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.
КАРЛОС КАСТАНЭДА "Путешествие в Икстлан"
ПРЕДИСЛОВИЕ
7
В субботу, 22 мая 1971 я поехал в Сонору, Мексика, навестить Дон Хуан
Матус, Колдуна-индейца Яки, с кем я был знаком с 1961. Я думал, что мой
визит в тот день будет отличаться от множества моих визитов к нему за
эти 10 лет, как его ученика. События, которые произошли в тот день и в
следующие дни, однако, были мимолётными для меня. К тому времени моё
учение подошло к концу. Это не был каприз с моей стороны, а реальное
завершение. Я уже этот случай описывал в моих двух предыдущих книгах:
"Учения Дон Хуана" и "Другая Реальность". Мой основной логикой в обоих
книгах было то, что главное в обучении на Колдуна были состояния
необычной реальности, получаемые после проглатывания наркотических
трав. В этом отношении Дон Хуан был экспертом в использовании 3х таких
растений: peyote или Lophophora williamasii, jimson weed или Datura
inoxia; и вид наркотических грибов, принадлежащих - genus Psylocebe.
Моё восприятие мира через эффекты тех наркотиков было таким
ошеломляющим и странным, что мне пришлось согласиться, что такие
состояния были единственным путём общения и изучения того, что Дон Хуан
пытался учить меня. Такая логика была ошибочна. Во избежание
непонятного в моей работе с Дон Хуаном, я бы хотел здесь объяснить
кое-какие детали.
8-9
До сих пор, я не делал никаких попыток, представить Дон Хуана в
культурном окружении. Тот факт, что он считает себя индейцем Яки, не
значит, что его знания Колдовства известно или в общем практикуется
индейцами Яки. Все разговоры, которые Дон Хуан и я имели в течении моей
учёбы, происходили на испанском, и только благодаря прекрасному знанию
Дон Хуаном этого языка, я получил детальные объяснения замысловатости
его системы верований. Я относился к этой сложной и хорошо
распланированной части Знаний, как к Колдовству, и к нему, как к
Колдуну, потому что те категории он сам использовал в обычных
разговорах.
Так как я был способен записывать большую часть того, что он говорил в
начале учёбы и всё, что было сказано позже фразами, я накопил обширные
записи.
Чтобы те записи можно было читать, и всё же сохранить драматическое
единство Учений Дон Хуана, мне пришлось редактировать их, но что я
пропускал, считал неважным для темы, которую поднимал. В случае моей
совместной работы с Дон Хуаном, я ограничивал свои усилия только для
наблюдений за ним как за Колдуном и получить максимум его знаний. Я
должен сначала объяснить основные верования Колдовства, как они были
даны мне Дон Хуаном. Он говорил, что для Колдуна наш Повседневный Мир -
не реален, а реальность или мир, который мы знаем, это только описание.
Чтобы это доказать, Дон Хуан концентрировал все свои усилия, чтобы
привести меня к подлинному убеждению того, что у меня было в голове,
как наш мир, было просто описание мира; описание, которое вбивалось в
меня с рожденья. Он указал, что все, кто контактируют с ребёнком,
являются учителем, кто без конца описывает мир ему до того момента,
когда ребёнок становится способен воспринимать мир, как его описывали.
Согласно Дон Хуану, у нас нет в памяти того зловещего момента, просто
потому что никто из нас не мог иметь никакой точки, на которую мог
ссылаться, чтобы сравнивать её с чем-то ещё. Однако с того момента
ребёнок - член общества. Он знает описание мира; и его участие
становится полным, я полагаю, когда он способен делать все нужные
переводы восприятия, которые, соответствуя такому описанию,
подтверждают его.
Для Дон Хуана тогда реальность нашей ежедненой жизни состоит в
бесконечном течении воспринимаемых интерпретаций, которые мы -
индивидуалы, кто разделяет специфическое участие, научился делать это
совместно. Идея, что воспринимаемые интерпретации, которые создают наш
мир, имеют течение, гармонирующее с фактом, что они двигаются
беспрерывно и редко обсуждаются. Собственно, реальность мира, который
мы знаем, принимается настолько как должное, что основные принципы
Колдовства, что наша реальность просто одно из многих описаний, с
трудом могут быть взяты как что-то серьёзное. К счастью, в случае моей
учёбы Дон Хуана совсем не волновало: мог я или не мог относиться серьёзно к его
предложениям, и он продолжал просветлять меня, несмотря на моё
сопротивление, моё недоверие, и мою неспособность понять то, что он
говорил. Таким образом, как учитель Колдовства, Дон Хуан отважился
описать мне мир с нашего самого первого разговора. Мои затруднения
схватить его понятия и методы исходили из факта, что его описания были
чужеродными и не согласовывались с моими собственными.
Его утверждение было, что он учил меня как ВИДЕТЬ, а не как глядеть, и
что "Остановить Мир" был первый шаг к ВИДЕНИЮ. Годами, я считал идею "Остановить Мир" чем-то
вреде метафоры, которая реально ничего не значила. Только во время
неформального разговора, который произошёл к концу моей учёбы, я
полностью понял его масштаб и важность, как одно из
главных предметов Знаний Дон Хуана. Дон Хуан и я говорили о разных
вещах в расслабленной манере. Я рассказал ему о моём друге и его
дилемме со своим 9ти летним сыном.
10-11
Ребёнок, кто жил с матерью последние 4 года, теперь жил с моим другом и
проблема была в том, что с ним делать? Согласно моему другу, ребёнок не
уживался в школе; у него не хватало концентрации и ему ничего не было
интересно. Он устраивал скандалы, плохо себя вёл и убегал из дому.
"Твой друг явно имеет проблему," сказал он, смеясь. Я хотел высказать
ему все ужасные вещи, проделанные ребёнком, но он перебил меня. "Нет
нужды ещё говорить об этом бедном маленьком мальчике," сказал он. "И
нет нужды тебе или мне относиться к его действиям в наших мыслях, так
или иначе." Его манера была резкой, а тон твёрдый, но потом он
улыбнулся.
"Что может сделать мой друг?" спросил я.
"Самое худшее, что он может сделать, это заставить этого ребёнка
согласиться с ним," сказал Дон Хуан.
"Что ты имеешь ввиду?"
"Я имею ввиду, что этот ребёнок не должен быть побитым или напуганным
его отцом, когда он не ведёт себя, как хочет его отец."
"Как он может его учить чему-либо, если не будет с ним твёрдым?"
"Твой друг должен позволить кому-то ещё отшлёпать ребёнка."
"Он не может позволить кому-то ещё трогать его маленького мальчика!"
сказал я, удивлённый его советом. Дон Хуан, похоже, получал
удовольствие от моей реакции и хихикал.
"Твой друг - не воин," сказал он. "Если бы он был, он бы знал, что
самая плохая вещь, какую можно сделать, это - угрожать людям напрямую."
"Что бы сделал воин, Дон Хуан?"
"Воин подошёл бы к этому стратегически."
"Я всё ещё не пойму, что ты имеешь ввиду."
"Я имею ввиду, что если твой друг был бы воином, он бы помог своему
ребёнку 'Остановить Мир'."
"Как может мой друг это сделать?"
"Ему нужна личная энергия. Ему нужно быть Колдуном."
"Но он не Колдун."
"В этом случае он должен использовать обычные средства, чтобы помочь
сыну поменять его идею мира. Это не 'Остановить Мир', но это
всё равно сработает."
Я поппросил его объяснить свои идеи. "Если бы я был на месте твоего
друга," сказал Дон Хуан, "Я бы начал с того, что нанял кого-то
отшлёпать мальчишку. Я бы пошёл в трущобы и нанял самого неприятного
человека, какого только можно найти."
"Напугать ребёнка?"
"Не только напугать мальчишку, глупец. Этот малец должен быть
остановлен, а быть избитым своим отцом, не принесёт результата. Если
кто-то хочет остановить наших мужчин, то нужно всегда быть в стороне.
Так всегда можно руководить давлением." Идея была абсурдной, но она всё
же для меня была привлекательной.
Дон Хуан положил свой подбородок на свою левую ладонь. Его левая рука
лежала на деревянном ящике, служащим столом. Его глаза были закрыты, но
зрачки двигались. Я чувствовал, что он смотрит на меня через свои
закрытые глаза. Эта мысль напугала меня.
"Скажи мне больше, что мой друг должен делать со своим мальчишкой,"
сказал я.
"Скажи ему пойти в трушобы и очень осторожно выбрать уродливого
бродягу," продолжал он. "Скажи ему поймать мальчишку. Нужен тот, у кого
ещё осталась какая- то сила." Затем Дон Хуан разработал странную
стратегию. Мне нужно было проинструктировать своего друга иметь
человека и чтобы он следовал за ним или ждать его в месте, куда он
пойдёт со своим сыном. Мужик, в ответ на согласованный знак, данный
вследствии плохого поведения со стороны мальчишки, должен выскочить из
тайного места, схватить ребёнка и хорошенько его отшлёпать. "После
того, как мужик напугает его, твой друг должен помочь мальчишке вернуть
к себе доверие, любым путём. Если твой друг последует этой
процедуре 3-4 раза, уверяю тебя, что этот ребёнок будет чувствовать себя ко всему по другому. Он поменяет
свою идею о мире."
"Что если страх ранит его?"
12-13
"Страх никогда ещё никого не ранил. Что ранит Дух (spirit), это - иметь кого-то
всегда над душой, бьющего тебя, приказывая что делать и что не делать.
Когда этот ребёнок будет более уравновешен, ты должен сказать своему
другу сделать для него последнюю вещь. Он должен найти способ добраться
до мёртвого ребёнка, скорее всего в госпитале или в морге. Он должен
взять туда своего сына и показать ему мёртвого ребёнка. Он должен
позволить ему потрогать труп левой рукой один раз на любом месте,
только не на животе. После того, как мальчик это сделает, он будет
обновлён. Мир уже никогда не будет для него тем же самым."
Тогда до меня дошло: все годы нашего общения Дон Хуан применял ко мне
ту же тактику, правда другого масштаба, которую он предлагал моему
другу использовать с его сыном. Я спросил его об этом. Он сказал, что
старался всю дорогу учить меня, как 'Остановить Мир'. "Ты
пока не остановил," сказал он, улыбаясь.
"Похоже, ничего не помогает, потому что ты очень упрям. Однако, если бы
ты не был такой упрямый, то к настоящему моменту ты бы наверно 'Остановил Мир' любым
способом, которым я тебя обучил."
"Какие способы, Дон Хуан?"
"Всё, что я говорил тебе делать, были способы 'Остановить Мир'."
Через несколько месяцев после этого разговора, Дон Хуан достиг того,
что он наметил сделать: учить меня 'Остановить Мир'. Это
монументальное событие в моей жизни заставило меня пересмотреть в
деталях свою десятилетнюю работу. Мне стало ясно, что моё
первоначальное представление о роли наркотических трав было ошибочным.
Они не были существенной чертой описания мира Колдуном, а только
вспомогательное средство зацементировать, так сказать, части описания,
которые я, иначе, не был способен воспринять. Моя настойчивость
держаться за мою стандартную версию реальности превращало меня почти в
слепого и глухого к целям Дон Хуана. Поэтому это было просто мой
недостаток чувствительности, который культивировал их (наркотических
трав) использование. Полностью пересматривая свои записи, я осознал,
что Дон Хуан дал мне уйму новых описаний в самом начале нашего общения,
что он называл "Приёмы для Остановки Мира".
Я выбросил ту часть своих записей в своих ранних работах, потому что
они не относились к использованию наркотических трав. Сейчас я по праву
восстановил их в общий спектр Учений Дон Хуана и они включали первые 17
глав этой работы. Последние 3 главы записей покрывают события, что
становится моей кульминационной точкой в моей "Остановке Мира".
Суммируя, я могу сказать: когда я начал учёбу, реальность была другой,
имеется ввиду, было описание мира Колдунами, которое я не знал.
ДонХуан, как Колдун и учитель, обучил меня этому описанию. Десятилетняя
учёба, которую я прошёл, поэтому состояла в установлении этой
незнакомой реальности, раскрывая её описание, добавляя больше и больше
сложных частей, пока я шёл вперёд. Остановка учёбы означало, что я
изучил новое описание мира в убедительной и достоверной манере и, таким
образом, я стал способен вызвать в себе новое восприятие мира, которое
сходилось
с его новым описанием. Другими словами, я заслужил членство. Дон Хуан
утверждал: чтобы достичь ВИДЕНИЯ, сначала придётся 'Остановить Мир'.
'Остановить
Мир' и в самом деле было подходящей интерпретацией определённых
состояний сознания, в которых реальность Повседневного мира менялась,
потому что течение интерпретации, которое обычно движется без
остановки, было остановлено чередой обстоятельств, чуждых этому
течению. В моём случае, череда обстоятельств,
чуждых моему нормальному течению интерпретаций, было описание мира
Колдунами. Предвидение Дон Хуана для "Остановке Мира" было то,
что необходимо быть убеждённым. Другими словами, приходится учиться
новым описаниям в полном масштабе с целью противопоставить это старой
версии, и таким образом сломать догматическую уверенность, которую мы
все имеем, что в достоверности наших восприятий мира нет сомненья.
После "Остановки Мира",
сдедующий шаг был ВИДЕНИЕ. Под этим Дон Хуан подразумевал то, что я
хотел бы распределить
по категориям, как ответ воспринятых забот мира, вне описания, которому
мы научились называть реальностью."
14
Моё заявление, что все эти шаги могут только быть поняты терминами
описания, которому они принадлежат; и так как это было описание,
которое он отважился дать мне с самого начала, я должен затем позволить
его учениям быть единственным источником входа в них. Таким
образом я предоставляю слова Дон Хуана говорить за себя.
