us only in very
short spurts. Most of the
time, we function on sheer momentum, habit, and that habit is, in
essence, to be oblivious to
everything. The idea of the sorcerers of ancient Mexico was that, in
women, the womb is the organ
that can resolve this impasse, and for that, it needs to acquire
hardness.
8.
Drawing Energy from the Front with
Insect
Antennas
The index and middle fingers are held by the sides of the chest in a
letter V position, while the
thumbs press the other two fingers against the palms; the palms are up
(fig. 116). Next, the palms
turn downward, and the two fingers strike out in front of the body, as
a sharp exhalation is made,
with clenched teeth and a hissing, whistlelike sound (fig. 117). A deep
inhalation is taken as the
hands are retrieved with the palms up to the sides of the chest. The
same movement is repeated one
more time, and the palms of the hands are brushed on the area of the
ovaries, with the fingers
separated between the middle and fourth fingers.

9. Drawing Energy from the Sides at an
Angle
This magical pass begins by pivoting on the right foot and putting the
left leg in front, at a
forty-five -degree angle. The right foot is the horizontal bar of the
letter T, and the left foot,
the vertical. The body rocks back and forth. Then the left elbow is
bent, and the hand is brought
to the level of the chest with the palm up. The index and middle
fingers are held in the shape of
the letter V The thumb holds the other two fingers against the palm
(fig. 118). A strike is made,
leaning the body forward sharply. The palm of the hand turns down as
the fingers strike. The air is
exhaled with a hiss (fig. 119). An inhalation is taken as the hand
retrieves to the side of the
chest with the palm up. The palm of the hand is then lightly brushed on
the left ovary, with the
fingers separated between the middle and fourth fingers. A
jump is
taken to switch feet and face a new direction to the right, still at a
forty-five-degree
angle. The same movements are repeated with the right arm.

10. Drawing Energy Laterally with an
Insect
Cut
The
hands
are held on the sides of the chest, with the index and middle fingers
of each hand in a V shape and
the thumbs holding the other two fingers against the palms. The palms
face up. Remaining at the
level of the chest, the hands are pivoted on the heels of the palms and
brought to face each other.
Next, a hissing exhalation is made as both arms are fully extended
laterally, with the palms facing
the front, The index and middle fingers are moved with a cutting motion
as if they were indeed
scissors, as the exhalation ends in a whistlelike fashion (fig.
120).
An inhalation is taken as the arms are retrieved; the elbows are down,
and the arms come to rest on
the sides of the body by the chest, hands pointing sideways (fig. 121).
Next the hands are pivoted
on the heel of the palm so the index and middle fingers point to the
front. The fingers are then
separated at the middle and fourth fingers, and a hissing exhalation is
made as the palms of the
hands brush over the area of the ovaries.

11.
Drilling Energy from Between the Feet with Each Hand
A
deep inhalation is taken. A long hissing
exhalation follows while the left hand descends with a rotating
movement of the wrist, which makes
the hand resemble a drill that seems to perforate a substance in front
of the body between the
legs. Then the index and middle fingers make a two-pronged claw and
grab something from the area
between the feet (fig. 122) and pull it upward, with a deep inhalation,
to the level of the hips.
The arm moves over the head to the back of the body and the palm is
placed on the area of the left
kidney and adrenal (fig. 123).
The left hand is held there while the right hand performs the same
movements. Once the right hand
is placed on the area of the right kidney and adrenal, an inhalation is
taken. The left hand moves
over the head to the front of the body, and brushes, with the fingers
separated at the middle and
fourth fingers, over the left ovary. This movement of the arm from back
to front is accompanied by
the whistlelike sound of a sharp exhalation. Another deep inhalation is
taken, and the right hand
is brought to the right ovary in the same fashion.
12. Drilling Energy from Between the
Feet with
Both Hands
This
magical pass is similar to the preceding one, except that instead
of performing the movements separately, the hands execute the drilling
movements in unison. Then
the index and middle fingers of both hands make two-pronged claws, and
grab something from the area
between the feet at the same time. They return to the level of the
hips, and then circle around the
sides of the body to the area of the kidneys and adrenals; a deep
breath is taken as the palms rub
those areas (fig. 124). Then an exhalation is made as the arms draw
another circle around the sides
of the body to the front to brush the area over the left and right
ovaries with the fingers of each
hand separated at the middle. Again, this movement of the arms from
back to front is accompanied by
a whistlelike exhalation.

The
Third Series: The Series of the Five Concerns: The Westwood
Series
One
of
the
most important series for the practitioners of Tensegrity is called The
Series of the Five
Concerns. A nickname for this series is The Westwood Series, given to
it, because it was taught
publicly for the first time in the Pauley Pavilion at the University of
California at Los Angeles,
which is located in an area called Westwood. This series was conceived
as an attempt to integrate
what don Juan Matus called the five concerns of the shamans of ancient
Mexico. Everything those
sorcerers did rotated around five concerns: one, the magical passes;
two, the energetic center in
the human body called the center for decisions; three, recapitulation,
the means for enhancing the
scope of human awareness; four, dreaming, the bona fide art of breaking
the parameters of normal
perception; five, inner silence, the stage of human perception from
which those sorcerers launched
every one of their perceptual attainments (accomplishments). This
sequence of five
concerns was an arrangement
patterned on the understanding that those sorcerers had of the world
around them. One of the
astounding findings of those shamans, according to what don Juan
taught, was the existence in the
universe of an agglutinating (form, join together) force that binds
energy fields together
into concrete, functional
units. The sorcerers, who discovered the existence of this force,
described it as a vibration, or a
vibratory condition, that permeates (spread, pass through openings)
groups of energy fields and glues
them together.
In terms of this arrangement of the five concerns of the shamans of
ancient Mexico, the magical
passes fulfil the function of the vibratory condition those shamans
talked about. When those
sorcerers put together this shamanistic sequence of five concerns, they
copied the patterning of
energy that was revealed to them when they were capable of seeing
energy as it flows in the
universe. The binding force was the magical passes. The magical passes
were the unit that permeated
through the four remaining units and grouped them together into one
functional whole. The Westwood
Series, following the patterning of the shamans of ancient Mexico, has
consequently been divided
into four groups, arranged in terms of their importance as envisioned
by the sorcerers, who
formulated them: one, the center for decisions; two, recapitulation;
three, dreaming; four, inner
silence.
The
First Group: The Center for Decisions
The
most
important topic for the shamans who lived in Mexico in ancient times,
and for all the shamans of
don Juan's lineage, was the center for decisions. Shamans are
convinced, by the practical results
of their endeavors, that there is a spot on the human body which
accounts for decision making, the
V spot-the area on the crest of the sternum at the base of the neck,
where the clavicles meet to
form a letter V. It is a center where energy is rarefied to the point
of being tremendously subtle,
and it stores a specific type of energy which shamans are incapable of
defining. They are utterly
certain, however, that they can feet the presence of that energy, and
its effects. It is the belief
of shamans that this special energy is always pushed out of that center
very early in the lives of
human beings, and it never returns to it, thus depriving human beings
of something perhaps more
important than all the energy of the other centers combined: the
capacity to make
decisions.
In relation to the issue of making decisions, don Juan expressed the
hard opinion of the sorcerers
of his lineage. Their observations, over the centuries, had led them to
conclude that human beings
are incapable of making decisions, and that for this reason, they have
created the social order:
gigantic institutions that assume responsibility for decision making.
They let those gigantic
institutions decide for them, and they merely fulfil the decisions
already made on their
behalf.
The V spot at the base of the neck was, for those shamans, a place of
such importance that they
rarely touched it with their hands; if it was touched, the touch was
ritualistic and always
performed by someone else with the aid of an object. They used highly
polished pieces of hardwood
or polished bones of animals, utilizing the round head of the bone so
as to have an object of the
perfect contour, the size of the hollow spot on the neck. They would
press with those bones or
pieces of wood to create pressure on the borders of that hollow spot.
Those objects were also used,
although rarely, for self-massage, or for what we understand nowadays
as acupressure.
"How did they come to find out that that hollow spot is the center for
decisions?" I asked don Juan
once.
"Every center of energy in the body," he replied, "Shows a
concentration of energy; a sort of
vortex of energy, like a funnel that actually seems to rotate
counterclockwise from the perspective
of the seer who gazes into it. The strength of a particular center
depends on the force of that
movement. If it barely moves, the center is exhausted, depleted of
energy.
"When the sorcerers of ancient times," don Juan continued, "were
scanning the body with their
seeing eye, they noticed the presence of those vortexes. They became
very curious about them, and
made a map of them."
"Are there many such centers in the body, don Juan?" I asked.
"There are hundreds of them," he replied, "if not thousands! One can
say that a human being is
nothing else but a conglomerate of thousands of twirling vortexes, some
of them so very small that
they are, let's say, like pinholes, but very important pinholes. Most
of the vortexes are vortexes
of energy. Energy flows freely through them, or is stuck in them. There
are, however, six which are
so enormous that they deserve special treatment. They are centers of
life and vitality. Energy
there is never stuck, but sometimes the supply of energy is so scarce
that the center barely
rotates."
Don Juan explained that those enormous centers of vitality were located
on six areas of the body.
He enumerated them in terms of the importance that shamans accorded
them. The first was on the area
of the liver and gallbladder; the second on the area of the pancreas
and spleen; the third on the
area of the kidneys and adrenals; and the fourth on the hollow spot at
the base of the neck on the
frontal part of the body. The fifth was around the womb, and the sixth
was on the top of the
head.
The fifth center, pertinent only to women, had, according to what don
Juan said, a special kind of
energy that gave sorcerers the impression of liquidness. It was a
feature that only some women had.
It seemed to serve as a natural filter that screened out superfluous
influences.
The sixth center, located on top of the head, don Juan described as
something more than an anomaly,
and refrained absolutely from having anything to do with it. He
portrayed it as possessing not a
circular vortex of energy, like the others, but a pendulumlike,
back-and-forth movement somehow
reminiscent of the beating of a heart.
"Why is the energy of that center so different, don Juan?" I asked him.
"That sixth center of energy," he said, "doesn't quite belong to man.
You see, we human beings are
under siege, so to speak. That center has been taken over by an
invader, an unseen predator. And
the only way to overcome this predator is by fortifying all the other
centers."
"Isn't it a bit paranoiac to feel that we are under siege, don Juan?" I
asked.
"Well maybe for you, but certainly not for me," he replied. "I see
energy, and I see that the
energy over the center on the top of the head doesn't fluctuate like
the energy of the other
centers. It has a back-and-forth movement, quite disgusting, and quite
foreign. I also see that in
a sorcerer who has been capable of vanquishing the mind, which
sorcerers call a foreign
installation, the fluctuation of that center has become exactly like
the fluctuation of all the
others."
Don Juan, throughout the years of my apprenticeship, systematically
refused to talk about that
sixth center. On this occasion when he was telling me about the centers
of vitality, he dismissed
my frantic probes, rather rudely, and began to talk about the fourth
center, the center for
decisions.
"This fourth center," he said, "has a special type of energy, which
appears to the eye of the seer
as possessing a unique transparency, something that could be described
as resembling water: energy
so fluid that it seems liquid. The liquid appearance of this special
energy is the mark of a
filterlike quality of the center for decisions itself, which screens
any energy coming to it, and
draws from it only the aspect of it that is liquidlike. Such a quality
of liquidness is a uniform
and consistent feature of this center. Sorcerers also call it the
watery center.
"The rotation of the energy at the center for decisions is the weakest
of them all," he went on.
"That's why man can rarely decide anything. Sorcerers see that after
they practice certain magical
passes, that center becomes active, and they can certainly make
decisions to their hearts' content,
while they couldn't even take a first step before."
Don Juan was quite emphatic about the fact that the shamans of ancient
Mexico had an aversion that
bordered on phobia about touching their own hollow spot at the base of
the neck. The only way in
which they accepted any interference whatsoever with that spot was
through the use of their magical
passes, which reinforce that center by bringing dispersed energy to it,
clearing away, in this
manner, any hesitation in decision making born out of the natural
energy dispersion brought about
by the wear and tear of everyday life.
"A human being," don Juan said, "perceived as a conglomerate of energy
fields, is a concrete and
scaled unit into which no energy can be injected, and from which no
energy can escape. The feeling
of losing energy, which all of us experience at one time or another, is
the result of energy being
chased away, dispersed from the five enormous natural centers of life
and vitality. Any sense of
gaining energy is due to the redeployment of energy previously
dispersed from those centers. That
is to say, the energy is relocated onto those five centers of life and
vitality."
The
MAGICAL PASSES FOR THE CENTER FOR DECISIONS
1. Bringing Energy to the Center for
Decisions
with a Back-and-Forth Motion of the Hands and Arms with the Palms
Turned Downward
The arms shoot out to the front at a forty-five-degree angle with an
exhalation, the palms of the
hands facing down (fig. 125). Then they are retrieved to the sides of
the chest, under the axilla,
with an inhalation. The shoulders are raised in order to maintain the
same degree of inclination
(fig. 126). In the second facet of this movement, the arms are extended
downward with an
inhalation, and pulled back with an exhalation.
2. Bringing Energy to the Center
for Decisions with a Back-and-Forth
Motion of the Hands and Arms with the Palms Turned Upward
This magical pass is like the preceding one, and it is executed in
exactly the same fashion, except
that it is done with the palms of the hands turned upward (fig. 127).
The inhalations and
exhalations are also exactly as in the preceding movement. Air is
exhaled as the hands and arms
move forward at a forty-five-degree level of inclination, and it is
inhaled as the arms move
backward. Then air is inhaled as the hands and arms move downward, and
exhaled as the hands and
arms retrieve.

3.
Bringing Energy to the Center for Decisions
with a Circular Motion of the Hands and Arms with the Palms Turned
Downward
This
magical pass begins exactly like the
first one of this group, except that when the hands reach their fully
extended position, two
complete circles are drawn with the hands and the arms going away from
each other to reach a point
about six inches beyond the rib cage. When the hands complete the
circles (fig. 128), the arms are
retrieved to the sides of the rib cage under the axilla.
This magical pass consists of two facets. In the first, air is exhaled
as the circles are drawn and
inhaled as the arms are retrieved backward. In the second, air is
inhaled as the hands and arms
draw the circles and exhaled as the arms are retrieved.
4.
Bringing Energy to
the Center for Decisions in a Circular Motion of the Hands and Arms
with the Palms Turned
Upward
This magical pass is exactly like the preceding one, with the same two
facets of inhalation and
exhalation, but the two circles are drawn by the hands and arms with
the palms of the hands turned
upward (fig. 129).
5.
Bringing Energy to the Center for
Decisions
from the Midsection of the Body
The arms are bent at the elbows and kept high, at the level of the
shoulders. The fingers are kept
loosely pointing toward the V spot, but without touching it (fig. 130).
The arms move in a
teetertotter fashion from right to left and left to right. The motion
is not accomplished by moving
the shoulders or the hips, but by the contraction of the muscles of the
stomach, which moves the
midsection to the right, to the left, and to the right again, and so
on.

6.
Bringing Energy to the Center for
Decisions
from the Area of the Shoulder Blades
The arms are bent, as in the previous movement, but the shoulders are
rounded so that the elbows
are heavily drawn toward the front. The left hand is placed on top of
the right. The fingers are
held loose, pointing toward the V spot without touching it, and the
chin juts out and rests on the
hollow spot between the thumb and index finger of the left hand (fig.
131). The bent elbows are
pushed for, ward, extending the shoulder blades, one at a time, to the
maximum.
7.
Stirring Energy Around the Center for
Decisions with a Bent Wrist
Both
hands
are brought to the V spot on the base of the neck, without touching it.
The hands are gently
curved; the fingers point at the center for decisions. Then the hands
begin to move, the left
first, for, towed by the right, as if stirring a liquid substance
around that area, or as if they
were fanning air into the V spot with a series of gentle movements of
each hand; these movements
are accomplished by extending the whole arm laterally and then bringing
it back to the area in
front of the V spot (fig. 132). Then the left arm strikes out in front
of the V spot, with the hand
turned sharply inward, using the wrist and the back of the hand as a
striking surface (fig. 133).
The right arm executes the same movement. In this manner, a series of
forceful blows are delivered
to the area right in front of the V spot.

8.
Transferring Energy from the Two
Centers of
Vitality on the Front of the Body to the Center for Decisions
Both
hands are brought to the area of the
pancreas and spleen, a few inches in front of the body. The left hand,
with the palm turned upward,
is held four or five inches below the right one, which has the palm
turned downward. The left
forearm is held at a ninety-degree angle, extended straight out to the
front. The right forearm is
also at a ninety-degree angle, but held close to the body, so that the
fingertips point to the left
(fig. 134). The left hand makes two inward circles about a foot in
diameter around the area of the
pancreas and spleen. Once it has completed the second circle, the right
hand shoots out to the
front and strikes with the edge of the hand, to the area an arm's
length in front of the liver and
gallbladder (fig. 135). The exact same movements are performed
on the other side of the body by reversing the position of
the hands, which are brought to the area of the liver and gallbladder,
with the right hand circling
and the left hand striking forward to the area an arm's length in front
of the pancreas and
spleen.

9.
The
left
hand and arm draw two circles about a foot in diameter in front of the
V spot, a bit toward the
left (fig. 136). The palm of the hand is facing downward. Once the
second circle has been drawn,
the forearm is raised to the level of the shoulder and the hand strikes
away from the face,
diagonally to the right, at the level of the V spot, with a flick of
the wrist, as if holding a
whip (fig. 137 ). same movements are performed with the right
hand.
Then a deep inhalation is taken and an exhalation follows as the hands
and arms slide downward
until they reach the tops of the knees, with the palms facing up. A
deep inhalation is taken there
and the arms are raised, with the left arm in the lead., the right arm
crosses over the left as
they go over the head until the fingers rest on the back of the neck.
The breath is held as the top
of the trunk moves three times in succession in a teeter-totter motion;
the left shoulder goes down
first, then the right, and so on (fig. 138). Then the air is exhaled as
the arms and hands move
back downward to the tops of the knees, again with the palms of the
hands facing up.
A deep inhalation is taken, and then the air is exhaled as the hands
are raised from the knees to
the level of the V spot, with the fingers pointing toward it, without
touching it (fig. 139). The
hands are brought once more to the knees with an exhalation. A final
deep inhalation is taken and
the hands are raised to the level of the eyes, and then brought down to
the sides as the air is
exhaled.
The next three magical passes, according to don Juan, transfer energy
which belongs only to the
center for decisions from the frontal edge of the luminous sphere,
where it has accumulated over
the years, to the back, and then from the back of the luminous sphere
to the front. He said that
this energy transferred back and forth goes through the V spot, which
acts as a filter, utilizing
only the energy that is proper to it and discarding the rest. He
pointed out that because of this
selective process of the V spot, it is essential to perform these three
magical passes as many
times as possible.

10.
Energy Going Through the Center for
Decisions from the Front to the Back and the Back to the Front with Two
Blows
A deep inhalation is taken. Then the air is slowly exhaled as the left
arm strikes out at the level
of the solar plexus, with the palm of the hand turned upward; the palm
is held flat and the fingers
are together.
Then the hand is clasped into a fist. The arm moves to the back,
striking from the height of the
hips with a backhand blow (fig. 140). The exhalation ends as the hand
opens.
Another deep inhalation is taken. A slow exhalation follows while the
palm of the open hand, still
in back of the body, taps ten times as if lightly hitting a solid round
object. Then the hand is
clasped into a fist before the arm moves to the front in a swinglike
punch that strikes an area in
front of the V spot, an arm's length away from it (fig. 141). The hand
opens as if releasing
something held in it. The arm moves down, back, and then over the head
and strikes with the palm
down in front of the V spot, as if breaking whatever it has released.
The exhalation ends then
(fig. 142). The same sequence of movements is repeated with the right
arm.

11.
Transferring Energy from the Front
to the
Back and the Back to the Front with the Hook of the Arm
A deep
inhalation is made.
Then the air is slowly exhaled as the left
arm moves forward with the palm of the hand turned upward. The hand is
quickly clasped into a fist.
The fisted hand rotates until the back of the hand is turned upward and
strikes over the shoulder
to the back, The fisted palm faces upward. The hand opens and turns to
face downward, and the
exhalation ends.
Another deep inhalation is taken. Then a slow exhalation begins as the
hand, made into a downward
hook, scoops three times, as if rolling a solid substance into a ball
(fig. 143). The ball is
tossed upward to the level of the head with a flick of the hand and
forearm (fig. 144), and quickly
grabbed with the hand bent again at the wrist like a hook (fig. 145).
The arm moves to the front,
then to the height of the right shoulder and strikes forward to an area
right in front of the V
spot an arm's length away from it, using the wrist and the back of the
hand as a striking surface
(fig. 146). The hand then opens as if to release whatever it had
trapped, and the arm moves down to
the back and over the head to strike it with great force with the flat
palm. The exhalation ends as
the whole body shakes with the force of the strike. The same movements
are repeated with the other
arm.

12.
Transferring Energy from the Front
to the
Back and the Back to the Front with Three Blows
A
deep inhalation is taken. A slow exhalation follows as the left arm
strikes forward with the hand open, the flat palm turned upward. The
hand is quickly clasped into a
fist, and the arm retrieves as if to deliver an elbow blow to the back.
Then it moves laterally to
the right and delivers a side punch with the forearm rubbing on the
body (fig. 147). The elbow is
retrieved again as if to deliver an elbow blow to the back. The arm is
extended and moved out to
the left side and to the back, to deliver the fourth blow behind the
body with the back of the
fisted hand. The exhalation ends as the hand opens (fig. 148).