Часть 1: 'Остановить Мир' -
Подтверждения из Окружающего Нас Мира
17
"Я так понимаю, что вы много знаете о растениях, сэр," сказал я
старику-индейцу передо мной. Мой друг только что связал меня с ним и
оставил комнату, мы представились
друг другу. Старик сказал мне, что его имя было Хуан Матус.
"Это тебе сказал твой друг?" сказал он небрежно.
"Да."
"Я собираю растения или скорее, они разрешают мне их собирать," сказал
он тихо. Мы были в комнате ожидания автобусного депо в Аризоне. Я
спросил его очень формальным тоном на испанском, если он позволит мне
задать ему несколько вопросов: "Разрешит ли мне caballero задать ему вопросы?"
"Caballero," что происходит
от слова "caballo" -
лошадь, раньше означало - наездник или джентлмен на лошади. Он
вопросительно посмотрел на меня.
"Я - наездник, только без лошади," сказал он и широко улыбнулся, затем
добавил, "Я сказал тебе, что моё имя Хуан Матус."
Мне понравилась его улыбка и я подумал, что он явно человек, кто ценит
прямоту, и смело решил прощупать его своим предложением. Я сказал ему,
что был заинтересован в коллекционировании и изучении медицинских трав.
Особенно, мне было интересно использование наркотического кактуса - peyote, который
я долго изучал в университете Лос Анжелеса. Я подумал, что моя
презентация была очень серьёзной. Я был очень сдержан и казался себе
внушающим доверия.
18-19
Старик медленно покачал головой и я, воодушевлённый его молчанием,
добавил, что это несомненно принесёт нам пользу, если мы собирёмся и
обсудим дело с peyote. И
как раз в этот момент он поднял голову и посмотрел мне прямо в глаза.
Это был сильный, незабываемый взгляд. И всё же он ни коим образом не
был угрожающим или сверхестественным. Это был взгляд, который пронизал
меня до глубины Души. Меня это тут же сбило с толку и я не мог
продолжать свою хвалебную речь о себе же. Так закончилась наша встреча,
однако он оставил надежду. Он сказал, что может быть я смогу навестить
его в его доме когда-нибудь.
Мне было трудно оценить действие, которое оказал взгляд Дон Хуана на
меня, и уникальность того события. Когда я начал изучать антропологию
и, таким образом, встретил Дон Хуана, я уже был знатоком того "как
сориентироваться в обстановке". Дом я оставил годами раньше и это, по
моим оценкам, значило, что я могу сам о себе позаботиться. Как только
мне отказывали, обычно я мог добиться лестью своего желания, делать
уступки, спорить, злиться, но если ничего не помогало, я ныл и
жаловался; другими словами, всегда было что-то, что я знал и делал в
зависимости от обстоятельств, и никогда в моей жизни, ни один человек
не мог остановить меня настолько быстро и явно, как это сделал Дон Хуан
в тот полдень. Дело было не только в том, что меня заставили замолчать;
были времена, когда я не мог сказать ни слова своему противнику, потому
что чувствовал внутреннее уважение к нему, и всё же моя злость или
досада отражалась в моих мыслях. Однако, взгляд Дон Хуана сковал меня
до такой степени, что я не мог толком думать. Меня этот ошеломляющий
взгляд сильно заинтриговал и я решил его найти. После той первой встречи, я готовил
себя 6 месяцев, перечитал всё на использование peyote среди американских иодейцев,
особенно о культе peyote
среди индейцев Равнин.
Я ознакомился с каждой имеющийся работой и когда я почувствовал, что
готов, я поехал обратно в Аризону.
Суббота, 17 декабря 1960. Я нашёл его дом после наведения долгих,
излишних справок среди местных индейцев. Было поздее утро когда я
прибыл и припарковался перед домом. Я увидел его сидящим на деревянном
ящике из-под молока. Он, похоже, узнал меня и поприветствовал, когда я
вылез из машины. Мы
обменялись обычными приветствиями и затем, простыми словами я
признался, что с моей стороны, я обошёлся с ним по-дьявольски, когда мы
встретились впервые. Я тогда хвалился, что много знал о peyote, когда на самом деле, я ничего о нём
не знал. Он уставился на меня, глаза были очень добрые. Я сказал ему,
что я шесть месяцев читал, чтобы подготовить себя к нашей встрече, и
что на этот раз я действительно знаю намного больше. Он рассмеялся.
Похоже, было что-то в моём заявлении, что рассмешило его. Он рассмеялся
надо мной и я немного смутился и обиделся. Он видимо, заметил моё
смущение и заверил меня, что хоть у меня и хорошие намерения, но
реально, не было возможности подготовиться к нашей встрече. Я не знал,
будет ли уместно спросить, имело ли это заявление какой-то тайный
смысл, но не спросил; и всё же он, похоже, понимал мои чувства и
продолжил объяснять то, что имел ввиду. Он сказал, что мои попытки
напомнили ему историю о людях, которых один король однажды осудил и
убил. Он сказал, что в истории осуждённая пара не отличалась от своих
судей, кроме как они настаивали на произношение определённых слов в
странной манере, подходящей только им; та ошибка, конечно, была знаком,
ключевым словом. И король поставил посты в
критических местах, где официальный представитель просил каждого
проезжающего мужчину произнести ключевое слово. Те, кто мог
произнести его так, как король, оставались в живых, а те, кто не мог,
тут же убивались. Суть истории была в том, что однажды молодой человек
решил подготовить себя, чтобы пройти через пост, научившись произносить
ключевое слово так, как это
любил король. Дон Хуан сказал, широко улыбнувшись, что молодому человеку взяло шесть
месяцев, чтобы научиться такому произношению. А когда пришёл день великого
экзамена, молодой человек очень уверенно пошёл на пост и дождался когда официальный представитель
попросит его произнести это слово.
20-21
В этот момент Дон Хуан многозначительно остановил свой рассказ и
посмотрел на меня. Его пауза была очень продуманной и казалась немного
хитрой для меня, но я подыгрывал: я уже слышал эту историю раньше. Она
была связана с евреями в Германии и как можно было отличить евреев по
тому, как они произносили определённые слова. Я также знал финал
истории: молодой человек будет пойман, потому что представитель забыл ключевое слово и попросил его
произнести другое слово, которое было очень похоже, но которое молодой
человек не выучил, как правильно сказать. Дон Хуан похоже ждал, когда я
спрошу, что случилось, ну я и спросил.
"Что с ним случилось?" спросил я, стараясь выглядеть наивным и
заинтересованным в истории.
"Молодой человек, кто был настоящей лисой," сказал он, "понял, что
представитель забыл ключевое
слово, и не успел человек ничего сказать, как сознался, что готовился
шесть месяцев." Он ещё
сделал паузу и посмотрел на меня с озорным огоньком в глазах. В этот
раз он выиграл. Признание молодого человека был новый элемент и я
больше не знал, как заканчивается история.
"Ну и как всё закончилось?" спросил я с интересом.
"Молодой человек конечно был тут же убит," сказал он и покатился от
хохота. Мне очень понравилось как он заинтриговал меня; но больше всего
мне понравилось, как он связал эту историю с моим собственным случаем.
Видимо, он придумал её, чтобы связать со мной. Он смеялся надо
мной в очень лёгкой, артистичной манере и я смеялся вместе с ним.
Впоследствии я сказал ему, что неважно как глупо я выглядел, мне
действительно интересно было изучить кое-что о растениях.
"Я люблю много ходить," сказал он. Я подумал, что он нарочно меняет
тему разговора, чтобы мне не отвечать. Я не хотел настраивать его
враждебно своим упрямством. Он спросил меня, хочу ли я пойти с ним
ненадолго в пустыню. Я ответил, что к прогулке в пустыне я охотно присоединюсь.
"Это не будет пикник," предупредил он меня. Я ответил, что хотел бы
очень серьёзно работать с ним, но мне нужна информация, любая
информация на использование медицинских трав. И что я хочу платить ему
за это.
"Ты будешь работать на меня и я буду платить тебе зарплату," сказал я.
"Сколько ты будешь мне платить?" спросил он и я заметил оттенок
жадности в его голосе.
"Что ты считаешь подходящим," сказал я.
"Плати за моё время...своим временем," сказал он. Я подумал, что он был
очень странным человеком, и сказал ему, что не понял его. Он ответил,
что сказать о растениях нечего, поэтому брать с меня деньги нет смысла.
Он пронзил меня взглядом. "Что ты делаешь в своём кармане?" спросил он
нахмурившись. Он имел ввиду то, что я писал на крошечном блокноте
внутри огромных карманов моей куртки. Когда я сказал ему, что я делал,
он от души посмеялся. Я сказал ему, что не хотел огорчать его и писать
на виду. "Если хочешь писать, то пиши," сказал он. "Ты мне не мешаешь."
Мы походили по пустыни почти до темноты. Он не показал мне никаких
растений и о них вообще не говорил. Мы остановились на момент, чтобы
отдохнуть у больших кустов. "Растения - очень загадочные существа,"
сказал он, не глядя на меня. "Они - живые и они чувствуют." В тот
момент, когда он это сказал, сильный порыв ветра тряхнул кусты вокруг
нас и кусты произвели раскатистый шум. "Ты это слышишь?" спосил он
меня, приставляя правую руку к уху, как-будто это помогало слышать.
"Ветер и листья согласны со мной."
22-23
Я засмеялся. Друг, который нас познакомил, уже предупредил меня
следить, потому что старик был эксцентрик. Я подумал, что "согласие
листьев" и было одной из его странностей. Мы ещё походили, но он всё
ещё не рвал и не показывал мне растения. Он просто плыл через кусты,
мягко трогая их, потом остановился, сел на камень и предложил мне
отдохнуть и посмотреть вокруг. Я настаивал на разговоре и опять
напомнил ему, что очень хотел бы изучить растения, особенно peyote.
Я умолял его стать моим наставником в обмен на денежное вознаграждение.
"Тебе не нужно платить мне," сказал он. "Ты можешь спросить меня всё,
что хочешь и
я скажу тебе, что с этим нужно делать." Он спросил, подходит ли мне
такой расклад дел, и я был рад. Затем он добавил загадочное заявление.
"Наверно о растениях ничего не изучишь, потому что о них нечего
сказать." Я не понял, что он сказал или что он имел ввиду.
"Что ты сказал?" спросил я и он повторил то же самое 3 раза, и тогда
весь район затрясся от грохота, низко летящего, самолёта.
"Вот! Мир только что со мной согласился." сказал он, прислонив свою
левую руку к уху. Я находил его очень занимательным: его смех
заразительным.
"Ты из Аризоны, Дон Хуан?" спросил я, стараясь продолжать разговор в
основном вокруг него быть моим просветителем. Он смотрел на меня и
утвердительно кивал, глаза выглядели усталыми, я мог видеть белое под
его зрачками. "Ты родился в этой местности?" Он кивнул головой и снова
мне не ответил. Это казалось утвердительным жестом, но также это было
похоже на нервный кивок человека в процессе мышления.
"А ты сам откуда будешь?" спросил он.
"Я - из Южной Америки," сказал я.
"Это большое место, ты пришёл из всего этого?" его глаза опять пронзили
меня. Я начал объяснять обстоятельства моего рождения, но он перебил
меня. "В этом отношении мы похожи," сказал он. "Сейчас я живу здесь, но
я - Яки из Соноры."
"Неужели! Я сам происхожу из..." он не дал мне закончить.
"Я знаю, я знаю," сказал он. "Ты тот, кто есть, откуда-нибудь, как я - Яки из Соноры." Его глаза сверкали и смех странно
беспокоил. Он заставил меня подумать, что
поймал меня на лжи: я ощутил странное чувство вины и чувство, что он
знает то, что не знаю я или не хочет мне сказать. Моё странное смущение
росло и он наверно это заметил, так как он встал и предложил пойти
поесть в ресторан в городе. Он сказал, что никогда не пьёт даже пиво. Я
втихоря смеялся, не веря ему; приятель, кто нас познкомил, сказал мне,
что "старик - не в своём уме большую часть времени." Я реально не
возражал, если он врал мне о том, что не пьёт. Мне он нравился;
в нём было что-то успокающее. На моём лице должно быть было сомнение,
так как он начал объяснять, что он пил в молодости, но однажды просто
бросил.
"Люди едва понимают, что мы можем выбросить всё из наших жизней в любое
время вот так," и щёлкнул пальцами.
"Ты думаешь, что любой может остановиться пить и курить так легко?"
спросил я.
"Конечно!" сказал он совершенно убеждённо. "Курение и алкоголь - ничто,
если мы хотим это бросить." В этот момент кипящая вода в кофейнике
сделала громкий свистящий звук.

24-25
"Слышишь это!" воскликнул Дон Хуан с блеском в глазах. "Кипящая вода со
мной согласна." Затем после паузы добавил, "Человек может получить
согласие от всего вокруг себя." В этот критический момент кофейник
пёрнул. Он посмотрел на кофейник и тихо сказал, "Спасибо," кивнул
головой и закатился громовым хохотом.
Я опешил: его смех был слишком громким, но меня реально развлекало всё
это. Моя первая настоящая сессия с моим "наставником" так и
закончилась:
он попрощался в дверях ресторана. Я сказал ему, что мне
нужно посетить друзей и что мне хотелось бы снова его увидеть в конце
следующей недели.
"Когда ты будешь дома?" спросил я, он всмотрелся в меня и ответил,
"Когда ты придёшь."
"Я точно не знаю, когда я смогу придти."
"Тогда просто приди и ни о чём не беспокойся."
"А что если тебя дома нет?"
"Я буду дома," сказал он, улыбаясь и ушёл. Я побежал за ним и спросил
его, будет ли он возражать, если я принесу фотоаппарат с собой и сниму
его и его дом.
"Это - невозможно," сказал он, нахмурившись.