A deep inhalation is taken
again. A slow exhalation follows as the hand,
bent downward into a hook, scoops three times. Then the hand grabs as
if it were clasping something
solid (fig. 149). The arm swings to the front at the level of the
center for decisions. It
continues to the right shoulder; there the forearm makes a loop upward
and delivers a back-fist
blow to the area in front of the V spot, an arm's length away from it
(fig. 150). The hand opens as
if to release something that it was clasping. Then it moves down, goes
behind the body, comes above
the head, with the palm of the hand down, and smashes whatever it
released with a forceful blow of
the open hand. The slow exhalation ends there (fig. 151).
The same movements are repeated with the right arm.
The
Second Group: The
Recapitulation
The
Recapitulation,
according to what don Juan taught his disciples, was
a technique discovered by the sorcerers of ancient Mexico, and used by
every shaman practitioner
from then on, to view and relive all the experiences of their lives, in
order to achieve two
transcendental goals: one, the abstract goal of fulfilling a universal
code that demands that
awareness must be relinquished at the moment of death; and two, the
extremely pragmatic goal of
acquiring perceptual fluidity.
He said that the formulation of their first goal was the result of
observations that those
sorcerers made by means of their capacity to see energy directly as it
flows in the universe. They
had seen that there exists in the universe a gigantic force, an immense
conglomerate of energy
fields which they called the Eagle, or the dark sea of awareness. They
observed that the dark sea
of awareness is the force that lends awareness to all living beings,
from viruses to men. They
believed that it tends awareness to a newborn being, and that this
being enhances that awareness by
means of its life experiences until a moment in which the force demands
its return.
In the understanding of those sorcerers, all living beings die because
they are forced to return
the awareness lent to them. Sorcerers throughout the ages have
understood that there is no way for
what modem man calls our linear mode of thinking to explain such a
phenomenon, because there is no
room for a causeand-effect line of reasoning as to why and how
awareness is lent and then taken
back. The sorcerers of ancient Mexico viewed it as an energetic fact of
the universe, a fact that
can't be explained in terms of cause and effect, or in terms of a
purpose which can be determined a
priori.
The sorcerers of don Juan's lineage believed that to recapitulate meant
to give the dark sea of
awareness what it was seeking: their life experiences. They believed
that by means of the
recapitulation, however, they could acquire a degree of control that
could permit them to separate
their life experiences from their life force. For them, the two were
not inextricably intertwined;
they were joined only circumstantially.
Those sorcerers affirmed that the dark sea of awareness doesn't want to
take the lives of human
beings; it wants only their life experiences. Lack of discipline in
human beings prevents them from
separating the two forces, and in the end, they lose their lives, when
it is meant that they lose
only the force of their life experiences. Those sorcerers viewed the
recapitulation as the
procedure by which they could give the dark sea of awareness a
substitute for their lives. They
gave up their life experiences by recounting them, but they retained
their life force.
The perceptual claims of sorcerers, when examined in terms of the
linear concepts of our Western
world, make no sense whatsoever. Western civilization has been in
contact with the shamans of the
New World for five hundred years, and there has never been a genuine
attempt on the part of
scholars to formulate a serious philosophical discourse based on
statements made by those shamans.
For instance, the recapitulation may seem to any member of the Western
world to be congruous with
psychoanalysis, something in the line of a psychological procedure, a
sort of selfhelp technique.
Nothing could be further from the truth.
According to don Juan Matus, man always loses by default. In the case
of the premises of sorcery,
he believed that Western man is missing a tremendous opportunity for
the enhancement of his
awareness, and that the way in which Western man relates himself to the
universe, life, and
awareness is only one of a multiplicity of options.
To recapitulate, for shaman practitioners, means to give to an
incomprehensible force-the dark sea
of awareness-the very thing it seems to be looking for: their life
experiences, that is to say, the
awareness that they have enhanced through those very life experiences.
Since don Juan could not
possibly explain these phenomena to me in terms of standard logic, he
said that all that sorcerers
could aspire to do was to accomplish the feat of retaining their life
force without knowing how it
was done. He also said that there were thousands of sorcerers who had
achieved this. They had
retained their life force after they had given the dark sea of
awareness the force of their life
experiences. This meant to don Juan that those sorcerers didn't die in
the usual sense in which we
understand death, but that they transcended it by retaining their life
force and vanishing from the
face of the earth, embarked on a definitive journey of
perception.
The belief of the shamans of don Juan's lineage was that when death
takes place in this fashion,
all of our being is turned into energy, a special kind of energy that
retains the mark of our
individuality. Don Juan tried to explain this in a metaphorical sense,
saying that we are composed
of a number of single nations: the nation of the lungs, the nation of
the heart, the nation of the
stomach, the nation of the kidneys, and so on. Each of these nations
sometimes works independently
of the others, but at the moment of death, all of them are unified into
one single entity. The
sorcerers of don Juan's lineage called this state total freedom. For
those sorcerers, death is a
unifier, and not an annihilator, as it is for the average man.
"Is this state immortality, don Juan?" I asked.
"This is in no way immortality," he replied. "It is merely the entrance
into an evolutionary
process, using the only medium for evolution that man has at his
disposal: awareness. The sorcerers
of my lineage were convinced that man could not evolve biologically'
any further; therefore, they
considered man's awareness to be the only medium for evolution. At the
moment of dying, sorcerers
are not annihilated by death, but are transformed into inorganic
beings: beings that have
awareness, but not an organism. To be transformed into an inorganic
being was evolution for them,
and it meant that a new, indescribable type of awareness was tent to
them, an awareness that would
last for veritably millions of years, but which would also someday have
to be returned to the
giver: the dark sea of awareness."
One of the most important findings of the shamans of don Juan's lineage
was that, like everything
else in the universe, our world is a combination of two opposing, and
at the same time
complementary, forces. One of those forces is the world we know, which
those sorcerers called the
world of organic beings. The other force is something they called the
world of inorganic
beings.
"The world of inorganic beings," don Juan said, "is populated by beings
that possess awareness, but
not an organism. They are conglomerates of energy fields, just like we
are. To the eye of a seer,
instead of being luminous, as human beings are, they are rather opaque.
They are not round, but
long, candlelike energetic configurations. They are, in essence,
conglomerates of energy fields
which have cohesion and boundaries just like we do. They are held
together by the same
agglutinating force that holds our energy fields together."
"Where is this inorganic world, don Juan?" I asked. "It is our
twin world," he replied. "It occupies the same time and space as our
world, but the type
of awareness of our world is so different from the type of awareness of
the inorganic world, that we
never notice the presence of inorganic beings, although they do notice
ours."
"Are those inorganic beings human beings, that have evolved?" I
asked.
"Not at all!" he exclaimed. "The inorganic beings of our twin world
have been intrinsically (inherent)
inorganic from the start, the same way, that we have always been
intrinsically (inherent)
organic
beings, also
from the start. They are beings, whose consciousness can evolve just
like ours, and it doubtlessly
does, but I have no firsthand knowledge of how this happens. What I do
know, however, is that a
human being, whose awareness has evolved, is a bright, luminescent,
round inorganic being of a
special kind."
Don Juan gave me a series of descriptions of this evolutionary process,
which I always took to be
poetic metaphors. I singled out the one, that pleased me the most,
which was total freedom. I
fancied a human being, that enters into total freedom to be the most
courageous, the most
imaginative being possible. Don Juan said, that I was not fancying
anything at all-that to enter
into total freedom, a human being must call on his or her sublime
(supreme, majestic) side, which, he said, human
beings have, but which it never occurs to them to use.
Don Juan described the second, the pragmatic goal of the recapitulation
as the acquisition of
fluidity. The sorcerers' rationale behind this had to do with one of
the most elusive subjects of
sorcery: the assemblage point, a point of intense luminosity the size
of a tennis ball, perceivable
when sorcerers see a human being as a conglomerate of energy
fields.
Sorcerers like don Juan see, that trillions of energy fields in the
form of fit, aments of light
from the universe at large converge on the assemblage point and go
through it. This confluence of
filaments gives the assemblage point its brilliancy. The assemblage
point makes it possible for a
human being to perceive those trillions of energy filaments by turning
them into sensorial data.
The assemblage point then interprets this data as the world of everyday
life, that is to say, in
terms of human socialization and human potential.
To recapitulate is to relive every, or nearly every, experience that we
have had, and in doing so
to displace the assemblage point, ever so slightly or a great deal,
propelling it by the force of
memory to adopt the position that it had when the event being
recapitulated took place. This act of
going back and forth from previous positions to the current one gives
the shaman practitioners the
necessary fluidity to withstand extraordinary odds in their journeys
into infinity. To the
Tensegrity practitioners, the recapitulation gives the necessary
fluidity to withstand odds which
are not in any way part of their habitual cognition.
The recapitulation as a formal procedure was done in ancient times by
recollecting every person the
practitioners knew and every experience in which they had taken part.
Don Juan suggested that in my
case, which is the case of modern man, I make a written list of all the
persons that I had met in
my life, as a mnemonic (assisting) device. Once I had written
that list, he proceeded to tell me how to use it.
I had to take the first person on the list, which went backwards in
time from the present to the
time of my very first life experience, and set up, in my memory, my
last interaction with that
first person on my list. This act is called arranging the event to be
recapitulated.
A detailed recollection of minutiae is required as the proper means to
hone one's capacity to
remember. This recollection entails getting all the pertinent physical
details, such as the
surroundings where the event being recollected took place. Once the
event is arranged, one should
enter into the locale itself, as if actually going into it, paying
special attention to any
relevant physical configurations. If, for instance, the interaction
took place in an office, what
should be remembered is the floor, the doors, the walls, the pictures,
the windows, the desks, the
objects on the desks, everything that could have been observed in a
glance and then
forgotten.
The recapitulation as a formal procedure must begin by the recounting
of events that have just
taken place. In this fashion, the primacy of the experience takes
precedence. Something that has
just happened is something that one can remember with great accuracy.
Sorcerers always count on the
fact that human beings are capable of storing detailed information that
they are not aware of, and
that that detail is what the dark sea of awareness is after.
The actual recapitulation of the event requires that one breathe
deeply, fanning the head, so to
speak, very slowly and gently from side to side, beginning on one side,
left or right, whichever.
This fanning of the head was done as many times as needed, while
remembering all the details
accessible. Don Juan said that sorcerers talked about this act as
breathing in all of one's own
feelings spent in the event being recollected, and expelling all the
unwanted moods and extraneous
feelings that were left with us.
Sorcerers believe, that the mystery of the Recapitulation lies in the
act of inhaling and exhaling.
Since breathing is a life-sustaining function, sorcerers are certain,
that by means of it, one can
also deliver to the Dark Sea of Awareness the facsimile of one's life
experiences. When I pressed
don Juan for a rational explanation of this idea, his position was,
that things, like the Recapitulation, could only be experienced, not
explained. He said, that in the act of doing, one can
find liberation, and that, to explain it, was to dissipate our energy
in fruitless efforts.
His
invitation was congruous with everything related to his knowledge: the
invitation to take
action.
The list of names is used in the recapitulation as a mnemonic (assisting) device that propels memory
into an
inconceivable (unbelievable)
journey.
Sorcerers'
position in this respect is that remembering events that have
just taken place prepares the ground for remembering events more
distant in time with the same
clarity and immediacy. To recollect experiences in this way is to
relive them, and to draw from
this recollection an extraordinary impetus that is capable of stirring
energy dispersed from our
centers of vitality, and returning it to them. Sorcerers refer to this
redeployment of energy that
the recapitulation causes as gaining fluidity after giving the dark sea
of awareness what it is
looking for.
On a more mundane level, the recapitulation gives practitioners the
capacity to examine the
repetition in their lives. Recapitulating can convince them, beyond the
shadow of a doubt, that all
of us are at the mercy of forces which ultimately make no sense,
although at first sight they seem
perfectly reasonable; such as being at the mercy of courtship. It seems
that for some people,
courtship is the pursuit of a lifetime. I have personally heard from
people of advanced age that
the only ideal that they had was to find a perfect companion, and that
their aspiration was to have
perhaps one year of happiness in love.
Don Juan Matus used to say to me, over my vehement protests, that the
problem was that nobody
really wanted to love anybody, but that every one of us wanted to be
loved. He said that this
obsession with courtship, taken at face value, was the most natural
thing in the world to us. To
hear a seventy-five-year-old man or woman say that they are still in
search of a perfect companion
is an affirmation of something idealistic, romantic, beautiful.
However, to examine this obsession
in the context of the endless repetitions of a lifetime makes it appear
as it really is: something
grotesque.
Don Juan assured me that if any behavioral change is going to be
accomplished, it has to be done
through the recapitulation, since it is the only vehicle that can
enhance awareness by liberating
one from the unvoiced demands of socialization, which are so automatic,
so taken for granted, that
they are not even noticed under normal conditions, much less examined.
The actual act of
recapitulating is a lifetime endeavor. It takes years to exhaust the
list of people, especially for
those who have made the acquaintance of and have interacted with
thousands of individuals. This
list is augmented by the memory of impersonal events in which no people
are involved, but which
have to be examined because they are somehow related to the person
being recapitulated. Don Juan
asserted that what the sorcerers of ancient Mexico sought avidly in
recapitulating was the memory
of interaction, because in interaction lie the deep effects of
socialization, which they struggled
to overcome by any means available.
The
MAGICAL PASSES FOR THE RECAPITULATION
The Recapitulation affects something, that don Juan called
the Energy
Body. He formally explained
the energy body, as a conglomerate of energy fields, that are the
mirror image of the energy fields,
that make up the human body, when it is Seen directly, as energy. He
said, that in the case of
sorcerers, the physical body and the Energy Body are one single unit.
The magical passes for the Recapitulation bring the Energy Body to the
physical body, which are essential for navigating into
the Unknown.
13. Forging the Trunk of the Energy Body
Don Juan said, that the trunk of the
energy body was forged (начать постепенно) with three strikes delivered
with the palms of the hands. The hands are held
at the level of the ears with the palms facing forward, and from that
position they strike forward,
at the level of the shoulders, as if they were striking the shoulders
of a well-developed body. The
hands then move back to their original position around the cars, with
the palms facing forward, and
strike the midtrunk of that imaginary body at the level of the chest.
The second strike is not as
wide as the first one, and the third strike is much narrower, because
it strikes the waistline of a
triangular-shaped trunk (fig. 152).
14. Slapping the Energy
Body
The left and the right hands each come down from above the head. The
palm of each hand bears down,
creating a current of energy that defines each arm, forearm, and hand
of the energy body. The left
hand hits across the body to strike the left hand of the energy body
(fig. 153) and then the right
hand does the same: it hits across the body to strike the right hand of
the energy body. This
magical pass defines the arms and forearms, especially the hands, of
the energy body.
15.
Spreading the Energy Body
Laterally
The
wrists are
crossed in the shape of a letter X in front of the body,
almost touching it. The wrists are held bent backwards at a
ninety-degree angle to the forearm, at
the level of the solar plexus. The left wrist is on top of the right
one (fig. 154). From there,
the hands spread to the sides in unison, in a slow motion, as if they
met with tremendous
resistance (fig. 155). When the arms reach their maximum aperture, they
are brought back to the
center, with the palms turned at a ninety-degree angle in relation to
the forearms, creating in
this fashion the sensation of pushing solid matter from both sides to
the center of the body. The
left hand crosses on top of the right as the hands get ready for
another lateral strike. While the physical body as a
conglomerate
of energy fields has superdefined boundaries, the energy
body lacks that feature. Spreading energy laterally gives the energy
body the defined boundaries,
that it lacks.

16.
Establishing the Core of the Energy
Body
The
forearms are held in a vertical position at the level of the chest,
with the elbows kept in close to the body, at the width of the trunk.
The wrists are snapped back
gently, and then forward with great force, without moving the forearms
(fig. 156).
The human body, as a conglomerate of energy fields, has not only
super-defined boundaries, but a
core of compact luminosity, which shamans call the band of man, or the
energy fields with which man
is most familiar. The idea of shamans is that within the luminous
sphere, which is also the
totality of man's energetic possibilities, there are areas of energy of
which human beings are not
at all aware. Those are the energy fields located at the maximum
distance from the band of man. To
establish the core of the energy body is to fortify the energy body in
order for it to venture into
those areas of unknown energy.
17. Forging the
Heels and the Calves of the Energy Body
The
left foot is held in front of the body with the heel raised to
midcalf. The heel is turned out to a position perpendicular to the
other leg. Then the left heel
strikes to the right as if a kick with the heel were being delivered,
about six or seven inches
away from the shinbone of the right leg (figs. 157, 158). The same
movement is then executed with
the other leg.