"А как насчёт магнитфона? Это тоже нельзя?"
"Думаю, это тоже невозможно." Я рассердился и сказал ему, что не вижу
логики в его отказе. Дон Хуан тряхнул головой в знак несогласия.
"Забудь об этом, и если ты всё ещё хочешь видеть меня, то никогда об
этом не упоминай." Произнёс он очень убедительно. Я выдал, наконец,
финальную жалобу и сказал, что фото и магнитофонные записи были
необходимы в моей работе. Он сказал, что есть только одна вещь, которая
необходима для всего, что мы делаем, и назвал это - 'Spirit-Дух'.
"Нельзя обойтись без Духа," сказал он. "И у тебя его нет. Тебе об этом
нужно беспокоиться, а не о фото."
"Что ты...?" Он перебил меня движением своей руки и отошёл на несколько
шагов назад. "Не забудь вернуться," тихо сказал он и помахал на
прощанье.
2. СТИРЕТЬ ИСТОРИЮ
СВОЕЙ ЖИЗНИ
26-27
Четверг, 22 декабря 1960.
Дон Хуан сидел на полу у двери своего дома спиной к стене. Он
перевернул ящик из под молока, попросил меня сесть и чувствовать себя
как дома. Я предложил ему сигареты: я привёз целую коробку. Он сказал,
что не курит, подарок взял. Мы поговорили о холодных ночах в пустыне и
других обычных вещах. Я спросил его, не мешаю ли я его обычным делам.
Он посмотрел на меня, нахмурившись, и сказал что у него привычной
рутины не было, и что я могу остаться с ним весь день, если захочу. Я
приготовил кое-какие генеологические таблицы, которые мне хотелось
заполнить с его помощью. Я также вытащил из этнографической литературы
длинный список черт культуры, которые свидетельствовали о
принадлежности к индейцам этого района. Мне хотелось пройти список с
ним и отметить все вещи, которые были знакомы ему. Я начал с таблиц о
родственных связях.
"Как ты называл своего отца?" спросил я его.
"Я называл его отец," ответил он с очень серьёзным выражением лица. Я
почувствовал лёгкое раздражение, но продолжал, полагая что он не понял.
Я показал ему таблицу и объяснил, что одно место для отца, а другое для
матери. Для примера, я привёл другие слова, используемые для онца и
матери в английском и в испанском. Я подумал, что наверно мне надо было
начать с матери.
"Как ты называл свою мать?" спросил я.
"Я называл её Мам," ответил
он наивным тоном.
"Я имею ввиду, какие другие слова ты используешь, чтобы называть своего
отца и мать?" сказал я, пытаясь быть терпеливым и вежливым. Он почесал
свою голову и тупо посмотрел на меня.
"Ну!" сказал он. "Ты меня поставил в тупик, дай подумать." После
минутного колебания, он похоже, что-то вспомнил, и я приготовился
писать. "Итак," сказал он, как-будто он решал какую-то серьёзную
проблему, "как ещё я их называл? Я говорил им 'эй, отец, эй, мать!' " я
невольно расхохотался. Его выражение лица было таким комичным и в тот
момент я не знал: был он абсурдным стариком, надувающим меня, или он
был просто примитивен. Собрав всё терпение, какое у меня было, я
объяснил ему, что это были очень серьёзные вопросы и что это было очень
важно для заполнения моих форм. Я пытался заставить его понять идею
генеологии и персональной истории.
"Как звали твоего отца и мать?" спросил я, а он посмотрел на меня
чистыми добрыми глазами.
"Не трать время на эту ерунду," сказал он тихо, но с неожиданной силой.
Я не знал, что ответить: это было как-будто кто-то другой произнёс эти
слова. Только секунду назад он был неуклюжий, тупой индеец, чесавший
голову, и вдруг, секундой позже роли поменялись: я был тупым, а он
направил на меня неописуемый взгляд. Это не было вызывающе, с
ненавистью, с презрением или с превосходством. Его глаза были чистыми,
добрыми и проницательными. После долгой паузы
он сказал, "У меня нет личной истории. Однажды я понял, что личная
история мне больше не была нужна, и как алкоголь, я отбросил её." Я не
совсем понял, что он этим имел ввиду. Вдруг мне стало нехорошо: мне
что-то угрожало и я напомнил ему, что он заверил меня в том, что я могу
задавать ему вопросы. Он повторил, что не возражал. "У меня больше нет личной истории,"
сказал он и испытующе посмотрел на меня."
28-29
"Я отбросил это однажды, когда почувствовал, что в этом больше нет
необходимости," я уставился на него, стараясь обнаружить скрытое
значение его слов.
"Как можно отбросить личную историю?" спросил я придирчивым тоном
спорщика.
"Сначала нужно иметь желание отбросить это, а затем нужно производить
это гармонично, понемногу отрезая её."
"Зачем нужно такое желание?" воскликнул я, будучи ужасно привязанным к
своей личной истории: мои семейные узы были крепкими. Я серьёзно
чувствовал, что без них моя жизнь не будет иметь цели и
продолжительности. "Может быть, ты должен сказать мне, что ты имеешь
ввиду под - отбросить
личную историю."
"Обходиться без неё, вот
что я имею ввиду," отрезал он. Я настаивал, что так и не понял в этом
смысла.
"Возьмём тебя, к примеру: ты не можешь изменить то, что ты Яки-индеец."
сказал я.
"Неужели?" спросил он, улыбаясь. "Откуда ты это знаешь?"
"И то правда! Я не могу точно сейчас знать это, но ты это знаешь и это
засчитывается. Это то, что создаёт личную историю." Я почувствовал, что
глубоко пронзил его.
"Тот факт, что я знаю Яки-индеец
я или нет, не делает личную историю," ответил он. "Только когда кто-то
ещё знает это, тогда это становится личной историей.
И я уверяю тебя, что никто никогда этого точно знать не будет." Я
мешковато записал то, что он сказал, остановился и посмотрел на него. Я
не мог его понять, ментально пробегая через все свои впечатления. Его
мистический и неподражаемый взгляд в нашу первую встречу; очарование, с
которым он утверждал, как он получал подтверждение от всего вокруг
него; его раздражающий юмор и его бдительность, проворство,
настороженность, живость; его вид настоящей тупости, когда я спрашивал
его о его отце и матери; и, наконец, неожиданная сила его заявлений,
которая разрубила меня напополам. "Ты же не знаешь кто я, не так ли?"
сказал он, как-будто он читал мои мысли. "Ты никогда не будешь знать
кто и что я, потому что у меня нет личной истории." Спросил, был ли у
меня отец, я сказал, что был.
Он сказал, что мой отец был примером того, что он имел ввиду. Он
настаивал на том, чтобы я вспомнил то, что мой отец думал обо мне.
"Твой отец знает всё о тебе, так что он сделал свои выводы, знает кто
ты, чем занимаешься, и ничто не заставит его изменить его мнение о
тебе." Дон Хуан сказал, что все, кто меня знает, имеют своё мнение обо
мне, и что я продолжал поддерживать это мнение всем тем, что я делал.
"Разве ты не видишь?" сказал он, драматизируя. "Ты должен обновить свою
личную историю, говоря своим родителям, друзьям и родственникам всё,
что ты делаешь. С другой стороны, если у тебя нет личной истории,
объяснения не нужны; никто не сердится и не разочарован твоими
действиями. И самое главное, никто не найдёт тебя своими мыслями."
Вдруг, идея прояснилась в моём мозгу:
я почти сам это знал, но никогда это не обдумывал. Не иметь личную
историю - действительно было привлекательно, по крайней мере на
интеллектуальном уровне. Однако, это дало мне чувство одиночества,
которое я нашёл угрожающим. Мне хотелось обсудить с ним мои чувства, но
я себя контролировал; было что-то ужасно несоответствующее с окружающим
миром в настоящей ситуации. Я чувствовал себя нелепо, стараясь
ввязаться в философский спор со старым индейцем, кто явно не имел 'утончённости' студента универститета. Каким-то
образом он увёл меня от моего первоначального намерения: расспросить
его о его генеологии.
"Я не знаю, как мы вдруг стали говорить об этом, когда всё, что я
хотел, это несколько имён для моей таблицы," сказал я, пытаясь
перевести разговор обратно на эту тему.
"Это очень просто: потому что я сказал, что задавать вопросы о чьём-то
прошлом, это - ерунда." Его тон был твёрдым, и я подумал, что не было
смысла заставлять его менять его мнение, так что я поменял тактику.

30-31
"Эта идея - не иметь личную историю - то, что Яки делают?" спросил я.
"Это то, что делаю я."
"Где ты этому научился?"
"Я научился этому в течение моей жизни."
"Твой отец научил тебя этому?"
"Нет. Скажем, что я сам этому научился, а сейчас я собираюсь отдать
тебе этот секрет, так чтобы ты не ушёл отсюда с пустыми руками." Он
снизил голос до драма-
шёпота. Я рассмеялся над его театральными ужимками. Мне пришлось
признать, что он был в этом мастером, и в голову пришла мысль, что я
находился в присуствии прирождённого актёра. "Запиши это: почему нет?
Ты чувствуешь себя более комфортно, когда пишешь." Я посмотрел на него
и мои глаза должно быть выдали моё смущение. Он хлопнул себя по бокам и
с большим удовольствием расхохотался. "Самое лучшее - это стиреть всю
личную историю," сказал он медленно
как бы давая мне время записать это моим неуклюжим путём, "потому что
это освободит нас от мешающих мыслей других людей." Я не мог поверить,
что он реально говорил это, момент моего замешательства он должно быть
прочёл на моём лице и тут же использовал это. "Возьми себя, например,
ты ведь не знаешь прямо сейчас, ты приходишь или уходишь. И это так,
потому что я стёр мою личную историю. Мало-помалу, я создал туман
вокруг себя и моей жизни. И сейчас, никто не знает кто я и что я делаю."
"Но ты сам знаешь, кто ты, не так ли?" вставил я.
"Поспорим...я не знаю," высказался он и покатился по полу, смеясь над
моим удивлённым взглядом...Его обманчивая тактика уж очень была
угрожающей, я даже испугался. "Это - маленький секрет я собираюсь отдать тебе сегодня," сказал он низким голосом. "Никто не
знает мою личную историю, никто не знает кто я и что
я делаю, даже я сам." Он прищурил глаза, смотрел не на меня, а через моё правое плечо. Он
сидел, скрестив ноги, его спина была прямой и всё же он казался таким
спокойным. В этот момент он представлял собой настоящую картину Силы. Я
воображал его индейским вождём, "краснокожим воином" в романтических
историях моего детства.
Мой романтизм унёс меня
прочь и необычайно коварное противоречивое чувство обуяло меня. Я мог
откровенно сказать: он мне очень нравился и, в то же время,
я мог сказать, что я его смертельно боялся. Он сохранял тот пристальный
взгляд долгое время. "Как могу я знать, кто я, когда я всё это?" сказал
он, обводя головой окружающий мир. Потом он посмотрел на меня и
улыбнулся. "Мало-помалу ты должен создать туман вокруг себя; ты должен
стиреть всё вокруг себя, пока ничто не может быть взято как должное,
пока ничто больше не реальное. Твоя проблема сейчас, что ты слишком
реальный, твои достижения слишком очевидны, твой настрой слишком виден.
Не бери вещи как должное, ты должен начать стирать себя."
"Для чего?" спросил я враждебно. Тогда мне стало ясно, что он советует
мне, как себя вести. За всю свою жизнь я достиг точки, когда кто-то
пытается говорить мне, что делать; сама мысль, что мне говорят, что
делать, тут же враждебно настраивает меня.
"Ты сказал, что хочешь изучить растения," спокойно сказал он. "Ты
хочешь получить что-то просто так? Что ты думаешь это? Мы договорились,
что ты будешь задавать мне вопросы и я скажу тебе то, что знаю. Если
тебе это не нравится, тогда нам не о чем говорить." Его ужасная прямота
и зависть раздражали меня и
я должен был признать, что он прав. "Тогда давай посмотрим на это так,"
продолжал он. "Если ты хочешь узнать больше о растениях, хотя о них
реально ничего не скажешь, ты должен, помимо других вещей, стиреть свою
личную историю."
"Как?" спросил я.
"Начни с простых вещей, как например, не рассказывай то, что ты
действительно делаешь. Затем ты должен покинуть тех, кто хорошо тебя
знает. Таким образом,
ты создашь туман вокруг себя."
32-33
"Но это абсурдно," запротестовал я. "Почему люди не должны меня знать?
Что в этом плохого?"
"Что неправильно, так это то, что как только они тебя узнают, ты
становишься предметом, которым можно пользоваться, и с этого момента ты
не сможешь сломать связь с их мыслями. Мне лично нравится полная
свобода быть незнакомым. Никто не знает меня с непоколебимой
уверенностью, так как люди знают тебя, например."
"Но это будет обманом."
"Меня не интересует ложь или правда," сказал он серьёзно. "Ложь -
только ложь, если у тебя имеется личная история." Я спорил, что мне не
нравилось намеренно мистифицировать людей и вводить их в заблуждение.
Его ответ был, что я ввожу в заблуждение всех так или иначе. Старик
затронул моё больное место в жизни.
Я тут же спросил его, что он этим имел ввиду или как он узнал, что я
всё время мистифицирую людей. Я просто среагировал на его заявление,
защищая себя с помощью объяснения. Я сказал, что с болью сознаю, что
моя семья и мои друзья верили, что мне нельзя доверять, когда на самом
деле, я никогда в жизни не врал.
"Ты всегда знал как врать,"
сказал он. "Единственное, что отсуствовало, было то, что ты не знал,
зачем это делать, а сейчас ты знаешь."
Я запротестовал. "Разве ты не видишь, что мне смертельно надоело, что
люди думают: я не надёжный?" сказал я.
"Но ты - ненадёжный," убедительно ответил он.
"Будь всё проклято, это не так," воскликнул я: моё настроение вместо
того, чтобы сделать его серьёзным, навлекло на него приступ
истерического смеха. Я реально ненавидел старика за всю эту хрень. К
сожалению, он был прав насчёт меня. Через некоторое время я успокоился
и он продолжил разговор.
"Когда личная история отсуствует," объяснял он, "ничего, что человек
говорит, не может быть принято за ложь. Твоя проблема в том, что тебе
приходиться объяснять всё всем принудительно, и в то же время ты хочешь
сохранять свежесть, новизну того, что ты делаешь. Ну, а так как тебя не
волнует объяснение всего, что ты сделал, ты врёшь, чтобы всё
продолжалось." Я реально был поражён масштабом нашего разговора и
записал все детали нашего обмена фразами лучшим путём, на какой был
способен, концентрируясь на том, что он говорил, и не останавливался,
чтобы распространяться о моих предрассудках или на его значениях.
"С сегодняшнего дня, ты должен просто показывать людям то, что хочешь
показать им, но никогда не говоря точно, как ты это сделал."
"Я не могу хранить секреты!" воскликнул я. "То, что ты говоришь, для
меня бесполезно."
"Тогда поменяйся!" отрезал он со свирепым блеском в глазах. Он выглядел
как странное дикое животное. И всё же, он был таким связанным в своих
мыслях и таким разговорчивым. Моя досада перешла в состояние
раздражительного замешательства. "Понимаешь," продолжал он, "у нас
имеется только два выбора: или мы принимаем всё за настоящее, или мы не
принимаем. Если мы следуем первому, мы придём к тому, что нам
смертельно надоест мир и мы сами. Если мы последуем второму и сотрём
личную историю, мы создадим туман вокруг себя, очень волнующее и
мистическое состояние, в котором никто не знает, откуда выпрыгнет заяц."
Я продолжал спорить, что стирев личную историю, только увеличит наше
чувство незащищённости. "Когда
ничто не убеждает, мы круглогодично делаемся настороже," сказал он.
"Больше волнует - не знать за каким кустом прячется заяц, чем вести
себя как-будто мы всё знаем."
Он не сказал больше ни слова очень долгое время; наверно час прошёл в
полном молчании. Я не знал, что спросить. Наконец он встал и попросил
меня отвезти его в близлежайший городок. Я не знал почему, но наш
разговор вытащил из меня энергию. Мне хотелось спать. Он попросил меня
остановиться по пути и сказал мне: если я хочу отдохнуть, то мне
придётся залезть на плоскую вершину небольшого холма у дороги, и лечь
животом вниз, головой на восток. Похоже в нём было ощущение срочности.
Мне не хотелось спорить или наверно я слишком устал, чтобы говорить. Я
залез на холм и и сделал, как он посоветовал.
34
Я проспал только 2-3 минуты, но этого было достаточно, чтобы вернуть
мою энергию. Мы поехали в центр городка, где он попросил меня его
сбросить.
"Возвращайся," сказал он, выходя из машины. "Обязательно, возвращайся!"
3. ПОТЕРЯ МАНИИ ВЕЛИЧИЯ
35
У меня была возможность обсудить мои два предыдущих визита к Дон Хуану
с тем другом, кто меня с Дон Хуаном познакомил. По его мнению, я
напрасно терял время. Я пересказал ему во всех деталях все наши
разговоры. Он подумал, что я преувеличиваю и приукрашиваю глупые старые
привычки. Для романтизма в таком глупом старикане у меня не было места.
Я искренне чувствовал, что его критика моей личности серьёзно подорвала
моё отношение к нему. Однако, мне пришлось признать, что его замечания
всегда были в точку, остро обрисовывали и были правдивы. Корень моей
проблемы в тот момент было моё нежелание принять то, что Дон Хуан был
очень способен разбить все мои предубеждения в отношении мира, и моё
нежелание соглашаться с моим другом, кто думал, что "старик был
сумасшедшим". Это заставило меня посетить его ещё раз, прежде чем я
решился.
Среда, 28 декабря 1960.
Тут же после прибытия в его дом, он взял меня на прогулку в пустыню. Он
даже не посмотрел на пакет продуктов, который я привёз. Похоже он ждал
меня. Ходили часами, но он не собирал и не показывал мне никаких
растений. Однако он учил меня "подходящей походке". Он сказал, что я
должен слегка сгибать свои пальцы во время ходьбы, так я буду сохранять
своё внимание на тропинке и на окружающем мире.
36-37
Он утверждал, что моя обычная походка ослабляла, и что никогда не нужно
ничего носить в руках. Если вещи нужно нести, то использовать рюкзак
или плечевой мешок/сетку. Его идея была, что принятие руками особого
положения, способствует огромной выносливости и осознанности. Я не
видел причин для споров и согнул пальцы, как он посоветовал, и
продолжал идти. Моё сознание никак не поменялось и также моя
выносливость. Мы начали ходьбу утром и остановились отдохнуть около
полудня. Я вспотел и хотел попить воды из моей фляшки, но он остановил
меня, сказав, что лучше выпить только глоток. Он срезал какие-то листья
с небольшого жёлтого куста и пожевал их, дал мне несколько и заметил,
что они были превосходны, а если я буду жевать их медленно, то моя
жажда исчезнет. Жажда не исчезла, но я чувствовал себя хорошо. Он,
казалось, читал мои мысли и объяснил, почему я не почувствовал
приемущества "правильной походки" и "жвачки листьев", потому что я был
молод и силён, и моё тело ничего не заметило, потому что оно было
немного глупым. Он засмеялся, но мне было не до смеха и это доставило
ему ещё больше удовольствия. Он поправил своё высказанное заявление
сказав, что моё тело, по правде, не было глупым, а каким-то спящим.
omen!
В этот момент, огромная ворона, каркая, пролетела прямо над нами. Это
изумило меня и я начал смеяться. Я думал, что над таким стоит
посмеяться, но, к моему удивлению, он сильно тряхнул мою руку и
поторопил меня встать. Его выражение лица было очень серьёзным. "Это не
было шуткой," сказал он резко, как-будто я знал, о чём он говорил, и
попросил объяснить. Я сказал ему, что это не сочеталось с окружающей
обстановкой, что мой смех над вороной рассердил его тогда, как мы
смеялись над кофейником.
"То, что ты видел, не было просто вороной," воскликнул он.
"Но я видел её и это была ворона," настаивал я.
"Ты ничего не видел, дурак," сказал он сурово. Его грубость мне не
понравилась. Я сказал ему, что мне не нравится сердить людей, и что
наверно мне лучше уйти, так как он был не в настроении иметь компанию.
Он раскатисто рассмеялся, как-будто я был клоуном, исполняющим роль для
него. Моё раздражение и смущение росло не по дням, а по часам. "Ты
очень жестокий," прокомментировал он между прочим. "Ты относишься к
себе слишком серьёзно."
"А ты - не делал то же самое?" вставил я. "К себе ты разве не относился
слишком серьёзно, когда рассердился на меня?"
Он сказал, что рассердиться на меня, было последняя вещь в его голове.
Он проницательно посмотрел на меня. "Что ты видел, не было в согласии с
миром," сказал он. "Летящие или каркающие Вороны - это ОМЕН !"
"Омен чего?"
"Твой очень важный знак," мистически произнёс он. В этот самый момент
ветер скинул сухую ветвь дерева прямо к нашим ногам. "Вот это
согласие!" воскликнул он, посмотрел на меня сверкающими глазами и
залился хохотом. У меня было такое чувство, что он дразнил меня,
фабрикуя правила своей странной игры, пока мы двигались, поэтому ему
было хорошо смеяться, но не мне. Моё раздражение наростало и я высказал
ему то, что о нём думал, но он не рассердился и не обиделся.
Он смеялся и его смех меня разозлил и расстроил ещё больше. Я подумал,
что он нарочно издевается надо мной и решил прямо на месте, что с меня
хватит "полевой работы". Я встал и сказал, что хочу идти назад к его
дому, потому что мне нужно уехать в Лос Анжелес.
"Сядь!" повелительно сказал он. "Ты раздражаешься как старуха. Ты не
можешь уйти сейчас, потому что мы ещё не закончили." Я его ненавидел,
считал неприятным человеком. Он начал петь идиотскую мексиканскую
песню, явно имитируя одного популярного певца. Он удлинял кое-какие
гласные и сокращал другие, так сделал из песни неимоверно смешную
пародию. Она была настолько комична, что я невольно расхохотался.
"Видишь, ты можешь смеяться над дурацкой песней," сказал он.
38-39
"Но человек, так поющий её, и те, кто платит, чтобы его слушать, не
смеются: они думают, это серьёзно."
"Что ты имеешь ввиду?" спросил я. Я подумал, что он нарочно придумал
пример сказать мне, что я смеялся над вороной, потому что я не принял
это серьёзно, точно также как я не отнёсся серьёзно к песне. Но он
снова меня поставил в тупик. Он сказал, что я был как певец и как люди,
кому нравились его песни, имеют слишком высокое мнение о себе и
невероятно серьёзны о чепухе, на которую никто в здравом уме не
польстится. Потом он повторил, как бы освежить мою память, всё, что он
сказал до этого на тему "изучение растений". Он с ударением подчеркнул:
если я действительно хотел научиться, то мне придёться изменить большую
часть моего поведения. Моё раздражение росло до тех пор, пока я с
огромным трудом мог даже делать записи.
"Ты относишься к себе слишком серьёзно," сказал он медленно. "Ты
думаешь, что ты чертовски важный. Это нужно поменять! Ты настолько
чертовски важный, что чувствуешь правильным всему раздражаться. Ты
настолько выпендриваешься, что ты можешь позволить себе уйти, если
обстановка для тебя не будет складываться хорошо. Думаешь, что это
показывает наличие у тебя характера? Ерунда! Ты слаб и о себе высокого
мнения!" Я пытался протестовать, но он не поддался. Он указал, что за
всю свою жизнь я никогда ничего не закончил из-за чувства своего превосходства,
которое я на себя повесил. Я был ошеломлён точностью его заключений.
Конечно это было правдой и это не только разозлило меня, но и
превратилось в угрозу. "Мания Величия - ещё одна вещь, которая должна
быть анулирована, также как и личная история," сказал он драматическим
тоном. Я явно не хотел с ним спорить: итак было ясно, что я ужасно
проигрываю. Он и не собирался идти домой, пока не был готов, а я не
знал путь назад, пришлось остаться с ним. Он сделал странное и
неожиданное движение, нюхая воздух вокруг него, его голова слегка
ритмично тряслась. Казалось, он был в состоянии необычной
настороженности, повернулся и уставился на меня с любопытством и
недоумением. Его глаза осматривали моё тело сверху донизу, как-будто он
искал что-то особенное, потом он резко встал и начал быстро шагать. Он
почти бежал и
я следовал за ним. Он сохранял очень большую скорость почти час,
наконец, он остановился у каменистого склона и мы сели в тени кустов.
От быстрой ходьбы
я полностью обесилел, хоте настроение улучшилось. Было странно как я
поменялся: я был в приподнятом настроении, а перед ходьбой, после
нашего спора, я был зол на него.
oмен!
"Это очень странно," сказал я, "но я чувствую себя очень хорошо." Я
услышал карканье вороны вдали, он поднял палец к правому уху и
улыбнулся.
"Это был омен," сказал он. Небольшой камень с раскатистым ударом
скатился вниз, приземлившись в кустах. Он громко засмеялся и указал
пальцем в направлении звука. "А это было согласие," сказал он. Затем он
спросил меня, был ли я готов обсудить мою Манию Величия. Я засмеялся;
моё чувство злости казалось так далеко от меня, что я даже не мог
представить себе, как я мог быть зол на него.
"Я не пойму, что со мной
происходит," сказал я. "Я разозлился, а сейчас я не знаю, почему я
больше не злюсь."
"Мир вокруг нас очень мистический и он свои секреты легко не отдаёт,"
сказал он и мне нравились его загадочные и вызывающие высказывания. Я
не мог понять, были ли они наполнены скрытым смыслом или это была
просто бессмыслица. "Если ты когда-нибудь вернёшься в эту пустыню,
сторонись того каменистого холма, где мы останавливались сегодня.
Избегай его как заразу, " сказал он.
"Почему? В чём дело?"
"Сейчас не время объяснять,
сейчас нас больше интересует потеря Мании Величия. Пока ты будешь
чувствовать, что ты самое важное в мире, ты не сможешь по настоящему
оценить мир вокруг себя. Ты
- как лошадь с шорами на глазах, всё, что ты видешь, это - себя, вдали
от всего остального."
40-41
Какой-то момент он осматривал меня. "Я собираюсь поговорить с моим
маленьким другом здесь," сказал он, указывая на небольшое растение. Он
встал перед ним на колени и начал ласкать его и говорить с ним. Сначала
я не понял, что он говорил, но потом он поменял язык и говорил с
растением на испанском. Какое-то время
он произносил галиматью, потом встал. "Неважно что ты скажешь растению,
ты можешь даже придумать слова; что важно, так это чувство
благожелательности к нему и отношение как к равному." Он объяснил, что
человек, который собирает растения, должен каждый раз извиняться за то,
что он их срывает, и должен заверить их, что когда-нибудь его
собственное тело будет служить пищей для них. "Таким образом, растения
и мы - на равных," сказал он. "Ни мы, ни они более или менее важны.
Давай, поговори с растением," подзадоривал он меня. "Скажи ему, что ты
больше не чувствуешь себя важным." Я только смог заставить себя встать
на колени перед растением, но не мог сказать ни слова. Я чувствовал
себя нелепо и засмеялся, однако я не был зол. Дон Хуан потрепал меня по
спине и сказал, что уже хорошо, что я, по крайней мере, справился со
своим характером. "С сегодняшнего дня, говори с небольшими растениями.