18.
Forging the Knees of the Energy
Body
This
magical pass has two facets. In the first facet the left knee is
bent and raised to the level of the hips, or if possible even higher.
The total weight of the body
is placed on the right leg, which stands with the knee slightly bent
forward. Three circles are
drawn with the left knee, moving it inward toward the groin (fig. 159).
The same movement is
repeated with the right leg.
In the second facet of this magical pass, the movements are repeated
again with each leg, but this
time, the knee draws an outward circle (fig. 160).
19. Forging the Thighs of the Energy
Body
Beginning
with an exhalation, the body bends slightly at the knees as
the hands slide down the thighs. The hands stop on top of the kneecaps,
and then they are pulled
back up the thighs to the level of the hips with an inhalation, as if
they were drag. ging a solid
substance. There is a slight quality of a claw to each hand. The body
straightens as this part of
the movement is executed (fig. 161). With the opposite breathing
pattern, the movement is repeated,
inhaling as the knees bend and the hands go down to the tops of the
kneecaps, and exhaling as they
are pulled back.

20.Stirring Up Personal History by
Making It
Flexible
This
magical pass stretches the hamstring and relaxes it by bringing
each leg, one at a time, bent at the knee, to strike the buttocks with
a gentle tap of the heel
(fig. 162). The left heel strikes the left buttock, and the right heel
strikes the right
one.
Shamans put an enormous emphasis on tightening the muscles of the backs
of the thighs. They believe
that the tighter those muscles, the greater the facility of the
practitioner to identify and get
rid of behavioral patterns that are useless.
21.
Stirring Up Personal History with
the Heel
to the Ground by Tapping It Repeatedly
The right leg is set at a ninety-degree angle with the left. The left
foot is placed as far as
possible in front of the body as the body almost sits on the right leg.
The tension and contraction
of the back muscles of the right leg are maximum, as is the stretching
of the back muscles of the
left leg. The left leg taps the ground repeatedly with the heel (fig.
163). The same movements are
then executed with the other leg.
22. Stirring Up Personal History with
the Heel
to the Ground by Sustaining That Position
The
same movements are executed in this magical pass as in the previous
one, again with each leg, but instead of tapping with the heel, the
body is kept at an even tension
by holding the stretch of the leg (fig. 164). The following four
magical passes, since they entail
deep inhalations and exhalations, have to be done sparingly.

23. The Recapitulation Wings
A
deep inhalation is taken as both forearms are raised to the level of
the shoulders, with the hands at the level of the ears, palms facing
forward. The forearms are held
vertically and equidistant from each other. An exhalation follows as
the forearms are pulled back
as far as possible without slanting them in any direction (fig. 165).
Another deep inhalation is
taken. Within the duration of one long exhalation, both arms each draw
a winglike semicircle,
beginning with the left arm moving forward as far as it can be extended
and then laterally, drawing
a semicircle to the back as far as possible. The arm makes a curve at
the end of this extension and
returns to the front (fig. 166) to its initial resting position by the
side of the body (fig. 167).
Then the right arm follows the same pattern within the same exhalation.
Once these movements are
completed, a deep abdominal breath is taken.

24. The Window of
Recapitulation
The
first
part of this magical pass is exactly like the preceding one; a deep
breath is taken with the hands
raised to the ear level, with the palms facing forward. The forearms
maintain a perfect
verticality. This is followed by a long exhalation as the arms are
pulled backwards. A deep
inhalation is taken as the elbows are extended laterally at the level
of the shoulders. The hands
are bent at a ninety-degree angle in relation to the forearms, the
fingers pointing upward. The
hands are slowly pushed toward the center of the body until the
forearms cross. The left arm is
held closer to the body and the right arm is placed in front of the
left. The hands create in this
fashion what don Juan called the window of recapitulation: an opening
in front of the eyes that
looks like a small window, through which, don Juan affirmed, a
practitioner could peer into
infinity (fig. 168). A deep exhalation follows as the body straightens;
the elbows are extended
laterally and the hands are straightened out and kept at the same level
as the elbows (fig.
169).

25. The Five Deep
Breaths
The
beginning of this magical pass is exactly like the previous two. At the
second inhalation, the arms
go down and cross at the level of the knees as the practitioner adopts
a semi-squatting position.
The hands are placed behind the knees; the right hand grabs the tendons
in back of the left knee,
and the left hand, with the left forearm on top of the right, grabs the
tendons in back of the
right knee. The index and middle fingers grab the outer tendons there
and the thumb is wrapped
around the inner part of the knee. The exhalation ends then, and a deep
inhalation is taken,
accompanied by pressing the tendon (fig. 170). Five breaths are taken
in this fashion.
This magical pass causes the back to be straight and the head to be in
alignment with the spine,
and is used to take deep breaths that fill the top as well as the lower
part of the lungs by
pushing the diaphragm downward.
26.
Drawing Energy from
the Feet
The
first
part of this magical pass is exactly the same as the beginning of the
other three of this series.
On the second inhalation, the forearms go down and wrap around the
ankles, going from the inside to
the outside as the practitioner adopts a squatting position. The backs
of the hands rest on top of
the toes, and in this fashion, three deep inhalations and three deep
exhalations are made (fig.
171). After the last exhalation, the body straightens as a deep
inhalation is taken to finish the
magical pass.
The only glow of awareness left in human beings is at the bottom of
their luminous spheres, a
fringe that extends in a circle and reaches the level of the toes. With
this magical pass, that
fringe is tapped with the backs of the fingers, and stirred with the
breath.

THE
Third Group: Dreaming
Don
Juan
Matus defined dreaming as the act of using normal dreams as a bona fide
entrance for human
awareness into other realms of perceiving. This definition implied for
him, that ordinary dreams
could be used as a hatch, that led perception into other regions of
energy different from the energy
of the world of everyday life, and yet utterly similar to it at a basic
core. The result of such an
entrance was, for sorcerers, the perception of veritable worlds, where
they could live or die,
worlds, which were astoundingly different from ours, and yet utterly
similar.
Pressed for a linear explanation of this contradiction, don Juan Matus
reiterated the standard
position of sorcerers: that the answers to all those questions were in
the practice, not in the
intellectual inquiry. He said, that in order to talk about such
possibilities, we would have to use
the syntax of language, whatever language we spoke, and that syntax, by
the force of usage, limits
the possibilities of expression. The syntax of any language refers only
to perceptual possibilities
found in the world in which we live.
Don Juan made a significant differentiation, in Spanish, between two
verbs: one was to dream,
sonar; and the other was ensoilar, which is to dream the way sorcerers
dream. In English, there is
no clear distinction between these two states: the normal dreaming,
sueno, and the more complex
state that sorcerers call ensueflo.
The art of dreaming, according to what don Juan taught, originated in a
very casual observation
that the shamans of ancient Mexico made when they saw people who were
asleep. They noticed that
during sleep the assemblage point was displaced in a very natural, easy
way from its habitual
position, and that it moved anywhere along the periphery of the
luminous sphere, or to any place in
the interior of it. Correlating their seeing with the reports of the
people who had been observed
sleeping, they realized that the greater the observed displacement of
the assemblage point, the
more astounding the reports of events and scenes experienced in
dreams.
After this observation took hold of them, those sorcerers began to look
avidly for opportunities to
displace their own assemblage points. They ended up using psychotropic
plants to accomplish this.
Very quickly, they realized that the displacement brought about by
using these plants was erratic,
forced, and out of control. In the midst of this failure, nonetheless
they discovered one thing of
great value. They called it dreaming attention.
Don Juan explained this phenomenon, referring first to the daily
awareness of human beings as the
attention placed on the elements of the world of everyday life. He
pointed out that human beings
took only a cursory and yet sustained look at everything that
surrounded them.
More than examining things, human beings simply established the
presence of those elements by a
special type of attention, a specific aspect of their general
awareness. His contention was that
the same type of cursory and yet sustained "look," so to speak, could
be applied to the ele- merits
of an ordinary dream. He called this other, specific aspect of general
awareness dreaming attention
or the capacity that practitioners acquire to maintain their awareness
unwaveringly fixed on the
items of their dreams.
The cultivation of dreaming attenti . on gave the sorcerers of don
Juan's lineage a basic taxonomy
of dreams. They found out that most of their dreams were imagery,
products of the cognition of
their daily world; however, there were some which escaped that
classification. Such dreams were
veritable states of heightened awareness in which the elements of the
dream were not mere imagery,
but energy-generating affairs. Dreams which had energy-generating
elements were, for those shamans,
dreams in which they were capable of seeing energy as it flowed in the
universe.
Those shamans were able to focus their dreaming attention on any
element of their dreams, and found
out, in this fashion, that there are two kinds of dreams. One is the
dreams that we are all
familiar with, in which phantasmagorical elements come into play,
something which we could
categorize as the product of our mentality, our psyche; perhaps
something that has to do with our
neurological makeup. The other kind of dreams they called
energy-generating dreams. Don Juan said
that those sorcerers of ancient times found themselves in dreams which
were not dreams, but actual
visitations made in a dreamlike state to bona fide places other than
this world-real places, just
like the world in which we live; places where the objects of the dream
generated energy, just as
trees, or animals, or even rocks generate energy in our daily world,
for a seeing
sorcerer.
Their visions of such places were, however, for those shamans, too
fleeting, too temporary, to be
of any value to them. They attributed this flaw to the fact that their
assemblage points could not
be held fixed for any considerable time at the position to which they
had been displaced. Their
attempts to remedy the situation resulted in the other high art of
sorcery: the art of
stalking.
Don Juan defined the two arts very clearly one day when he said to me
that the art of dreaming
consisted of purposely displacing the assemblage point from its
habitual position. The art of
stalking consisted in volitionally making it stay fixed on the new
position to which it had been
displaced.
This fixation allowed the shamans of ancient Mexico the opportunity to
witness other worlds in
their full extent. Don Juan said that some of those sorcerers never
returned from their journeys.
In other words, they opted for staying there, wherever "there" might
have been.
"When the old sorcerers finished mapping human beings as luminous
spheres," don Juan said to me
once, "they had discovered no less than six hundred spots in the total
luminous sphere that were
the sites of bona fide worlds. Meaning that, if the assemblage point
became attached to any of
those places, the result was the entrance of the practitioner into a
total new world."
"But where are those six hundred other worlds, don Juan?" I
asked.
"The only answer to that question is incomprehensible," he said,
laughing. "It's the essence of
sorcery, and yet it means nothing to the average mind. Those six
hundred worlds are in the position
of the assemblage point. Incalculable amounts of energy are required to
make sense out of this
answer. We have the energy. What we lack is the facility or disposition
to use it." I could add that nothing could be truer than all
these
statements, and yet, nothing could make less
sense.
Don Juan explained usual perception in the terms in which the sorcerers
of his lineage understood
it: The assemblage point, at its habitual location, receives an inflow
of energy fields from the
universe at large in the form of luminous filaments, numbering in the
trillions. Since its position
is consistently the same, it stood to sorcerers' reasoning that the
same energy fields, in the form
of luminous filaments, converge on the assemblage point and go through
it, giving as a consistent
result the perception of the world that we know. Those sorcerers
arrived at the unavoidable
conclusion that if the assemblage point were displaced to another
position, another set of energy
filaments would go through it, resulting in the perception of a world
that, by definition, was not
the same as the world of everyday life. In don Juan's opinion,
what human beings ordinarily regard as perceiving is rather the act of
interpreting sensory data. He maintained that from the moment of birth,
everything around us
supplies us with a possibility of interpretation, and that with time,
this possibility turns into a
full system by means of which we conduct all of our perceptual
transactions in the world. He pointed out, that the assemblage
point is not only the center where perception is assembled, but
also the center where the interpretation of sensory data is
accomplished, so that if it were to
change locations, it would interpret the new influx of energy fields in
very much the same terms in
which it interprets the world of everyday life. The result of this new
interpretation is the
perception of a world which is strangely similar to ours, and yet
intrinsically (inherent)
different. Don
Juan
said that energetically, those other worlds are as different from ours
as they could possibly be.
It is only the interpretation of the assemblage point which accounts
for the seeming
similarities. Don Juan called for a new syntax that could be
used in order to express this wondrous quality of
the assemblage point and the possibilities of perception brought about
by dreaming. He conceded (admited),
however, that perhaps the present syntax of our language could be
forced to cover it if this
experience became available to any one of us, and not merely to shaman
initiates. Something related to dreaming that was of
tremendous
interest to me, but which bewildered me to no
end, was don Juan's statement that there was really no procedure to
speak of that would teach
anyone how to dream. He said that more than anything else, dreaming was
an arduous effort on the
part of the practitioners to put themselves in contact with the
indescribable all-pervading force
that the sorcerers of ancient Mexico called intent. Once this link was
established, dreaming also
mysteriously became established. Don Juan asserted that this linkage
could be accomplished
following any pattern that implied discipline. When I asked
him to
give me a succinct explanation of the procedures involved, he laughed
at
me.
"To venture into the world of sorcerers," he said, "is not like
learning to drive a car. To drive a
car, you need manuals and instructions. To dream, you need to intend
it."
"But how can I intend it?" I insisted.
"The only way you could intend it is by intending it," he declared.
"One of the most difficult
things for a man of our day to accept is a lack of procedure. Modern
man is in the throes of
manuals, praxes, methods, steps leading to. He is ceaselessly taking
notes, making diagrams, deeply
involved in the 'know-how.' But in the world of sorcerers, procedures
and rituals are mere designs
to attract and focus attention. They are devices used to force a
focusing of interest and
determination. They have no other value."
What don Juan considered to be of supreme importance in order to dream
is the rigorous execution of
the magical passes: the only device that the sorcerers of his lineage
used to aid the displacement
of the assemblage point. The execution of the magical passes gave those
sorcerers the stability and
the energy necessary to call forth their dreaming attention, without
which there was no possibility
of dreaming for them. Without the emergence of dreaming attention,
practitioners could aspire, at
best, to have lucid dreams about phantasmagorical worlds. They could
perhaps have views of worlds
that generate energy, but these would make no sense to them whatsoever
in the absence of an
allinclusive rationale that would properly categorize them.
Once the shamans of don Juan's lineage had developed their dreaming
attention, they realized that
they had tapped on the doors of infinity. They had succeeded in
enlarging the parameters of their
normal perception. They discovered that their normal state of awareness
was infinitely more varied
than it had been before the advent of their dreaming attention. From
that point on, those sorcerers
could truthfully venture into the unknown.
"The aphorism," don Juan said to me once, "that 'the sky is the limit'
was most applicable to the
sorcerers of ancient times. They certainly outdid
thernselves."
"Was it really true for them that the sky was the limit, don Juan?" I
asked.
"This question could be answered only by each of us individually," he
said, smiling expansively.
"They gave us the tools. It is up to us individually to use them or
refuse them. In essence, we are
alone in front of infinity, and the issue of whether or not we are
capable of reaching our limits
has to be answered personally."
THE
MAGICAL PASSES FOR DREAMING
27. Getting the Assemblage Point Loose
The
left arm, with the palm of the hand turned upward, reaches
over the area behind the shoulder blades, as the trunk leans a bit
forward. Then the arm is brought
in an underhanded motion from the left side of the body to the front,
moving in an upward thrust in
front of the face, with the palm of the left hand turned to face the
left. The fingers are held
together (figs. 172, 173).
This magical pass is executed by each arm in succession. The knees are
kept bent for greater
stability and thrusting force.