Говори, пока не потеряешь всю важность. Говори до тех пор, пока ты не
сможешь делать это перед другими людьми. Иди в те холмы, вон там и
практикуйся." Я спросил, будет ли достаточно разговариваь с ними молча.
Он засмеялся и постучал по моей голове. "Нет! Ты должен говорить с ними
громким и ясным голосом, ели ты хочешь, чтобы они тебе ответили."
Я пошёл туда, куда он указал, посмеиваясь наедине над его
эксцентричностью. Я даже пытался говорить с растениями, но моё ощущение
нелепости положения меня подавляло. После достаточно долгого
отсуствия, как я полагал, я пошёл назад туда, где был Дон Хуан. Я был
уверен, что он знал: с растениями я не разговаривал.
На меня он даже не взглянул, только посигналил мне сесть рядом.
"Наблюдай за мной внимательно, я собираюсь поговорить с моим маленьким
другом." Он встал на колени перед маленьким растением и несколько минут
двигался и извивал своё тело, болтая и смеясь. Я подумал, что он сошёл
с ума. "Это маленькое растение сказало мне передать тебе, что она -
хороша для еды," сказал он, поднимаясь с колен. "Она сказала, что пучок
их будет держать человека здоровым. Она также сказала, что их несколько
растёт вон там." Дон Хуан указал на склон горы не так далеко. "Пошли,
посмотрим," сказад он, а я рассмеялся над его представлением.
Я был уверен, что он найдёт растения, потому что он был знатоком района
и знал, где находятся съедобные и медицинские травы. Пока мы шли к тому
месту, он сказал мне ненароком, что мне следует обратить внимание на
это растение, потому что оно было съедобным и медицинским. Я спросил
его полушутя: это растение тебе только что сказало. Он остановился и
осмотрел меня, не веря своим глазам, и тряхнул головой из стороны в
сторону, смеясь. "Как может это растение сказать мне сейчас то, что я
знал всю жизнь?" И продолжил объяснять, что он знал полностью разные
свойства этого растения, а оно только сказало ему, что их целая группа
растёт в том районе, куда он указал, и что она не возражала, что он
скажет мне об этом. Прибыв на склон холма, я нашёл целую группу таких
же растений.
Мне хотелось смеяться, но он не дал мне времени: он хотел, чтобы я
поблагодарил группу растений. Мне было стыдно и я не мог заставить себя
это сделать.
Он чистосердечно улыбнулся и выдал ещё одно загадочное высказывание. Он повторил его 3-4 раза, как бы дать
мне время понять его значение.
42
"Мир вокруг нас - это тайна," воскликнул он. "И мужчины не лучше, чем
любой другой. Если маленькое растение не жалеет для нас, мы должны
благодарить её или, может быть она не позволит нам пройти." То, как он
посмотрел на меня, когда сказал это, бросило меня в холодный пот. Я
поспешил нагнуться над растением и сказал, "Спасибо," громким голосом.
Он залился спокойными, контролируюмыми взрывами смеха. Мы походили ещё
час и затем стали возвращаться в его дом.
В какой-то момент я отстал и ему пришлось ждать меня. Он проверил мои
пальцы: согнул я их или нет. Я не согнул. Он сказал мне настоятельно:
когда я хожу с ним, то мне придётся наблюдать и копировать его жесты
или вообще не приходить.
"Я не могу ждать тебя как-будто ты ребёнок," сказал он порицательным
тоном. Это замечание дошло до самой глубины моего смущения и изумления.
Как это было возможно, чтобы такой старик мог ходить настолько лучше,
чем я? А я то думал, что я в прекрасной атлетической форме и всё же,
ему реально пришлось ждать меня, чтобы я его догнал. Я согнул пальцы и
невероятно: я мог сохранять ту же скорость, как и он, без всяких
усилий. Больше того, временами я чувствовал, что мои руки тянули меня
вперёд. Я был в приподнятом настроении и был вполне счастлив глупо
шагать с этим странным старым индейцем. Я начал разговаривать и
несколько раз попросил его показать мне растение peyote. Он посмотрел на меня, но не
сказал ни слова.
4.
СМЕРТЬ - СОВЕТНИК
43
Среда, 25 января 1961.
"Ты когда-нибудь научишь меня peyote?" спросил я. Он не ответил и, как он
это делал раньше, просто посмотрел на меня, как-будто я сошёл с ума. Я
уже упоминал эту тему в разговорах с ним много раз и каждый раз он
хмурился и качал головой, что не означало ни да, ни нет, это скорее,
был жест отчаяния и удивления.
Он резко встал, мы сидели на земле перед его домом. Едва заметная
тряска головы была приглашением следовать за ним. Мы пошли в кусты
пустыни в южном направлении. По пути он постоянно повторял, чтоя должен
осознавать бесполезность моей Мании Величия и моей личной истории.
"Твои друзья," сказал он, резко поворачиваясь ко мне. "Те, кто знают
тебя долгое время, ты должен быстро с ними распрощаться." Я подумал,
что он сошёл с ума и его настойчивость была идиотской, но я ничего не
сказал. Он уставился на меня и начал смеяться. После долгой ходьбы мы
остановились и я уже собрался сесть, но он сказал мне отойти на 20
метров, поговорить с группой растений громким, ясным голосом. Я был не
в своей тарелке и возбуждён. Его странные требования были больше
невыносимы для меня и я сказал ему ещё раз, что я не могу разговаривать
с растениями, потому что я чувствовал себя дураком. Его единственным
комментарием было, что моё чувство собственного превосходства было
огромным.
44-45
Похоже, он вдруг принял решение и сказал, что мне не следует пытаться
говорить с растениями до тех пор, пока я не буду себя чувствовать легко
и естественно с ними. "Ты хочешь изучить их, но не хочешь делать
никакой работы," обвинил он меня. "Что ты стараешься сделать?" Моё
объяснение было: я хотел настоящую информацию об использовании
растений, поэтому я попросил его быть моим советником. Я даже предлагал
платить ему за его время и труд. "Тебе лучше взять деньги," сказал я,
"так мы оба лучше будем себя чувствовать, я тогда смогу просить у тебя
что угодно, потому что ты будешь работать на меня и я буду тебе
платить. Что ты об этом думаешь?" Он посмотрел на меня презрительно и
сделал неприличный звук, вибрируя нижней губой и языком с большой
силой.
"Вот что я думаю об этом," сказал он и истерически расхохотался над
моим удивлённым лицом. Мне было ясно: он был не тот человек, с которым
я бы мог легко дискуссировать. Несмотря на свой возраст, он излучал
энтузиазм и был невероятно силён. У меня была мысль, что будучи таким
старым он мог бы меня прекрасно информировать. Старые люди, как мне
говорили, делались прекрасными советчиками, потому что они были слишком
слабыми, чтобы делать что-то ещё, кроме как болтать. Дон Хуан, с другой
стороны, был неподходящий человек для этой роли. Я чувствовал, что он
был неуправляем и опасен. Друг, который нас познакомил, был прав.
Старик-индеец был эксцентрик; и хотя он ещё не выжил из ума по большей
части, как мне говорил друг, старик был ещё хуже: он был не в своём
уме.
Я снова почувствовал ужасные сомнения и беспокойство, которое испытал
до этого. Я думал, что с этим справился. Собственно у меня совсем не
было проблем убедить себя, что я хочу его опять навестить. Однако,
мысль лезла мне в голову, что наверно я сам был с приветом, когда я
понял, что мне нравилось быть в его компании. Его мнение, что моё
чувство превосходства было препятствием, реально произвело впечатление
на меня. Но всё это наверно было только упражнением в интеллекте с моей
стороны. Момент, когда я предстал перед его странным поведением, я
начал испытывать беспокойство и хотел уйти. Я сказал, что мы были
настолько разными, что сойтись у нас не было возможности.
"Один из нас должен поменяться," сказал он, уставившись в землю. "И ты
знаешь кто." Он начал напевать мексиканскую народную песню, потом резко
поднял голову и посмотрел на меня. Его глаза были неистовы и горели. Я
хотел отвернуться или закрыть глаза, но к моему полному удивлению, я не
мог оторваться от его взгляда. Он попросил меня сказать ему, что я
видел в его глазах. Я сказал, что ничего не видел, но он настаивал,
чтобы я сказал, что его глаза мне напоминают.
Я пытался его заставить его понять, что единственную вещь его глаза
заставили меня осознать, это - моё смущение, и что то, как он смотрел
на меня, было очень неприятно. Он не отставал и продолжал смотреть.
Взгляд не был просто угрожающим или плохим; скорее он был мистическим,
но неприятным. Он спросил, не напоминает ли он мне птицу.
"Птицу?" воскликнул я. Он хихикнул как ребёнок и отвёл глаза в сторону
от меня.
"Да," сказал он тихо. "Птицу, очень смешную птицу!" Он снова установил
свой взгляд на мне и приказал мне вспомнить. Он говорил с
экстраординарной убедительностью, что он ЗНАЛ, что я видел этот взгляд
раньше. Моё чувство в тот момент было, что старик провоцирует меня
против моего желания, каждый раз когда открывал свой рот. Я уставился
на него в явном поединке. Вместо того, чтобы рассердиться, он начал
смеяться. Он хлопнул себя по бокам и завопил, как-
будто он управлял дикой лошадью. Затем он стал серьёзным и сказал мне,
что было очень важно, чтобы я прекратил бороться с ним и вспомнил ту
смешную птицу, о которой он говорил. "Посмотри в мои глаза," сказал он.
Его глаза были буквально свирепыми, но в них было чувство, которое
реально напоминало мне что-то, но
я не был уверен, что это было. С минуту я обдумывал это и затем меня
вдруг осенило; это не была форма его глаз или форма его головы, а
какая-то холодная свирепость в его взгляде, которая напоминала мне
взгляд фалькона. В момент этого осознания он косо смотрел на меня и на
мгновенье я испытал полный хаос в своей голове.
46-47
Я подумал, что вижу черты фалкона, вместо Дон Хуана. Образ был
мимолётным и я был слишком расстроен, чтобы обратить больше внимания на
него. Очень взволнованным тоном я сказал ему, что мог поклясться: я
видел черты фалькона на его лице. На него напала ещё одна атака смеха.
Я видел взгляд в глазах фальконов, я когда-то охотился на них, когда
был мальчиком, и по мнению моего деда, очень неплохо. У него была
птицеферма, а фалконы были угрозой его бизнесу. Отстреливание их не
только происходило, но и было "правильным". Я забыл, что до этого
момента, эта свирепость в их глазах преследовала меня годами, но это
было так далеко в моём прошлом, что я думал, что память этого потеряна.
"Я охотился на фальконов," сказал я.
"Я это знаю," ответил он как бы случайно. Его тон нёс в себе такую
уверенность, что я начал смеяться, думая, что он был нелепым парнем. Он
имел наглость говорить, как-будто он знал, что я охотился на фалконов.
Я чувствовал огромную неприязнь к нему. "Почему ты разозлился?" спросил
он тоном искренней озабоченности. Я не знал почему и он начал
тестировать меня в очень необычной манере. Он попросил меня снова на
него посмотреть и рассказать ему об "очень смешной птице", которую он
мне напоминал. Я боролся против него и из неприязни сказал, что не о
чем было говорить. Потом я почувствовал желание спросить его, почему он
сказал, что знал : я охотился на фалконов. Вместо ответа он опять
сделал замечание о моём поведении. Он сказал, что я был жестоким
парнем, который был способен взбеситься в один момент. Я протестовал,
что это не было правдой; я всегда думал, что симпатичный и с хорошим
характером. Я сказал, что это была его вина, заставить меня потерять
контроль своими неожиданными словами и действиями.
"Зачем злиться?" спросил он. Я взял себя в руки, мне не следовало на
него злиться. Он снова настоял, чтобы я посмотрел в его глаза и
рассказал ему о "странном фалконе". Он поменял слова: сначала он
говорил "очень смешная птица", потом заменил это на "странный фалкон".
Изменение в словах способствовало изменению моего настроя. Я вдруг стал
печальным. Он так прищурил глаза, что они стали щелями, и сказал
преувеличенно драматическим голосом, что он ВИДИТ очень странного
фалкона. Он повторил своё высказывание 3 раза как-будто он
действительно ВИДЕЛ его там, перед собой. "Разве ты его не помнишь?"
спросил он, но
я ничего такого не помнил.
"Что странного в этом фалконе?" спросил я. ,
"Это ты должен мне сказать," ответил он, но я настаивал, ведь я никак
не мог знать, к чему он клонит, поэтому я не мог ничего ему сказать.
"Не воюй со мной!" сказал он. "Воюй со своей апатией, тогда вспомнишь."
Какой-то момент я серьёзно старался понять его. До меня не доходило,
что я мог попробовать вспомнить. "Было время когда ты видел много
птиц," сказал он, как бы давая мне намёк. Я сказал ему, что когда я был
ребёнком, то жил на ферме и охотился на сотни птиц. Он сказал, если
было так, то мне не составит труда вспомнить всех необычных птиц, на
которых я охотился. Он вопросительно посмотрел на меня, как-будто это
был его последний намёк.
"Я охотился на стольких птиц, что я не могу вспомнить ничего о них."
"Эта птица - особенная, это - фалкон," ответил он почти шёпотом. Я
снова пытался понять: куда он клонит? Он дразнил меня или он серьёзно?
После длительного перерыва он снова поторопил меня вспомнить. Я
чувствовал, что было бесполезно пытаться покончить с его игрой;
единственное, что оставалось, это - присоединиться к нему.
"Ты говоришь о фалконе, на которого я охотился?" спросил я. "Да,"
прошептал он с закрытыми глазами. "Так что это произошло, когда я был
мальчишкой?"
48-49
"Да."
"Но ты сказал, что ты ВИДИШЬ фалкона перед собой сейчас."
"Да вижу."
"Что ты со мной делаешь?"
"Я стараюсь заставить тебя вспомнить."
"Что? Ради бога!"
"Фалкон быстрый как Свет," сказал он, смотря мне в глаза, и я
почувствовал, что моё сердце остановилось. "А сейчас посмотри на меня,"
сказал он, но я не смотрел, я слышал его голос как затихающий звук.
Одно невероятное воспоминание полностью овладело мной. БЕЛЫЙ ФАЛКОН !
Всё началось со взрыва негодования от моего деда, когда он
подсчитывал своих молодых цыплят. Они постоянно исчезали и он лично
организовал и выполнял тщательное наблюдение за ними. После многих дней
непрерывной слежки и днём и ночью, мы, наконец, увидели большую белую
птицу, улетающую с цыплёнком в когтях. Птица была быстрой и похоже
знала свой путь. Она спустилась вниз за какими-то деревьями, схватила
цыплёнка и улетела через отверстие между двумя ветками. Это произошло
так быстро, что мой дед едва это разглядел, но я увидел и я знал, что
это и в самом деле был фалкон.

Мой дед сказал, что если это так, то это - альбинос. Мы развернули
военные действия против фалькона-альбиноса и дважды, я думал, что я его
настиг. Он даже уронил свою жертву, но улизнул: он был слишком быстрым
для меня. Он также был очень умным: он так никогда и не вернулся
охотиться на ферму моего деда.
Я бы забыл обо всём этом, если бы мой дед не приставал ко мне с
просьбой убить птицу. Два месяца я преследовал фалькона-альбиноса по всей долине, в
которой жил. Я изучил все его привычки и мог почти предугадать его
маршрут, однако, его скорость и неожиданность его появления всегда
ставили меня в тупик. Я мог бы хвалиться, что я останавливал птицу от
воровства курей, наверно, каждый раз, когда мы встречались, но я
никогда не мог её подстрелить. За те 2 месяца, когда
я вёл странную войну против
фалькона-альбиноса, я
подошёл к нему близко только раз. Я преследовал его весь день и устал,
сел отдохнуть и заснул под высоким эквалиптом. Неожиданный крик фалкона
разбудил меня: я открыл глаза, не делая никаких движений, и увидел
белую птицу, сидящую на самых высоких ветках эквалипта. Это был фалькон-альбинос, преследование
закончилось. Это был бы трудный выстрел; я лежал на спине, а птица была
повёрнута спиной ко мне.
Вдруг, неожиданный порыв ветра и я использовал его, чтобы прикрыть шум
от подъёма моего длинного ружья, чтобы прицелиться. Я хотел
подождать, когда птица повернётся или начнёт лететь, так чтобы не
пропустить её. Но фалькон-альбинос
оставался неподвижным, и чтобы принять лучшее положение, мне нужно было
двигаться, а фалкон был слишком быстрым и решил подождать. Я ждал
долгое, бесконечное время, может быть это повлияло на меня, или
наверно, одиночество этого места, где были я и птица; я вдруг
почувствовал холод на позвоночнике и, действием, не имеющим примера, я
встал и удалился. Я даже не обернулся, чтобы видеть, улетела ли птица.
Я никогда не придавал никакого значения моему финальному действию с фальконом-альбиносом. Однако, это
было ужасно странно, что
я не убил его, ведь я убивал
дюжины фалконов до этого. На ферме, где я вырос, убивать птиц или
охотиться на любое животное, было нормой. Дон Хуан внимательно слушал,
как я рассказывал историю фалькона-альбиноса.
"Откуда ты узнал о белом фальконе-альбиносе?" спросил я, когда закончил.
"Я увидел его," ответил он.
"Где?"
"Прямо здесь, перед тобой." Я больше не хотел спорить.
"Что всё это значит?" спросил я. Он сказал, что такая
белая птица была ОМЭН-ЗНАК, и что не стрелять в неё, было единственным
правильным решением.
"Твоя смерть дала тебе небольшое предупреждение," сказал он мистическим
тогом. "Смерть всегда приходит в форме холода."
"О чём ты говоришь?" нервно сказал я: он реально заставил меня
понервничать своим пугающим разговором.
"О птицах ты знаешь много: ты слишком много их убил. Ты знаешь как ждать: ты терпеливо
ждал часами. Я знаю, я ВИЖУ это."
50-51
Его слова возбудили во мне сильнейшие эмоции. Думаю, что больше всего
меня в нём злило, так это его убеждённость. Я не мог выдержать его
догматическую уверенность в вопросах моей собственной жизни, в которых
я сам был не уверен. Я окунулся в моё чувство уныния и не заметил, как
он нагнулся надо мной, пока не прошептал мне что-то в ухо. Сначала я не
понял и он повторил. Он сказал мне незаметно повернуться и посмотреть
на валун слева. Он сказал, что там моя Смерть смотрит на меня, и если я
повернусь, когда он просигналит мне, может быть мне удасться увидеть
её. Он просигналил мне глазами. Я повернулся и, думаю, увидел
мимолётное движение сверху валуна. Холод пробежал по моему телу,
мускулы живота невольно напряглись и я испытал судорогу. Вскоре я
вернул своё обычное состояние и объяснил это чувство ВИДЕНИЯ мигающей
тени, как оптическую иллюзию в результате такого быстрого поворота
головы.

"Смерть - наш вечный спутник," произнёс очень серьёзно Дон Хуан. "Она
всегда у нас слева на расстоянии длины руки. Она наблюдала за тобой,
когда ты наблюдал за белым фалконом; она шептала тебе в ухо и ты
почувствовал её холод, как ты чувствовал это сегодня. Она всегда
наблюдала за тобой и всегда будет, пока однажды она не постучит в
тебя." Он вытянул руку, слегка дотронулся до моего плеча и в то же
время языком произвёл глубокий щелчок. Результат был поражающим: меня
чуть не стошнило. "Ты - мальчик, кто преследовал дичь и терпеливо ждал,
как ждёт смерть; ты знаешь очень хорошо, что смерть находится у нас
слева, также как ты был слева белого фалькона." Его слова возимели
странную силу ужаснуть меня; единственной защитой было моё желание
начать писать всё, что он говорил. "Как можно чувствовать себя таким
важным, когда мы знаем, что смерть преследует нас?" спросил он. У меня
было ощущение, что мой ответ не был нужен. Так или иначе, я не мог
ничего сказать, мной овладел новый настрой. "Что нужно делать, когда у
тебя кончается терпение," продолжал он, "это - повернуться налево и
попросить совета у своей смерти. Огромный груз ограниченности спадает,
если твоя смерть сделает тебе такой знак или если ты поймаешь намёк
этого или если у тебя просто чувство, что там твой приятель наблюдает
за тобой." Он снова наклонился и прошептал мне в ухо, что если я вдруг
повернусь влево, увидя сигнал, то я смогу снова увидеть мою смерть на
валуне.

Его глаза дали мне почти незаметный сигнал, но я не осмеливался
посмотреть. Я сказал, что верил
ему, и что ему не было нужды продолжать эту тему дальше, потому что я
уже содрогался. Он закатился оглушающим хохотом. Он ответил, что тема
нашей смерти никогда не обсуждалась достаточно широко. А я спорил, что
для меня не имеет смысла думать о моей смерти: такие мысли только
создают неудобство и страх. "Ты полон всякой хрени!" воскликнул он.
"Смерть - только для нас мудрый советник. Когда ты чувствуешь, а ты
всегда это делаешь, что всё плохо и ты почти умираешь, обратись к своей
смерти и спроси её - так ли это. Смерть скажет тебе, что ты ошибаешься,
что всё не имеет значения за пределами досягаемости смерти. Твоя смерть
скажет тебе, "я ещё тебя не тронула". Он покачал головой и похоже ждал
моего ответа, но я молчал. Мысли одолевали. Он нанёс сокрушительный
удар моему эгоизму. Досада от его нападок, была как монстр в свете моей
смерти. Я чувствовал, что он полностью осознает перемену в моём
настроении, повернув прилив в свою пользу. Он улыбнулся и начал
напевать мексиканскую мелодию. После долгой паузы он тихо сказал, "Да,
один из нас должен поменяться и быстро. Один из нас должен снова
научиться тому, что смерть - это охотник и что она всегда слева. Один
из нас здесь должен попросить совета у смерти и отбросить проклятую
ограниченность.
52
Такое принадлежит людям, которые живут свои жизни так, как-будто смерть
никогда их не затронет." Больше часа мы молчали, потом опять пошли. Мы
бесцельно бродили часами по пустыне. Я не спрашивал его, была ли
какая-то цель; это было неважно. Каким-то образом он заставил меня
вспомнить старое чувство, то, что
я совершенно забыл, просто радость двигаться вокруг без всякой
интеллектуальной цели для этого. Я хотел, чтобы он дал мне поймать
намёк того, что я видел на валуне.
"Позволь мне увидеть ту тень снова," сказал я.
"Ты имеешь ввиду твою смерть?"
"Да, позволь мне увидеть мою смерть," наконец сказал я.
"Не сейчас, ты слишком плотный," сказал он.
"Прошу прощенья?" Он начал смеяться и какое-то время по непонятной
причине его смех не раздражал и не был предательским, как он был
раньше. Я не думал, что он был другим с точки зрения вибрации, его духа
и силы; новым элементом был мой настрой. С точки зрения моей
надвигающейся смерти, мои страхи и досада были чепухой. "Тогда позволь мне
поговорить в растениями," сказал я. Он залился смехом.
"Сейчас ты слишком правильный," сказал он, всё ещё смеясь. "Ты скачешь
из одной крайности в другую. Остановись. Нет нужды говорить с
растениями, если у тебя нет желания знать их секреты, а для этого тебе
нужен несокрушительный Интэнт. Так что побереги свои прекрасные
желания. Нет нужды видеть свою смерть раньше положеного. Достаточно,
что ты чувствуешь её присуствие возле себя."
5. ПРИНИМАЯ ОТВЕТСТВЕННОСТЬ
53
Вторник, 9 апреля 1961.
Я прибыл в дом Дон Хуана ранним утром в воскресение 9 апреля.
"Доброе утро, Дон Хуан, я так рад видеть тебя," сказал я. Он посмотрел
на меня и тихо рассмеялся. Он подошёл к моей машине, когда я её
парковал, и держал дверь открытой, пока я вытаскивал пакеты с пищей из
машины, которые я привёз для него. Мы подошли к дому и сели у двери. В
первый раз я реально осознал, что я здесь делал. Три месяца я
нетерпеливо ждал чтобы вернуться назад к исследовательской работе.
Похоже, временная бомба во мне разорвалась и вдруг я вспомнил что-то
мистическое для меня. Я вспомнил, что когда-то в своей жизни я был
очень терпелив и очень продуктивен. Не успел Дон Хуан ничего сказать, я
задал ему вопрос, который вертелся у меня в голове. Три месяца у меня
не вылезало из головы воспоминание о фальконе-альбиносе. Откуда он знал о
нём, когда я сам забыл? Он засмеялся, но не ответил. Я умолял его
сказать мне.
"Да это, пустяк," ответил он со своим обычным убеждением. "Любой может
сказать, что ты - странный, но ты просто онемевший, вот и всё." Я
почувствовал, что
я снова теряю контроль над собой и он ставит меня в тупик, в котором
мне не хотелось быть.
"Это возможно - видеть нашу смерть?" спросил я, стараясь оставаться в
теме.
"Конечно, она здесь с нами," сказал он смеясь.

54-55
"Откуда ты это знаешь?"
"Я - старик; с возрастом научишься всяким вещам."
"Я знаю много пожилых людей, но они никогда этому не научились. Как же
ты этому научился?"
"Ну, скажем, что я знаю всякие вещи, потому что у меня нет личной
истории, и потому что я более важным, чем любой другой, и потому что
смерть сидит со мной прямо здесь." Он вытянул левую руку и подвигал
пальцами, как-будто он реально ласкал кого-то. Я рассмеялс, я знал куда
он клонит. Старый дьявол собрался снова меня оглушить, наверно, моей
Манией Величия, но в этот раз я не возражал. Воспоминание, что у меня
когда-то было феноменальное терпение, заполнило меня странным,
спокойным благоденствием, которое рассеяло большую часть моей
нервозности и нетерпимости к Дон Хуану; вместо этого у меня появилось
чувство восхищения его действиями.

"Кто ты на самом деле?" спросил я, он, казалось, удивился. Открыл глаза
до невероятного размера и заморгал ими как птица, закрывая веки сверху
и снизу одновременно. Снова сделал то же самое, его манёвр поразил
меня: я съёжился, а он захохотал с детской непринуждённостью.
"Для тебя, я - Хуан Матус, и я в твоём распоряжении," сказал он с
преувеличенной вежливостью. Тогда я задал ему другой немаловажный
вопрос.
"Что ты со мной сделал в нашу первую встречу?" Я имел ввиду взгляд,
который он бросил на меня.
"Я? Ничего," ответил он невинным тоном. Я описал ему, как я себя
почувствовал, когда он посмотрел на меня и как неловко для меня было
молчать об этом. Он так смеялся, что слёзы покатились по его щекам. И я
снова почувствовал прилив враждебности к нему. Я подумал, что был очень
серьёзным и вдумчивым, а он был как все индейцы, в своих грубых
манерах. "Тут нечего понимать," ответил он спокойно. Я пересказал ему
последовательность необычных событий, которые произошли с тех пор как я
его встретил, начиная с мистического взгляда, которым он меня одарил,
до воспоминания фалькона-альбиноса
и видения тени на валуне, что он сказал, было моей смертью.