28.
Forcing the Assemblage Point to Drop
Down
The
back is kept as straight as possible. The knees are locked. The left
arm, fully stretched, is
placed at the back, a few inches away from the body. The hand is bent
at a ninety-degree angle in
relation to the forearm; the palm faces downward and the fully
stretched fingers point backward.
The fully stretched right arm is placed in front in the same position:
with the wrist bent at a
ninety-degree angle, the palm facing downward, the fingers pointing
forward.
The head turns in the direction of the arm that is kept at the back,
and a total stretch of the
tendons of the legs and arms takes place at that instant. This tension
of the tendons is held for a
moment (fig. 174). The same movement is repeated with the right arm in
back and the left in
front.
29.
Enticing the Assemblage Point to
Drop by
Drawing Energy from the Adrenals and Transferring It to the
Front
The
left
arm is placed behind the body at the level of the kidneys, as far to
the right as it can reach; the
hand is held like a claw. The clawed hand moves across the kidney area
from right to left as if
dragging a solid substance. The right arm is held in its normal
position by the side of the
thigh.
Next, the left hand moves to the front; the palm is held flat, on the
right side, against the liver
and gallbladder. The left hand moves across the front of the body to
the left, the area of the
pancreas and spleen, as if smoothing the surface of a solid substance;
at the same time the right
hand, held like a claw behind the body, moves from left to right over
the kidneys as if dragging a
solid substance.
Then the right hand is placed on the front of the body; the palm is
held flat against the area of
the pancreas and spleen. The hand moves across the front of the body to
the area of the liver and
gallbladder, as if smoothing a rough surface, while the clawed left
hand moves again across the
area of the kidneys from right to left as if dragging a solid substance
(figs. 175, 176). The knees
are kept bent for greater stability and force.

30.
Playing Out the A and B Types of
Energy
The
right
forearm, bent in a vertical position, at a ninety-degree angle, is
centered in front of the body,
with the elbow almost at the level of the shoulders, and the palm of
the hand facing left. The left
forearm, bent at the elbow and held in a horizontal position, is placed
with the back of the hand
underneath the right elbow. The eyes, without focusing on either
forearm, keep a peripheral view of
both of them. The pressure of the right arm is downward, while the
pressure of the left arm is
upward. The two forces act simultaneously on both arms; they are kept
under this tension for a
moment (fig. 177). Then the same movement is executed by reversing the
order and position of the
arms.
The shamans of ancient Mexico believed that everything in the universe
is composed of dual forces,
and that human beings are subjected to that duality in every aspect of
their lives. At the level of
energy, they considered that two forces are at play. Don Juan called
them the A and B forces. The A
force is employed ordinarily in our daily affairs, and is represented
by a straight vertical line.
The B force is ordinarily an obscure one which rarely enters into
action, and it is kept lying
down. It is represented by a horizontal line drawn to the left of the
vertical one, at its base,
making in this fashion a reversed capital letter L.
Shamans, men and women, were the only ones who, in don Juan's view, had
been capable of turning the
force B, which is ordinarily lying down horizontally, out of use, into
an active vertical line. And
consequently, they had succeeded in putting force A to rest. This
process was represented by
drawing a horizontal line at the base of the vertical one, to its
right, and making, as a result, a
capital letter L. Don Juan portrayed this magical pass as the one which
best exemplified this
duality and the effort of the sorcerers to reverse its effects.
31.
Pulling the Energy Body to the
Front
The
arms
are kept at shoulder level with the elbows bent. The hands overlap each
other, and they are turned
with the palms down. A circle is made with the hands rotating around
each other; the movement is
inward, toward the face (fig. 178). They rotate three times around each
other; then the left arm is
thrust forward with the hand in a fist, as if to strike an invisible
target in front of the body,
an arm's length away from it (fig. 179). Three more circles are drawn
with both hands, and then the
right arm strikes in the same fashion as the left one.

32.
Hurling the Assemblage Point Like a
Knife over the Shoulder
The
left
hand reaches over the head to the area behind the shoulder blades and
grabs, as if holding a solid
object. Then it moves over the head to the front of the body, with the
motion of hurling something
forward. The knees are kept bent for hurling stability. The same
movement is repeated with the
right arm (figs. 180, 181).
This magical pass is an actual attempt to hurl the assemblage point, in
order to displace it from
its habitual position. The practitioner holds the assemblage point as
if it were a knife. Something
in the intent of hurling the assemblage point causes a profound effect
toward the actual
displacement of it.
33. Hurling the Assemblage Point Like a
Knife
from the Back by the Waist
The
knees
are kept bent as the body leans forward. Then the left arm reaches to
the back, from the side, to
the area behind the shoulder blades, grabs onto something as if it were
solid, and hurts it forward
from the waist, with a flick of the wrist, as if hurling a flat disk,
or a knife (figs. 182, 183).
The same movements are repeated with the right hand.

34.
Hurling the Assemblage Point Like a
Disk
from the Shoulder
A deep
rotation of the waist is made to the left, which propels the right arm
to swing to the left side of
the left leg. Then the motion of the waist, moving in the opposite
direction, propels the left arm
to swing to the right side of the right leg. Another motion of the
waist propels the right arm to
swing again to the left side of the left leg. At this point the left
hand reaches back instantly
with a circular motion to grab onto something as if it were solid, from
the area behind the
shoulder blades (fig. 184). The left hand takes *it in a swinging
circular motion to the front of
the body and up to the level of the right shoulder. The palm of the
clenched hand faces upward.
From this position, the left hand, with a flick of the wrist, makes a
hurling motion, as if to hurl
forward something solid, like a disk (fig. 185).
The legs are kept bent slightly at the knees and a great pressure is
exerted (exercise, put into vigorous action) at the back of the
thighs. The right arm, with the elbow slightly bent, is extended behind
the body to give stability
to the act of hurling a disk. This position is held for a moment, while
the left arm maintains the
position of having just hurled an object.
The same movements are repeated with the other arm.

35. Hurling the Assemblage Point Like a
Ball
Above the Head
The
left
hand moves back quickly to the area behind the shoulder blades and
grabs something, as if it were
solid (fig. 186). The arm rotates twice in a big circle above the head
as if to gain impulse (fig.
187) and makes the motion of hurling a ball forward (fig. 188). The
knees are kept bent. These
movements are repeated with the right hand.
THE
Fourth Group: Inner Silence
The Don Juan
said that
inner silence was the state most avidly sought by
the humans of ancient Mexico. He defined it as a natural state of human
perception in which
thoughts are blocked off and all of man's faculties operate from a
level of awareness which doesn't
require the utilization of our daily cognitive system.
Inner silence has always been associated with darkness, for the shamans
of don Juan's lineage,
perhaps because human perception, deprived of its habitual companion,
the internal dialogue, falls
into something that resembles a dark pit.
He said that the body functions as usual, but awareness becomes
sharper. Decisions are
instantaneous, and seem o stem from a special sort of knowledge which
is deprived of thought,
verbalizations.
Human perception functioning in a condition of inner silence, according
to don Juan, is capable of
reaching indescribable levels. Some of hose levels of perception are
worlds in themselves, and not
at all like he worlds reached through dreaming. They are indescribable
states, inexplicable in
terms of the linear paradigms that the habitual state of human
perception employs for explaining
the universe.
Inner silence, in don Juan's understanding, is the matrix for a
gigantic step of evolution: silent
knowledge, or the level of human awareness where knowing is automatic
and instantaneous. Knowledge
at this level is not the product of cerebral cogitation or logical
induction and deduction, or of
generalizations based on similarities and dissimilarities. There is
nothing a priori at the level
of silent knowledge, nothing that could constitute a body of knowledge,
for everything is
imminently now. Complex pieces of information could be grasped without
any cognitive
preliminaries.
Don Juan believed that silent knowledge was insinuated to early man,
but that early man was not
really the possessor of silent knowledge. Such an insinuation was
infinitely stronger than what
modern man experiences, where the bulk of knowledge is the product of
rote learning. It is a
sorcerers' axiom that although we have lost that insinuation, the
avenue that leads to silent
knowledge will always be open to man by means of inner
silence.
Don Juan Matus taught the hard line of his lineage: that inner silence
must be gained by a
consistent pressure of discipline. It has to be accrued or stored, bit
by bit, second by second. In
other words, one has to force oneself to be silent, even if it is only
for a few seconds. According
to don Juan, it was common knowledge among sorcerers that if one
persists in this, persistence
overcomes habit, and thus, it is possible to arrive at a threshold of
accrued seconds or minutes,
which differs from person to person. If the threshold of inner silence
is ten minutes for a given
individual, for instance, then once this threshold is reached, inner
silence happens by itself, of
its own accord, so to speak.
I was warned beforehand that there was no possible way of knowing what
my individual threshold
might be., and that the only way of finding this out was through direct
experience. This is exactly
what happened to me. Following don Juan's suggestion, I had persisted
in forcing myself to remain
silent, and one day, while walking at UCLA, I reached my mysterious
threshold. I knew I had reached
it because in one instant, I experienced something don Juan had
described at length to me. He had
called it stopping the world. In the blink of an eye, the world ceased
to be what it was, and for
the first time in my life, I became conscious that I was seeing energy
as it flowed in the
universe. I had to sit down on some brick steps.
I knew that I was sitting on some brick steps, but I knew it only
intellectually, through memory.
Experientially I was resting on energy. I myself was energy, and so was
everything around me. I had
cancelled out my interpretation system.
After seeing energy directly, I realized something which became the
horror of my day, something
that no one could explain to me satisfactorily except don Juan. I
became conscious that although I
was seeing for the first time in my life, I had been seeing energy as
it flows in the universe all
my life, but I had not been conscious of it. To see energy as it flows
in the universe was not the
novelty. The novelty was the query that arose with such fury that it
made me surface back into the
world of everyday life. I asked myself what had been keeping me from
realizing that I had been
seeing energy as it flows in the universe all my life.
"There are two issues at stake here," don Juan explained to me, when I
asked him about this
maddening contradiction. "One is general awareness. The other is
particular, deliberate
consciousness. Every human being in the world is aware, in general
terms, of seeing energy as it
flows in the universe. However, only sorcerers are particularly and
deliberately conscious of it.
To become conscious of something that you are generally aware of
requires energy, and the iron-hand
discipline needed to get it. Your inner silence, the product of
discipline and energy, bridged the
gap between general awareness and particular consciousness."
Don Juan stressed, in every way he was able, the value of a pragmatic
attitude in order to buttress
the advent of inner silence. He defined a pragmatic attitude as the
capacity to absorb any
contingency that might appear along the way. He himself was, to me, the
living example of such an
attitude. There wasn't any uncertainty or liability that his mere
presence would not
dispel.
He reiterated every time he could that the effects of inner silence
were very unsettling, and that
the only deterrent to this condition was the pragmatic attitude which
was the product of a superbly
pliable, agile, strong body. He said that for sorcerers, the physical
body was the only entity that
made any sense to them, and that there was no such thing as a dualism
between body and mind. He
further stated that the physical body involved both the body and the
mind as we knew them, and that
in order to counterbalance the physical body as a holistic unit,
sorcerers considered another
configuration of energy which was reached through inner silence: the
energy body. He explained that
what I had experienced at the moment, in which I had Stopped the World,
was the resurgence of - my
Energy Body, and, that this configuration of energy was the one, which
had always been able to See
Energy as it flowed in the Universe.
THE
MAGICAL PASSES THAT AID THE ATTAINMENT OF INNER
SILENCE
36. Drawing Two Half-Circles with Each Foot
The
total
weight of the body is on the right leg. The left foot is placed half a
step in front of it, and it
slides on the floor, drawing a half-circle to the left; the ball of the
foot comes to rest almost
touching the right heel. From there, it draws another half-circle to
the back (fig. 189). These
circles are drawn with the ball of the left foot. The heel is kept off
the ground, in order to make
the movement smooth and uniform.
The movement is reversed and two more halfcircles are drawn in this
fashion, starting from the back
and going to the front.
The same movements are executed with the right foot after the whole
weight of the body is
transferred to the left leg. The knee of the leg that supports the
weight is bent for strength and
stability.
37.
Drawing a Half Moon with Each
Foot
The
weight of the body is placed on the right leg. The left foot goes
half a step in front of the right one, drawing a wide semicircle on the
ground around the body from
the front, to the left, to the back of the body. This semicircle is
drawn with the ball of the foot
(fig. 190). Another semicircle is drawn from the back to the front, in
the same fashion. The same
movements are executed with the right leg, after transferring the
weight to the left
leg.