"Зачем ты всё это со мной делаешь?" спросил я. Агрессивности в моём
вопросе не было, мне было только любопытно, почему именно я.
"Ты попросил меня рассказать тебе то, что я знаю о растениях," сказал
он. Я заметил сарказм в его голосе: выглядело так, как-будто он надо
мной надсмехался.
"Но то, что ты говорил мне до сегодняшнего дня, ничего общего с
растениями не имеет," запротестовал я. Его ответ был: берёт много
времени, чтобы их изучить. Моё ощущение было, что с ним было бесполезно
спорить. Тогда я понял всю нелепость моих лёгких и абсурдных решений.
Когда я был дома, я обещал самому себе, что не собираюсь когда-либо
терять терпение или раздражаться на Дон Хуана. Однако в настоящей
ситуации, как только он отказал мне, у меня произошла другая атака
раздражения. Я чувствовал, что возможности общаться с ним у меня нет и
это злило меня.

"А сейчас подумай о своей смерти," вдруг сказал Дон Хуан. "Она на
расстоянии твоей руки. Она может постучать по тебе в любой момент, так
что реально, у тебя нет времени для глупых мыслей и настроений. Ни у
кого из нас нет времени для этого. Ты хочешь знать, что я с тобой
сделал в нашу первую встречу? Я ВИДЕЛ тебя, и
я ВИДЕЛ, что ты думал, что ты мне врал, но ты не врал." Я сказал ему,
что его объяснение запутало меня ещё больше. Он ответил, что это была
причина, почему
он не хотел объяснять свои действия, и что необходимости в объяснениях
не было. Он сказал, что единственное, что считалось, это - действие,
вместо болтовни - действие. Он вытянул соломенный матрас и улёгся на
него, связкой подняв голову вверх.
56-57
Он устроился поудобнее, затем сказал мне, что была и другая вещь,
которую мне придётся выполнять, если я действительно хотел изучить
растения.
"Что с тобой было неправильно, когда я ВИДЕЛ тебя тогда, и что не так с
тобой сейчас это то, что ты не любишь брать на себя ответственность за
то, что ты делаешь," он это сказал медленно, как бы давая мне время
понять то, что он говорил. "Когда ты говорил мне в автобусном депо всё,
что ты делал, ты осознавал, что это была ложь. Зачем ты врал?" Я
объяснил, что моей конечной целью было найти "ключевого знатока" для
моей работы. Дон Хуан улыбнулся и начал напевать мексиканскую мелодию.
"Когда человек решает что-то сделать, он должен пройти весь путь,"
сказал он, "но он должен взять на себя ответственность за то, что он
делает. Неважно, что он делает, но сначала он должен знать, почему он
это делает, и затем он должен начинать свои действия, не имея сомнений
в этом, или угрызений совести." Он осмотрел меня, я не знал, что
сказать. Наконец, я вставил своё мнение, почти как протест.
"Это - невозможно!" Он спросил почему и я сказал, что наверно идеально
это было то, что все думают, им следует делать. Однако на практике,
избежать сомнений и угрызений совести нельзя было.
"Конечно есть путь," ответил он убеждённо. "Посмотри на меня," сказал
он. "У меня нет сомнений или сожалений. Всё, что я делаю, это моё
решение и моя ответственность. Самая простая вещь, которую я делаю,
например, беру тебя на прогулку в пустыню, может очень хорошо означать
мою смерть. Смерть ходит за мной по пятам, поэтому у меня нет места для
сомнений или сожалений.
Если мне суждено умереть в результате взятия тебя на прогулку, значит я
должен умереть.
С другой стороны, ты чувствуешь
себя бессмертным, и решения бессмертного человека могут быть
анулированы или в них можно сомневаться или о них сожалеть. В мире, где
смерть - охотник, мой друг, нет времени для сомнений или сожалений. Время только
для решений." Я искренне
спорил, что по моему, это был нереальный мир, потому что он был сделан
наугад, взяв идеализированную форму поведения и сказав, что это путь,
по которому идти. Я рассказал ему историю моего отца, кто давал мне
бесконечные лекции о чудесах здорового разума в здоровом теле, и как
молодые люди должны закалять свои тела трудностями и результатами
атлетических соревнований. Он был молодым, когда мне было 8 лет, ему
было только 27. Летом, как правило, он приезжал из города, где он
преподавал в школе, чтобы провести, по крайней мере, месяц со мной на
ферме моих бабушки и дедушки, где я жил. Это был дьявольский месяц для
меня. Я рассказал Дон Хуану один случай поведения моего отца, который,
я думал, подойдёт к теперешней ситуации. Почти сразу же после приезда
на ферму мой отец делал долгую прогулку со мной, так что мы могли
поговорить. Пока мы говорили, он делал планы для нас идти купаться
каждый день в 6 утра. Вечером он заводил будильник на 5.30, чтобы иметь
достаточно времени, потому что ровно в 6 мы должны были быть в воде. А
когда будильник утром звонил, он выскакивал из постели, надевал очки,
шёл к окну и смотрел. Я даже запомнил следующий монолог.
"Нууу, немного пасмурно сегодня. Слушай, я собираюсь снова лечь только
на 5 минут. Окей? Не больше 5и минут! Я только хочу потянуть свои мышцы
и полностью проснуться." И он безотказно снова засыпал до 10и, иногда
до 12и. Я сказал Дон Хуану то, что раздражало меня был его отказ
бросить его явно ложные решения.
Он повторял этот ритуал каждое утро, пока я наконец, не обижал его,
отказываясь заводить будильник.
"Это не были ложные решения," сказал Дон Хуан, явно перейдя на сторону
моего отца. "Он просто не знал, как вылезти из постели, вот и всё."
"В любом случае," сказал я, "я всегда отношусь подозрительно к
нереальным решениям."
"Что для тебя реальное решение тогда?" спросил Дон Хуан с хитрой
улыбкой.
"Если бы мой отец сказал себе, что он не может идти плавать в 6 утра, а
может быть в 3 дня."
"Твои решения ранят Дух," сказал Дон Хуан очень серьёзно.
58-59
Я подумал, я даже уловил нотку печали в его тоне. Мы молчали долгое
время, моё раздражение исчезло, я думал о своём отце.
"Он не хотел плавать в 3 часа дня, разве ты не видишь?" сказал Дон
Хуан. Его слова заставили меня подпрыгнуть. Я сказал ему, что мой отец
был слабый и таким же был его мир идеальных действий, которые он
никогда не выполнял. Я почти кричал, Дон Хуан не сказал ни слова, он
медленно и ритмично потряс своей головой.
Я чувствовал себя очень печальным. Мысли о моём отце всегда создавали
во мне подавляющее чувство. "Ты думал, что ты был сильнее, не так ли?"
спросил он между прочим. Я подтвердил и начал рассказывать ему обо всех
эмоциональных переживаниях, которые мой отец заставил меня пережить, но
он перебил меня.
"Был он жесток с тобой?" спросил он.
"Нет."
"Был он мелочным с тобой?"
"Нет."
"Делал он всё, что мог для тебя?"
"Да."
"Тогда, что с ним было не так?" И снова я начал кричать, что он был
слабым, но поймал себя на слове и снизил тон. Я чувствовал себя нелепо
под лупой Дон Хуана. "Для чего ты всё это делаешь? Мы должны были
говорить о растениях." сказал я и почувствовал себя ещё более
раздражённым и подавленным, чем раньше.
Я сказал ему, что у него нет права и подходящих квалификаций, чтобы
судить моё поведение. Он разразился громким смехом.
"Когда ты сердишься, ты всегда чувствуешь, что прав, не так ли?" сказал
он и могнул как птица. Он был прав: у меня была наклонность чувствовать
свою правоту, когда сердился.
"Давай не будем говорить о моём отце," сказал я, притворяясь в хорошем
настроении. "Давай говорить о растениях."
"Нет, давай говорить о твоём отце," настаивал он. "С этого сегодня
можно начать. Если ты думаешь, что ты был намного сильнее, чем он,
почему ты сам не пошёл плавать в 6 утра вместо него?" Я сказал ему, что
не мог поверить, что отец серьёзно просил меня об этом. Я всегда думал,
что плавать в 6 утра была идеей моего отца, а не моя.
"Это также стало твоей идеей с того момента, когда ты принял его идею,"
отрезал Дон Хуан. Я сказал, что никогда не принимал его, что я всегда
знал, что мой отец слова не сдерживал. Дон Хуан спросил меня невзначай,
почему я не высказвал своё мнение в то время.
"О таких вещах отцу не говорят," сказал я, как слабое оправдание.
"Почему нет?"
"В нашем доме такое было немыслемо, вот и всё."
"Ты делал похуже вещи в своём доме," объявил он как судья с высокого
кресла. "Единственную вещь, которую ты никогда не делал, это: излучать
свой дух-spirit."
В его словах была такая разрушительная сила, что слова эхом отозвались
с моей голове. Он разрушил мою защиту, я больше не мог с ним спорить и
занялся моими записями. Я попробовал последнее слабое объяснение,
сказав, что всю свою жизнь я натыкался на людей, похожих на моего отца,
кто, как и мой отец, как-то вовлекали меня в свои планы и, как правило, я всегда оставался в
неопределённом положении.
"Ты жалуешься," сказал он тихо. "Ты жаловался всю свою жизнь, потому
что ты не берёшь на себя ответственность за свои решения. Если бы ты
взял на себя ответственность за идею твоего отца плавать в 6 утра, ты
бы сам плавал, если нужно, или ты бы сказал ему - иди к чёрту в первый
же раз (зная его механизмы), когда он открыл свой рот. Но ты ничего не
сказал, поэтому ты был таким же слабым, как и твой отец. Взять на себя
ответственность за свои решения значит, что нужно быть готовым умереть
за них.""Подожди, подожди!" сказал я. "Ты всё поворачиваешь не туда."
Он не дал мне закончить. Я собирался сказать ему, что использовал моего
отца, как пример нереальных действий. И что никто в своём уме не будет
желать умереть за такую идиотскую вещь.
60-61
"Неважно какое решение," сказал он. "Ничто не может быть более или
менее серьёзным, чем что-либо другое. Разве ты не видишь? В мире, где
смерть - охотник, нет больших и малых решений. Есть только решения,
которые мы принимаем перед лицом нашей неизбежной смерти." Я ничего не
мог сказать, наверно прошёл час. Дон Хуан совершенно неподвижен на
своём матрасе, хотя и не спал.
"Почему ты мне всё это говоришь, Дон Хуан? Почему ты делаешь это мне?"
спросил я.
"Ты пришёл ко мне," сказал он. "Нет, это не так, тебя привело ко мне, и
я имел жест с тобой."
"Прошу прощенья?"
"Ты мог бы иметь жест со своим отцом, плавая для него, но ты этого не
сделал, наверно потому, что ты был слишком молод. Я жил дольше, чем ты.
У меня нет ничего незаконченного. В моей жизни нет спешки, поэтому я
могу как надо иметь жест с тобой."
Позднее мы пошли на прогулку, я легко успевал за ним и снова удивлялся
его выдающейся физической храбрости и выносливости. Он так легко шёл и
такими уверенными шагами, что рядом с ним я напоминал ребёнка. Мы пошли
в восточном направлении. Тогда я заметил, что он не любит говорить,
когда шёл. Если
я начинал говорить, он останавливался, чтобы ответить мне. Через два часа
мы пришли к холму; он сел и посигналил мне сесть рядом. Он объявил
поддельным драматическим тоном, что он собирался рассказать мне
историю: жил-был бедный, молодой индеец, кто жил среди белых людей в
городе. У него не было дома, родственников и друзей. Он пришёл в город
найти свою удачу, а нашёл только боль и нищету. Время от времени он
зарабатывал несколько центов, работая как мул, едва хватавшие на
вкусную закуску; иначе ему приходилось побираться или красть еду.

Однажды молодой человек пошёл на рынок, там он ходил вниз-вверх как в
тумане, глаза стали дикими от вида всех вкусных вещей, которые там были
собраны. Он был настолько безумен, что не заметил, куда шёл, и закончил
тем, что споткнулся о корзины и упал на старика. Старик нёс 4 огромных
фляги и как раз сел, чтобы отдохнуть и закусить. Дон Хуан предвкушающе
улыбнулся и и сказал, что нашёл это довольно странным, что молодой
человек на него упал. Он не рассердился, что его побеспокоили, а был
удивлён, почему молодой человек упал на него. С другой стороны, молодой человек
разозлился и сказал ему убраться с дороги. Его совсем не интересовала
настоящая причина их встречи. Он не заметил, что их пути сошлись. Дон
Хуан копировал движения того, кто шёл за чем-то, покатился. Фляги
старика перевернулись и катились вниз по улице. Когда молодой
человек увидел фляги, то подумал, что обеспечил еду на сегодня. Он
помог старику и настаивал помочь и дальше нести тяжёлые фляги. Старик
сказал ему, что был по пути к своему дому в горах и молодой человек
настаивал, чтобы идти с ним хотя бы часть пути. Старик взял дорогу в
горы и, пока они шли, он дал молодому человеку часть еды, которую купил
на рынке. Молодой человек наелся досыта и начал замечать какими
тяжёлыми были фляги, прижимая их к себе. Дон Хуан открыл глаза,
улыбнулся дьявольской улыбкой и сказал, что молодой человек спросил,
"Что ты несёшь в этих флягах?" старик не ответил, но сказал ему, что он
собирается показать ему друга, кто может облегчить его печали, дать ему
мудрость и совет о жизни
мира. Дон Хуан сделал царский жест обоими руками и сказал, что старик
позвал самого красивого оленя, какого молодой человек только видел в
свой жизни. Олень был таким ручным, что подошёл и обошёл вокруг него.
Он сверкал и сиял.