38. The Scarecrow in the Wind with the
Arms
Down
The
arms are kept extended laterally at the level of the shoulders with
the elbows bent and the forearms dangling downward at a strict
ninety-degree angle. The forearms
swing freely from side to side, as if moved by the wind alone. The
forearms and the wrists are kept
straight and vertical. The knees are locked (fig. 191).
39. The Scarecrow in the Wind with the
Arms
Up
Just
as in the preceding magical pass, the arms are extended laterally
at the level of the shoulders, except the forearms are turned upward,
bent at a ninety-degree
angle. The forearms and wrists are kept straight and vertical (fig.
192). Then they swing freely
downward to the front (fig. 193) and upward again. The knees are
locked.

40. Pushing Energy Backward with the
Full
Arm
The
elbows are acutely bent and the forearms held tight against the
sides of the body, as high as possible, with the hands held in fists
(fig. 194). As an exhalation
is made, the forearms are fully extended downward and backward as high
as possible. The knees are
locked, and the trunk bends slightly forward (fig. 195). As an
inhalation is made, the arms are
then brought forward to the original position by bending the
elbows.
Then the breathing is reversed as this movement is repeated; instead of
exhaling as the arms are
pulled backwards, an inhalation is taken. An exhalation follows as the
elbows are bent and the
forearms are brought upward against the axilla.
41. Pivoting the Forearm
The
arms are held in front of the body with the elbows bent and the
forearms vertical. Each hand is bent at the wrist, resembling the head
of a bird, which is at eye
level, with the fingers pointing toward the face (fig. 196). Keeping
the elbows vertical and
straight, the wrists are flipped back and forth, pivoting on the
forearms, making the fingers of
the hands move from pointing at the face to pointing forward (fig.
197). The knees are kept bent
for stability and strength.

42. Moving Energy in a
Ripple
The
knees are kept straight, and the trunk stoops over. Both arms are
kept dangling at the sides. The left arm moves forward with three
ripples of the hand, as if the
hand were following the contour of a surface with three half-circles on
it (fig. 198). Next, the
hand cuts across the front of the body in a straight line from left to
right, then from right to
left (fig. 199), and moves backward at the side of the body with three
more ripples, drawing in
this fashion the thick shape of an inverted capital letter L-at least
six inches thick.
The same movements are repeated with the right arm.

43.
The T Energy of the
Hands
The
two
forearms are held at right angles right in front of the solar plexus,
making the shape of a letter
T. The left hand is the horizontal bar of the letter T with the palm
turned upward. The right hand
is the vertical bar of the letter T with the palm turned downward (fig.
200). Next, the hands turn
back and forth at the same time with considerable force. The palm of
the left hand is turned to
face downward, and the palm of the right hand is turned to we upward,
both hands maintaining the
same letter T shape (fig. 201). These same movements are executed
again, placing the right hand as
the horizontal bar of the letter T and the left hand as the vertical
one.

44.
Pressing Energy with the
Thumbs
The
forearms, bent at the elbows, are held right in front of the body in a
perfectly horizontal
position, maintaining the width of the body. The fingers are curled in
a loose fist, and the thumbs
are held straight, cradled on the curled index fingers (figs. 202,
203). An intermittent pressure
is exerted (exercise,
put into
vigorous action) between the thumb and the
index finger and the curled fingers against the palm of the
hand. They contract and relax, spreading the impulse to the arms. The
knees are kept bent for
stability.
45.
Drawing an Acute Angle with the Arms
Between the Legs
The
knees
are locked, with the hamstrings as tight as possible. The trunk is bent
forward, with the head
almost at the level of the knees. The arms dangle in front and, moving
repeatedly forward and
backward, they draw an acute angle with its vertex between the legs
(figs. 204, 205).
46.
Drawing an Acute Angle with the Arms
in
Front of the Face
The
knees
are locked, with the hamstrings as tight as possible. The trunk is bent
forward, with the head
almost at the level of the knees. The arms dangle in front of the body
and, moving repeatedly from
the back to the front, they draw an acute angle, with its vertex in
front of the face (figs. 206,
207).

47.
Drawing a Circle of Energy Between
the
Legs and in Front of the Body
The
knees
are kept locked, with the hamstrings as tight as possible. The trunk is
bent forward, with the head
almost at the level of the knees. The arms dangle in front of the body.
The two arms cross at the
wrists, the left forearm on top of the right one. The crossed arms
swing back between the legs
(fig. 208). From there, each one makes an outward circle in front of
the face. At the end of the
circle, the arms point forward, the left wrist on top of the right one
(fig. 209). From there, they
draw two inward circles that end between the legs, with the wrists
crossed once more in the initial
position.
Then the right wrist is made to rest on top of the left one, and the
same movements are
repeated.

48.
Three Fingers on the
Floor
The
arms
are brought slowly over the head as a deep inhalation is taken. A slow
exhalation begins while the
arms are brought all the way down to the floor, keeping the knees
locked and the hamstrings as
tight as possible. The index and middle fingers of each hand touch the
floor a foot in front of the
body, and then the thumb is also brought to rest on the floor (fig.
210). A deep inhalation is
taken while that position is held. The body straightens, and the arms
are raised above the head.
The air is exhaled as the arms come down to the level of the waist.
49.
The Knuckles on the Toes
The
arms
are raised above the head as a deep inhalation is taken. As the air is
exhaled, the arms are
brought all the way down to the floor, keeping the knees locked and the
hamstrings as tight as
possible. The knuckles are brought to rest on top of the toes as the
exhalation ends (fig. 211). A
deep inhalation is taken while that position is held. The body
straightens, and the arms are raised
above the head. The exhalation begins when the arms are brought down to
the level of the
waist.
50.
Drawing Energy from the Floor with
the
Breath
A deep
inhalation is taken as the arms are raised above the head; the knees
are kept bent. The exhalation
begins as the trunk turns to the left and bends down as far as
possible. The hands, with the palms
down, come to rest around the left foot, with the right hand in front
of the foot and the left hand
behind it; they move back and forth five times as the exhalation ends
(fig. 212). A deep inhalation
is taken then, and the body straightens as the arms move over the head.
The trunk turns to the
right, and the exhalation begins as the trunk bends down as far as
possible. The exhalation ends
after the hands move back and forth five times by the right foot.
Another deep breath is taken, and
the body straightens up as the arms move above the head and the trunk
pivots to face the front;
then the arms come down as the air is exhaled.

Fourth
Series - The Separation of the Left Body and the Right Body:
The Heat
Series
Don Juan
taught his disciples that for the shamans who lived
in Mexico in ancient times, the concept that a human being is composed
of two complete functioning
bodies, one on the left and one on the right, was fundamental to their
endeavors as sorcerers. Such
a classificatory scheme had nothing to do with intellectual
speculations on the part of those
sorcerers, or with logical conclusions about possibilities of
distribution of mass in the
body.
When don Juan explained this to me, I countered that modern biologists
had the concept of bilateral
symmetry, which means "a basic body plan in which the left and right
sides of the organism can be
divided into approximate mirror images of each other along the
midline."
"The classifications of the shamans of ancient Mexico," don Juan
replied, "were more profound than
the conclusions of modem scientists, because they stemmed from
perceiving energy directly as it
flows in the universe. When the human body is perceived as energy, it
is utterly patent that it is
composed not of two parts, but of two different types of energy: two
different currents of energy,
two opposing and at the same time complementary forces that coexist
side by side, mirroring, in
this fashion, the dual structure of everything in the universe at
large."
The shamans of ancient Mexico accorded each one of these two different
kinds of energy the stature
of a total body, and spoke exclusively in terms of the left body and
the right body. Their emphasis
was on the left body, because they considered it to be the most
effective, in terms of the nature
of its energy configuration, for the ultimate goals of shamanism. The
shamans of ancient Mexico,
who depicted the two bodies as streams of energy, depicted the left
stream as being more turbulent
and aggressive, moving in undulating ripples and projecting out waves
of energy. When illustrating
what he was talking about, don Juan asked me to visualize a scene in
which the left body was like
half of the sun, and that all the solar flares happened on that half.
The waves of energy projected
out of the left body were like those solar flares-always perpendicular
to the round surface from
which they originated.
He depicted the stream of energy of the right body as not being
turbulent at all on the surface. It
moved like water inside a tank which was being slightly tilted back and
forth. There were no
ripples in it, but a continuous rocking motion. At a deeper level,
however, it swirled in
rotational circles in the form of spirals. Don Juan asked me to
envision a very wide,
peaceful-looking tropical river, where the water on the surface seemed
barely to move, but which
had shattering riptides below the surface. In the world of everyday
life, these two currents are
amalgamated into a single unit: the human body as we know it.
To the eye of the seer, however, the energy of the total body is
circular. This meant to the
sorcerers of don Juan's lineage that the right body was the predominant
force.
"What happens in the case of left-handed people?" I asked him once.
"Are they more suitable for the
endeavors of sorcerers?"
"Why do you think they should be?" he replied, seemingly surprised by
my question.
"Because obviously, the left side is predominant," I said.
"This predominance is of no importance whatsoever for sorcerers," he
said. "Yes, the left side
predominates in the sense that they can hold a hammer with their left
hand very effectively. They
write with their left hand. They can hold a knife with their left hand,
and do it very well. If
they are leg shakers, they can certainly shake the left knee with great
rhythm. In other words,
they have rhythm in their left body, but sorcery is not a matter of
that kind of predominance, The
right body still rules them with a circular motion."
"But does left-handedness have any advantages or disadvantages for
sorcerers?" I asked. I was
driven by the implication built into many of the Indo-European
languages of the sinister quality of
left-handedness.
"There are no advantages or disadvantages to my knowledge," he said.
"The division of energy
between the two bodies is not measured by dexterity, or the lack of it.
The predominance of the
right body is an energetic predominance, which was encountered by the
shamans of those ancient
times. They never tried to explain why this predominance happened in
the first place, nor did they
try to further investigate the philosophical implications of it. For
them, it was a fact, but a
very special fact. It was a fact that could be changed."
"Why did they want to change it, don Juan?" I asked.
"Because the predominant circular motion of the right body's energy is
too friggin' boring!" he
exclaimed. "That circular motion certainly takes care of any event of
the daily world, but it does
it circularly, if you know what I mean."
"I don't know what you mean, don Juan," I said.
"Every situation in life is met in this circular fashion," he replied,
making a small circle with
his hand. "On and on and on and on and on. It's a circular movement
that seems to draw the energy
inward always, and turns it around and around in a centripetal motion.
Under these conditions,
there's no expansion. Nothing can be new. There is nothing that cannot
be inwardly accounted for.
What a drag!"
"In what way can this situation be changed, don Juan?" I
asked.
"It's too late to be really changed," he replied. "The damage is
already done. The spiral quality
is here to remain. But it doesn't have to be ceaseless. Yes, we walk
the way we do, we can't change
that, but we would also like to run, or to walk backward, or to climb a
ladder; just to walk and
walk and walk and walk is very effective, but meaningless. The
contribution of the left body would
make those centers of vitality more pliable. If they could undulate
instead of moving in spirals,
if only for an instant, different energy would get into them, with
staggering results."
I understood what he was talking about, at a level beyond thought,
because there was really no way
that I could have understood it linearly.
"The sensation that human beings have of being utterly bored with
themselves," he continued, "is
due to this predominance of the right body. The only thing left for
human beings to do, in a
universal sense, is to find ways of ridding themselves of boredom. What
they end up doing is
finding ways of killing time: the only commodity no one has enough of.
But what's worse is the
reaction to this unbalanced distribution of energy. The violent
reactions of people are due to this
unbalanced distribution. It seems that from time to time, helplessness
builds furious currents of
energy within the human body, which explode in violent behavior.
Violence seems to be, for human
beings, another way of killing time."
"But why is it, don Juan, that the sorcerers of ancient Mexico never
wanted to know why this
situation happened?" I asked, bewildered. I found what I was feeling
about this inward motion to be
fascinating.
"They never tried to find out," he said, "because the instant they
formulated the question, they
knew the answer."
"So they knew why?" I asked.
"No, they didn't know why, but they knew how it happened. But that's
another story." He left me
hanging there, but throughout the course of my association with him, he
explained this seeming
contradiction.
"Awareness is the only avenue that human beings have for evolution," he
said to me once, "and
something extraneous to us, something that has to do with the
predatorial condition of the
universe, has interrupted our possibility of evolving by taking
possession of our awareness. Human
beings have fallen prey to a predatorial force, which has imposed on
them, for its own convenience,
the passivity which is characteristic of the energy of the right
body."
Don Juan described our evolutionary possibility as a journey that our
awareness takes across
something the shamans of ancient Mexico called the dark sea of
awareness: something which they
considered to be an actual feature of the universe, an incommensurable
element that permeates the
universe, like clouds of matter, or light. Don Juan was convinced that
the predominance of the
right body in this unbalanced merging of the right and left bodies
marks the interruption of our
journey of awareness. What seems for us to be the natural dominance of
one side over the other was,
for the sorcerers of his lineage, an aberration, which they strove to
correct. Those shamans
believed that in order to establish a harmonious division between the
left and the right bodies,
practitioners needed to enhance their awareness. Any enhancement of
human awareness, how. ever, had
to be buttressed by the most exigent discipline. Otherwise, this
enhancement, painfully
accomplished, would turn into an obsession, resulting in anything from
psychological aberration to
energetic injury.
Don Juan Matus called the collection of magical passes which deal
exclusively with the separation
between the left body and the right body The Heat Group: the most
crucial element in the training
of the shamans of ancient Mexico. This was a nickname given to this
collection of magical passes
because it makes the energy of the right body a little more turbulent.
Don Juan Matus used to joke
about this phenomenon, saying that the movements for the left body put
an enormous pressure on the
right body, which has been accustomed from birth to ruling without
opposition. The moment it is
faced with opposition, it gets hot with anger. Don Juan urged all his
disciples to practice the
Heat Group assiduously, in order to use its aggressiveness to reinforce
the weak left
body.
In Tensegrity, this group is called The Heat Series, in order to make
it more congruous with the
aims of Tensegrity, which are extremely pragmatic on the one hand and
extremely abstract on the
other, such as the practical utilization of energy for well-being
coupled with the abstract idea of
how that energy is obtained. In all the magical passes of this series,
it is recommended to adopt
the division of left and right bodies, rather than left and right sides
of the body. The end result
of this observance would be to say that during the execution of these
magical passes, the body that
doesn't perform the movements is kept immobile. However, all its
muscles should be engaged, not in
activity, but in awareness. This immobility of the body that is not
performing the movements should
be extended to include its head; that is to say, to the opposite side
of the head. Such immobility
of half of the face and head is more difficult to attain, but it can be
accomplished with
practice.
The
series is divided into four groups.
The
First Group: Stirring Energy on the Left Body and the
Right Body
The Second Group: Mixing Energy from the Left Body and the Right Body
The Third Group: Moving Energy of the Left Body and the Right Body with
the Breath
The Fouth Group: The Predelection of the Left Body and the Right Body
The
First Group: Stirring Energy on the Left Body and the Right Body
The
first group comprises sixteen magical passes, that stir
the energy of the left body and the right body, each independently from
the other. Each magical
pass is performed with either the left arm or the right arm, and in
some cases with both at the
same time. The arms never go, however, beyond the vertical line, that
separates the two
bodies.
1. Gathering Energy in a Ball
from the Front of the Left and the Right
Bodies and Breaking It with the Back of the Hand
With the palm of the hand slightly curved and facing the right, the
left arm circles inward twice
in front of the body (fig. 213). All the muscles of the arm are held
tense as this circular motion
is executed. Then the back of the hand strikes forcefully to the left
as if breaking the top of a
ball gathered with the movement of the arm (fig. 214).
The hand strikes a point an arm's length away from the body above the
shoulders, at a
forty-five-degree angle. While this strike is being executed, all the
muscles are kept tense,
including the muscles of the arms, a tension that permits controlling
the strike. The impact is
felt on the areas of the pancreas and spleen and the left kidney and
adrenals.
The same movements are repeated on the right side, and the impact is
felt on the areas of the liver
and the right kidney and adrenals.

2. Gathering Energy of the Left
and Right Bodies in a Circle Which Is Perforated with the Tips of the
Fingers
The left forearm is held in front of the body, at a ninety-degree angle
in relation to it. The
wrist is kept straight. The palm of the hand faces to the right as the
fingers point to the front.
The thumb is kept locked. As in the previous magical pass, the forearm
circles twice, going from
the left up to the level of the shoulder and turning toward the center
of the body (fig. 215). The
elbow is then quickly pulled all the way back, and the circle drawn by
the forearm is perforated by
the tips of the fingers in a forward thrust (fig. 216). The elbow is
moved all the way back once
more in order to gain striking power, and then the hand shoots forward
again.
The same sequence of movements is performed with the right
arm.

3. Hoisting Left and Right Energy
Upward
Both knees are slightly bent. The left knee is then raised to the level
of the pancreas, fully
bent, while the foot is held with the toes pointing to the ground. At
the same time that this
movement is performed, the left forearm shoots upward until it reaches
a point at a
forty-five-degree angle with the body; the elbow is kept tight against
the body. Both the leg and
the arm move in total synchronicity, jolting the midsection (fig.
217).
The same movements are repeated with the right leg and the right
arm.
The tendency of energy is to sink, and it is of great importance to
spread it upward to the
midsection of the body. It is the belief of shamans that the left body
is ruled by the area of the
pancreas and spleen, and the right body by the area of the liver and
gallbladder. Shamans
understand this process of hoisting energy as a maneuver to energize
those two centers
separately.
4. The Up-and-Down
Pressure
The left elbow is raised in front of the body to the level of the
shoulder, bent at a ninety-degree
angle with the forearm. The hand is clenched in a fist, and the wrist
is bent toward the right as
acutely as possible (fig. 2 18). Using the elbow as a pivot by keeping
it at the same position, the
forearm is bent downward until it reaches the area right in front of
the solar plexus (fig. 219).
The forearm then returns to the upright position. The same movement is
performed with the right
arm.
This magical pass is used to stir up the energy that exists in an arc
between a point just above
the head and in line with the left shoulder and a point right above the
solar plexus.

5. The Inward Turn
The first part of this magical pass is exactly like the first part of
the preceding one, but
instead of bending the forearm downward, it is made to rotate inwardly,
making a complete circle,
pivoting on the elbow at a forty-five-degree angle with the body. The
top of the circle is at a
point just above the car and in line with the left shoulder. The wrist
is also made to rotate as
the circle is drawn (fig. 220).
The same movement is performed with the right hand.
6. The Outward Turn
This magical pass is almost identical to the preceding one, except that
instead of turning the left
forearm to the right to make a circle, it turns to the left (fig. 221).
It makes what don Juan
called an outward circle, as opposed to the circle made in the previous
magical pass, which he
called an inward circle.
The same movement is performed with the right hand.
In this magical pass, the energy stirred is part of the arc of energy
dealt with in the two
preceding magical passes. The fourth, fifth, and sixth magical passes
of this group are performed
together. Shamans have found out, by means of their seeing, that human
beings have enormous caches
of unused energy lying around inside their luminous spheres. They have
also found out, in this
manner, that these magical passes stir the energy dispersed from the
respective centers of
vitality-the one around the liver and the one around the pancreas-which
stays suspended for quite a
while before it begins to sink down to the bottom of the luminous
sphere.

7. A High Push with the Fists
The arms are held in front of the body at the level of the shoulders.
The hands are fisted with the
palms turned toward the ground. The elbows are bent. The left hand
strikes forward with a short
punch, without first retrieving the elbow to gain strength. The left
hand is retrieved to its
initial position; the right hand follows with another similar punch and
is then retrieved to its
original position (fig. 222). The strike of the fists comes from the
contraction of the muscles of
the arms, shoulder blades, and abdomen.
8. A Low Push with the
Fists
The elbows are bent at a ninety-degree angle and kept at the level of
the waist. They don't touch
the body, but are kept an inch or two away from it. The hands are
clenched in fists with the palms
facing each other. The left forearm moves to strike in a short punch,
driven by the muscles of the
stomach, which contract in unison with the muscles of the arm and the
shoulder blade (fig. 223).
After striking, the forearm is retrieved instantly, as if the punch has
generated the force to push
the arm back. The right arm moves immediately afterward in the same
fashion. just as in the
preceding pass, the elbows don't move back to gain striking strength;
the strength is derived
solely from the muscular tension of the abdomen, arms, and shoulder
blades.

9. A Wheel with the Fingers Contracted
at the Middle
Joints
The elbows are kept at the level of the waist over the areas of the
pancreas and spleen, and the
liver
and gallbladder. The wrists are kept straight; the palms of the hands
face each other while the
fingers are tightly clenched at the second knuckle. The thumbs are
locked (fig. 224). The elbows
move forward and away from the body. The left hand circles in a
vertical rasping motion, as if the
bent knuckles were rasping a surface in front of the body. Then the
right hand does the same. The
two hands move in an alternate fashion in such a manner (fig. 225). The
muscles of the abdomen are
kept as tight as possible in order to give impetus to this
movement.
10. Smoothing Energy Out in
Front of the Body
The flat palm of the left hand, which faces forward, is raised to a
level just above the head, in
front of the body. The palm slides downward in a slanted line and comes
to the level of the
pancreas and spleen, as if it were smoothing out a vertical surface.
Without stopping there, it
continues moving to the back; the body rotates to the left to allow the
arm to come fully over the
head. The hand, with the palm facing downward, then comes down with
great force, as if to slap a
rubbery substance in front of the area of the pancreas and spleen (fig.
226).
Exactly the same movements are performed with the right arm, but using
the area of the liver and
gallbladder as the striking point.

11. Hitting Energy in Front of the Face
with an Upward Thrust of the
Fist
The trunk turns slightly to the left in order to allow the left arm two
full backward rotations
going first to the front, above the head, then to the back, where the
palm turns slightly inward as
if to scoop something from the back (fig. 227). The movement ends at
the second turn with an upward
thrust of the fisted hand in front of the face (fig. 228). This magical
pass is repeated with the
right arm in exactly the same sequence.

12. Hammering Energy in Front of the
Left and Right
Bodies
One and a half forward circles are made with the arm, followed by a
downward strike; the body
rotates slightly in order to allow the left arm a full rotation
starting from its initial position
by the side of the thigh to the back, above the head, to the front, and
again to the side of the
thigh. As this circle is made, the palm is made to rotate at the wrist
as if the hand were scooping
up some viscous matter (fig. 229). From its initial position, the arm
moves again to the back and
above the head, where the hand turns into a fist that strikes down,
with great force, at a point in
front of and above the pancreas and spleen, using the soft edge of the
hand like a hammer as the
striking surface (fig. 230).
The same movements are repeated with the right arm.

13. Drawing Two Outward Circles
of Energy and Smashing Them by the
Navel
Both arms move in unison up the front of the body, out to the sides,
and around, like a swimming
stroke, to draw two winglike circles at forty-five-degree angles to the
front of the body (fig.
231). Then the circles are broken at the bottom, at the level of the
navel, with a forceful strike
of both hands. The hands are bent at a ninety-degree angle in relation
to the forearms, with the
fingers pointing forward. The force of the strike makes the palms of
the hands come within a few
inches of each other (fig. 232).

14. Drawing Two Circles of Energy
Laterally with the Index and Middle
Fingers Extended
The index and middle fingers of both hands are fully extended, while
the third and fourth fingers
are held by the thumbs against the palms.
The arms circle in unison from their normal position at the sides to
above the head and then
laterally to the sides of the body at forty-five degree angles toward
the back (fig. 233). When the
full circle is nearly completed, the fingers contract into fists,
leaving the second knuckles of
the middle fingers protruding. The movement ends as the fists, with the
palms facing the body,
strike forward and upward, to the level of the chin (fig.
234).

15. Stirring the Energy Around the
Temples
A long inhalation is taken. An exhalation begins as the arms are
brought to a point above the head,
where they clasp into fists; the palms of the fisted hands face the
front of the body. From there
they strike downward with a back-fist blow to a point right above the
hips (fig. 235). The fisted
hands move to the sides of the body, drawing lateral half-circles that
bring the fists to an area a
few inches in front of the forehead and five or six inches away from
each other. The fisted palms
face outward (fig. 236). While the exhalation still lasts, the fists
are brought to rest on the
temples for an instant. The body leans backward a bit by bending
slightly at the knees to gain
spring and momentum, and then the arms are brought forcefully down,
without straightening the
elbows, to strike behind the body on either side with the backs of the
fisted hands (fig. 237). The
exhalation ends there.

16. Projecting a Small Circle of Energy
Out in Front of the
Body
From its natural position by the side of the thigh, the left arm moves
outward laterally; the palm
of the hand faces the right. It draws a small circle as the palm turns
downward, comes to the area
of the pancreas and spleen, and continues moving left to the level of
the waist. The elbow
protrudes acutely (fig. 238a); the hand turns into a fist. The palm of
the fisted hand faces the
ground. The fist strikes with a short blow to the front, as if to
pierce the circle it has drawn
(fig. 238b). The movement is continuous; it is not interrupted
when the hand turns into a fist, but stops only
when the punch has been delivered. The blow gives an intense jolt to
the center of vitality located
around the pancreas and spleen. The same movement is executed
with the right hand, the strike of which jolts the liver and
gallbladder.
The
Second Group: Mixing Energy from the Left Body and the Right
Body
The
second group consists of fourteen magical passes that
mix the energy of both bodies at their respective centers of vitality.
The shamans of ancient
Mexico believed that mixing energy in this fashion makes it possible to
separate the energy of both
bodies more readily by dropping unfamiliar energy into them, a process
which they described as
exacerbating the centers of vitality.
17. Bunching Necessary Energy
and Dispersing Unnecessary
Energy
This magical pass entails movements that could best be described as
pushing something solid across
the front of the body with the palm of the hand, and dragging it back
across the front of the body
with the back of the hand.
It starts with the left arm kept close to the body, by the waist, with
the forearm bent at a
ninety-degree angle. The forearm is brought closer to the body as the
movement begins, and the hand
is bent back at the wrist. The palm of the left hand faces right; the
thumb is locked. Then, as if
a great force were opposing it, it moves across the body to the extreme
right, without the elbow
losing its ninety-degree angle (fig. 239). From there, again as if a
great force were opposing it,
the hand is dragged as far left as it can reach without losing the
ninety-degree angle of the
elbow, with the palm still facing the right (fig. 240).
During this entire sequence of movements, the muscles of the left body
are contracted to the
maximum, and the right arm is held immobile against the right leg. The
same sequence of movements
is repeated with the right arm and hand.
18. Piling Energy onto the Left
and Right Bodies
The weight is placed on the right leg. The knee is slightly bent for
support and balance. The left
leg and arm, which are kept semitense, sweep in front of the body in an
arc from left to right, in
unison. The left foot and the left hand end at a position just to the
right of the body. The outer
edge of the left foot touches the ground. The fingertips of the left
hand point down as the sweep
is made (fig. 241). Then both the left leg and the left arm return to
their original
positions.
The exact sequence is repeated by sweeping the right leg and arm to the
left.

19. Gathering Energy with One Arm and
Striking It with the
Other
Don Juan said that with this magical pass, energy was stirred and
collected with the movement of
one arm and was struck with the movement of the opposite arm. He
believed that striking, with one
hand, energy which had been gathered by the other, allowed the entrance
of energy into one body
from sources belonging to the other body, something which was never
done under normal
conditions.
The left arm moves up to the level of the eyes. The wrist is slightly
bent backwards; in this
position, going from left to right and back again, the hand draws the
figure of an oval, about a
foot and a half wide and as long as the width of the body (fig. 242).
Then the hand, with the palm
facing down, moves across at eye level from left to right as if cutting
through, with the tips of
the fingers, the figure which it has drawn (fig. 243).
At the moment that the left hand reaches the level of the right
shoulder, the right hand, which is
held at waist level with the cupped palm turned upward, shoots forward,
striking with the heel of
the hand, to hit the spot in the middle of the oval drawn by the left
hand, as the left hand is
slowly brought down (fig. 244). As it strikes, the palm of the right
hand is facing forward, and
the fingers are slightly curved, permitting in this fashion the
necessary contour of the palm to
strike a round surface. The strike ends with the elbow slightly bent,
to avoid overstretching the
tendons. The same movements are performed beginning with the right
arm.

20. Gathering Energy with the
Arms and Legs
The body pivots slightly to the right on the ball of the right foot;
the left leg juts out at a
forty-five-degree angle, with the knee bent to give a forward slant to
the trunk. The body is made
to rock three times, as if to gain momentum. Then the left arm scoops
downward as if to grab
something at the level of the left knee (fig. 245). The body leans
back, and with that impulse, the
lower part of the left leg, from the knee down, is brought close to the
groin, almost touching it
with the heel; the left hand swiftly brushes the vital area of the
liver and gallbladder, on the
right (fig. 246).
The same sequence of movements is repeated with the right leg and arm,
which bring the gathered
energy to the center of vitality located around the pancreas and
spleen, on the left.

21. Moving Energy from the Left and the
Right Shoulders
The left arm moves from its natural position hanging by the left thigh
to the right shoulder, where
it grabs something, and the hand turns into a fist. This movement is
propelled by a sharp twist of
the waist to the right. The knees are slightly bent to allow this
turning movement. The acutely
bent elbow is not allowed to sag, but is kept at the level of the
shoulders (fig. 247). Propelled
by a straightening of the waist, the fist is then moved away from the
right shoulder in an upward
arc, striking, with the back of the hand, a point slightly above the
head and in line with the left
shoulder (fig. 248). The hand opens there as if to drop something that
is held in the
fist.
The same sequence of movements is repeated with the right arm.

22. Gathering Energy from One Body and
Dispersing
It on the Other Beginning from its natural position by the left thigh,
the left arm draws an are
from left to right, crossing in front of the pubis, until it reaches
the extreme right. This
movement is aided by a slight turn of the waist. From there, the arm
continues moving in a circle
above the head, to the height and level of the left shoulder. It cuts
across then to the level of
the right shoulder. There, the hand turns into a fist, as if grabbing
something, with the palm down
(Fig. 249). Next, the fist hits a point at the height of the head, an
arm's length away from it.
The blow is delivered with the soft edge of the hand, using the hand as
if it were a
hammer.
The arm is fully extended, but slightly curved at the elbow (fig. 250).
The same movements are
repeated with the right arm.

23. Hammering Energy from the Left
Shoulder and the Right Shoulder on the
Midpoint in Front of the Face
The left arm is moved above the head. The elbow is bent at a
ninety-degree angle. The hand turns
there into a fist, with the palm facing upward. Then it strikes from
the left, with the soft edge
of the hand, the division line of the left and right body, in front of
the face. The body leans
slightly to the left as this strike is made (fig. 251). The fisted hand
keeps on moving until it
almost touches the right shoulder; the palm turns there so that it
faces downward. Then it makes a
similar strike, this time from the right; the body leans to the right
(fig. 252).
This same sequence of movements is repeated with the right
arm.
A reservoir of neutral energy can be built by this magical pass,
meaning energy which can easily be
used by either the left body or the right body.

24. A Strike with the Hand Fisted at the
Second
Knuckle
Both arms are lifted to the level of the neck, the elbows held at
ninety-degree angles. The hands
are held with the fingers bent at the second knuckle and held tightly
over the palm (figs. 253,
254). From this position, the left hand strikes. The strike is a
powerful swing made to the right,
across the line of the right shoulder, but without greatly moving the
arm. The arm is driven by a
powerful rightward twist of the waist (fig. 255).
The right arm moves in the same fashion beyond the line of the left
shoulder, driven by an
instantaneous leftward twist of the waist.

25. Grabbing Energy from the Shoulders
and Smashing It on the Centers of
Vitality
The left arm moves to the right shoulder, and the hand turns into a
fist, as if grabbing something
(fig. 256). The elbow is kept bent at a ninety-degree angle. Then the
fist is forcefully brought
back to the left side by the waist (fig. 257). It stays there for an
instant to gain impulse, and
then the fist shoots across the body to the right, the fisted palm
facing the body, to strike
through a point by the area of the liver and gallbladder (fig. 258).
The same movement is repeated
with the right arm, which strikes across the area of the pancreas and
spleen.

26. Pushing Energy to the Sides with the
Elbows
Both arms are brought to the level of the shoulders, the elbows bent
sharply and protruding
straight out. The wrists are crossed making a letter X, the left
forearm on top of the right one.
The hands, clenched into fists, touch the pectoral muscles at the edges
of the axillae; the left
fist touches the edges of the right axilla and the right fist the edges
of the left axilla (fig.
259). The elbows are then forcefully brought out to the sides in line
with the shoulders, as if to
give an elbow blow to the sides (fig. 260). This movement is
repeated with the right arm on
top of the left.

27. Drawing Two Inward Circles of Energy
in Front of the Body and
Crushing Them Out to the Sides
As a deep breath is taken, the arms circle in unison from their natural
position at the sides of
the thighs, to the line that separates the left and the right bodies.
This movement ends with the
forearms crossed over the chest. The fingers are kept tightly together,
pointing upward, the thumbs
locked; the wrists are bent at ninety-degree angles. The left arm is on
top of the right one. The
locked thumb of the left hand touches the pectoral muscle of the right
body, and the locked thumb
of the right hand touches the pectoral muscle of the left body (fig.
261). The inhalation ends
there. A quick exhalation is made as the arms are spread apart
forcefully with the hands clenched
into fists, each striking, with the back of the hand, a point on the
respective sides above the
head (fig. 262).
The same movements are repeated with the right arm on top of the
left.

28. Striking Energy in Front of the Body
and on the Left and Right with
Both Fists
The hands are clenched into fists at the level of the waist. The palms
of the fists face each
other. Both hands are lifted to the level of the eyes and strike
forcefully downward in unison at
two points in front of the groin; they hit the target with the soft
part of the fists (fig. 263).
From there, the arms swing in unison, making an upward arc to the left
as the whole trunk leans
toward the left, following the impulse of the arms. The fists strike
with the knuckles (fig. 264).
The fists return to deliver another blow to the same points in front of
the groin. From there, the
arms swing in unison, making an upward arc to the right as the whole
trunk leans toward the right,
following the impulse of the arms. The fists strike with the knuckles.
The fists move one more time
to deliver a blow with the soft edge of the hands to the same two
points in front of the
groin.

29. Striking Energy in Front of the Body
with Both Fists and on the Left
and the Right
The beginning of this magical pass is exactly like the preceding one
(fig. 265). Once the strike is
completed, both arms are lifted like hammers to the level of the head,
and the trunk is made to
turn sharply to the left. The two fists strike two points in front of
the left hip (fig. 266). The
arms lift again to the height of the head, the palms of the hands are
opened, and they descend to
strike the same two points (fig. 267). The arms are raised again to the
level of the head. The
hands rum into fists to strike the same points once again. The forearms
are raised to the level of
the head, the body turns to face the front, and the fists are slammed
down on the same points in
front of the groin.
The same sequence of movements is repeated with the trunk turned
sharply to the right.

30. Smashing Energy with the Wrists
Above the Head and on the Left and
the Right
Both hands are raised above the head, with the wrists touching and the
palms curved as if holding a
ball (fig. 268). Then the trunk turns to the left, as both arms move
sharply to the left of the
waist without disengaging the wrists, which rotate on each other to
accommodate the new position of
the hands. The palm of the left hand faces upward, and the palm of the
right hand faces downward
(fig. 269). Both arms are moved to the point above the head again,
still without disengaging the
wrists, which rotate to adopt their initial position.
The same sequence of movements is performed by bringing the hands
sharply to a point to the right
of the waist. The movement ends by bringing the hands back to their
starting position above the
head.