62-63
Молодой человек был ослеплён и поражён, он сразу понял, что это был
"Олень-spirit". Тогда старик сказал ему, что если
он хочет иметь этого друга-оленя и его мудрость, всё, что ему нужно
сделать это - выпустить из рук фляги. Ухмылка Дон Хуана изобразила
амбицию; он сказал, что мелочные желания молодого человека были
удовлетворены, услышав такое требование. В глазах Дон Хуана плясали
бесы, когда он выдал вопрос молодого человека, "Что у тебя в этих 4х
огромных флягах?" Старик очень спокойно ответил, что он нёс еду: воду и
"pinole". Дон Хуан
остановил свой рассказ и прошёл пару кругов, я не понимал, что он
делает.
Но это была часть истории вероятно, круг похоже, означал раздумья
молодого человека. Дон Хуан сказал, что конечно молодой человек не
верил ему ни слова.
Он рассчитал, что если старик, кто явно был колдуном, хотел обменять "Оленя-spirit" на свои фляги, тогда фляги должно
быть наполнены небывалым могуществом. Дон Хуан снова скривил лицо в
дьявольской ухмылке и сказал, что молодой человек заявил, что хочет
иметь фляги. Наступила
долгая пауза, что казалось знаком конца истории. Дон Хуан оставался
спокойным, однако, я был уверен, что он хотел, чтобы я спросил об этом
и я спросил. "Что произошло с молодым человеком?"
"Он взял фляги," ответил он с удовлетворительной улыбкой. Затем ещё
долгая пауза. Я засмеялся, думая что это была настоящая "индейская
история".
Глаза Дон Хуана засветились, когда он улыбался мне. В нём
просвечивалась невинность, он начал смеяться отдельными взрывами смеха
и спросил меня,
"Разве ты не хочешь узнать
о флягах?"
"Конечно хочу, только я думал, что это конец истории."
"О нет!" ответил он с озорным огоньком в глазах. "Молодой человек взял
фляги, убежал в пустынное место и открыл их. "
"Что он нашёл?" спросил я. Дон Хуан посмотрел на меня и у меня было
ощущение, что он знает о моих ментальных усилиях. Он покачал головой и
тихо засмеялся.
"Ну?" торопил его я. "Фляги были пустыми?"
"Во флягах была только еда и вода. Молодой человек в приступе ярости разбил их о камни." Я сказал, что
его реакция была естественной - любой в его положении сделал бы то же
самое. Дон Хуан ответил, что молодой человек был дураком, кто не знал
чего искал. Он не знал, в чём состоит могущество, так что он не мог
сказать, нашёл он его или не нашёл. Он не взял на себя ответственность
за своё решение, поэтому он был зол на себя за свою ошибку. Он ожидал
выиграть что-то, но взамен ничего не получил. Дон Хуан рассуждал, что
если я был бы молодым человеком и если бы я следовал своим склонностям,
я бы закончил свою жизнь злым и сожалеющим, и без сомненья, провел бы
остаток жизни жалея себя и то, что потерял. Затем он объяснил поведение
старика. Он умно накормил молодого человека до отвала, так чтобы дать
ему "отвагу сытого желудка", таким образом молодой человек, найдя
только еду во флягах, разбил их в порыве гнева.
"Если бы он осознавал своё решение и взял на себя ответственность за
него," сказал Дон Хуан, "он взял бы еду и был бы удовлетворён этим. И
даже, может быть, он мог понять, что еда - это тоже сила."
6. СТАНОВЯСЬ ОХОТНИКОМ
64-65
Пятница, 23 июня 1961. Как только я сел, то начал осыпать Дон Хуана
вопросами. Он не отвечал, только сделал нетерпеливый жест руками, чтобы
успокоить меня. Похоже, он был серьёзно настроен.
"Я думаю, что ты совсем не изменился с тех пор как ты пытался изучить
растения," сказал он осуждающим тоном. Он начал пересматривать вслух
громким голосом все перемены в моей личности, которые он рекоммендовал,
чтобы я достиг. Я сказал ему, что подхожу к делу очень серьёзно и
нахожу, что не в моих силах осуществить это, потому что каждое из них
противоположно моему внутреннему Я. Он ответил, что просто
рассматривать их - недостаточно, и то, что он сказал мне, не было
сказано в шутку. Я снова настаивал, что хоть я и сделал не очень
много для перестроения моей личной жизни подходить его идеям, я реально
хотел научиться использовать растения. После долгого, неудобного
молчания я смело спросил его,
"Ты научишь меня peyote,
Дон Хуан?" Он
сказал, что только мои намерения не было достаточно, и что знать о peyote - он в первый раз назвал его "Mescalito" - было серьёзным
делом Похоже, нечего было сказать. Однако, ранним вечером он
устроил мне тест. Он дал мне проблему, не давая мне никаких намёков на
её решение:
найти позитивное место в районе его двери, где он всегда садился
поговорить, место, где я мог бы чувствовать себя совершенно счастливым
и обновлённым.
В течении вечера, пока я пытался найти это "место", катаясь по земле, я
дважды заметил перемену в цвете на, одинаково тёмном, глинянном полу
отведённого района. Проблема измучила меня и я заснул на одном из мест,
где я обнаружил перемену в цвете. Утром Дон Хуан разбудил меня и
объявил, что я получил очень успешный опыт. Я не только нашёл ценное
"место", которое я искал, но я также нашёл его противоположность: врага
или негативное "место" и цвета, сопутствующие им обоим.
Суббота, 24 июня 1961. Мы пошли в кусты пустыни ранним утром. Пока мы
шли, Дон Хуан объяснил мне, что найти ценное место или враждебное место
было важной необходимостью для человека в дикой природе. Я хотел
перевести разговор в сторону peyote,
но он наотрез отказался говорить об этом. Он предупредил меня, чтобы я
ему об этом не напоминал, пока он сам об этом не заговорит. Мы сели
отдохнуть в тени высоких кустов в районе густой растительности.
Кусты в пустыне вокруг нас ещё не были сухими; был тёплый день и мухи
продолжали мучить меня, но они, казалось, не беспокоили Дон Хуана. Я
удивлялся, может он их просто игнорировал, но потом заметил: они не
садились на его кожу совсем.
"Иногда необходимо быстро найти благоприятное место на открытой
местности," продолжал Дон Хуан. "Или может быть необходимо быстро
определить, что место, предназначенное для отдыха, плохое. Однажды мы
сели отдохнуть у холма и ты очень разозлился и огорчился. То место был
- твой враг. Небольшая ворона дала тебе предупреждение, помнишь?"

Я вспомнил, что он привлёк моё внимание тем, что сказал мне избегать
того места в будущем. Я также вспомнил, что я разозлился, потому что он
не позволил мне смеяться. "Я думал, что ворона, которая пролетела над
головой, был омен-знак для меня одного," сказал он. "Я бы никогда не
подумал, что вороны были дружественны с тобою тоже."
"О чём ты говоришь?"
"Ворона была омен," продолжал он. "Если бы ты знал ворон, ты бы избегал
этого места, как чуму."

66-67
Вороны не всегда под рукой, чтобы дать предупреждение, поэтому тебе
нужно научиться самому находить благоприятное место, чтобы разбить
лагерь и отдохнуть."
После долгой паузы, Дон Хуан вдруг повернулся ко мне и сказал: чтобы
найти подходящее место для отдыха, всё, что я должен сделать это -
скосить мои глаза.
Он многозначительно посмотрел на меня и доверительным тоном сказал мне,
что я сделал именно это, когда катался по его террасе и, таким образом,
смог найти два места и их цвета. Он дал мне знать, что он был
впечатлён моим достижением.
"Я реально не знаю, что я сделал," сказал я.
"Ты скосил свои глаза", сказал он убеждённо. "Это - приём; ты должно
быть это сделал, хотя этого и не помнишь."
Затем Дон Хуан описал приём, который, как он выразился, взяло годы,
чтобы усовершенствовать, и который состоял в том, чтобы постепенно
заставить глаза видеть отдельно тот же самый образ. Отсуствие перевода
образа заключало в себе двойное восприятие мира; это двойное
восприятие, согласно Дон Хуану, позволяет человеку возможность судить
изменения в окружающем мире, которые глаза обычно не были способны
воспринять. Дон Хуан убедил меня попробовать это, и убедил меня, что
это не было опасно для зрения. Он сказал, что мне следует начать
смотреть короткими взглядами почти углами моих глаз. Он указал на
большой куст и показал мне как. У меня было странное чувство видеть,
как глаза Дон Хуана делают невероятно быстрые взгляды на кусты. Его
глаза напоминали мне подвижного животного, который не может смотреть
прямо. Мы прошли наверно час, пока я старался не фокусировать своё
зрение ни на чём. Затем Дон Хуан попросил меня начать отделять образы,
воспринятых каждым из моих глаз. После ещё одного часа у меня сильно
разболелась голова, пришлось остановиться.
"Ты думаешь, что
сможешь сам найти подходящее место для нас?" спросил он. Я понятия не
имел, что он имел ввиду под "подходящим
местом". Он терпеливо
объяснил, что смотреть короткими взглядами позволяет
глазам различать необычные места.
"Какие например?" спросил я.
"Это не совсем места," сказал он. "Они скорее чувства. Если ты
посмотришь на куст или дерево или камень, где тебе захочется
отдохнуть, твои глаза могут заставить тебя почувствовать, хорошее это
место для отдыха или нет." Я снова настоял на том, чтобы он описал,
какими были эти чувства, но он или не мог, или
просто не хотел. Он сказал,что я должен практиковаться, выбирая место,
и потом он скажет мне, срабатывали мои глаза или нет. В тот момент моё
внимание привлёк то, что я принял за гальку, которая отражала солнечный
свет. Я не мог её видеть, если я фокусировал мои глаза на ней, но если
я покрывал район быстрыми взглядами, я мог обнаружить что-то вроде еле
заметного сверкания. Я указал это место Дон Хуану. Оно было в середине
открытого, плоского, незатенённого района, лишённый густых кустов. Он
громкогласно рассмеялся и спросил меня, почему я выбрал именно это
место. Я объяснил, что видел мерцание.
"Мне неважно, что ты видел, ты мог бы видеть слона. Важно как ты себя
чувствовал, это - важная деталь," сказал он. Я вообще ничего не
чувствовал. Он бросил на меня мистический взгляд и сказал, что он хочет
сесть со мной там и отдохнуть, но он собирается потом сесть где-то ещё,
пока я выбирал место. Пока я садился,
он с любопытством смотрел на меня на расстоянии 30-40 футов. Через
несколько минут он начал громко смеяться и его смех сделал меня дюже
нервовым.
Я чувствовал, что он надсмехался надо мной и разозлился. Я начал
спрашивать себя: зачем я туда пришёл? Что-то явно было не так, как вся
эта эпопея с Дон Хуаном развивалась. Я чувствовал, что я был просто
жертва в его тисках. Вдруг Дон Хуан кинулся ко мне на полной скрости и
потянул меня за руку, таща моё тело 10-12 футов. Он помог мне встать и
вытер пот со своего лба. Тогда я заметил, что он выжал себя до предела.
Он похлопал меня по спине и сказал, что я выбрал негативное место, и
что ему пришлось спасать меня в жуткой спешке, потому что он ВИДЕЛ, что
место, где я сидел, собиралось овладеть всеми моими чувствами.
Я расхохотался: образ Дон Хуана, рвущегося ко мне, был очень смешным,
он реально бежал как молодой парень.
68-69
Его ступни двигались, как-будто он хватал мягкую красноватую землю
пустыни, чтобы перепрыгнуть через меня. Я видел как он смеялся надо
мной, и затем, секундами позже, он уже тянул меня за руку. Через
некоторое время он принудил меня продолжать искать подходящее место для
отдыха. Он продолжал идти, но
я вообще не обнаруживал и не "чувствовал" ничего. Наверно, если бы я
был более отдохнувшим, я бы заметил или почувствовал что-то. Однако, я
перестал злиться на него. Наконец, он указал на какие-то камни и мы
остановились.
"Не разочаровывайся," сказал Дон Хуан. "Это берёт долгое время, чтобы
как следует вытренировать глаза." Я ничего не сказал, я не собирался
расстраиваться о том, что я вообще не понимал. И всё-таки, мне пришлось
признать, что уже три раза, с тех пор как я начал навещать Дон Хуана, я
становился очень злым и раздражённым до такой степени, что почти
заболевал, когда сидел на местах, которые он называл плохими. "Трюк в
том, чтобы чувствовать своими глазами. Сейчас твоя проблема, что ты не
знаешь, что чувствовать. Однако с практикой, это к тебе придёт," сказал
он.
"Наверно, тебе следует объяснить мне, Дон Хуан, что я должен
чувствовать."
"Это - невозможно."
"Почему?"
"Никто не может сказать тебе, что ты должен чувствовать. Это ни жар, ни
свет, ни отблеск или цвет. Это что-то ещё."
"Можешь ты это описать?"
"Нет. Всё, что я могу сделать это - дать тебе приём, технику. Как
только ты научишься разделять образы и видеть всё по два, ты должен
фокусировать своё внимание в районе между двумя образами. Любая
перемена, стоющая внимания, произойдёт там, в этом районе."
"Какие
могут быть изменения?"
"Это неважно. Чувство, которое ты получишь, это - важно. Каждый человек
отличается. Сегодня ты видел сверкание, но это ничего не значило,
потому что чувство отсуствовало. Я не могу сказать тебе как
чувствовать. Ты сам должен научиться этому." Мы молча отдыхали какое-то
время. Дон Хуан закрыл лицо своей шляпой и оставался неподвижным,
как-будто он спал. Я был поглощён написанием моих записей, пока он не
сделал неожиданное движение, которое встряхнуло меня.
Он резко сел лицом ко мне и нахмурился. "У тебя талант к охоте, и это
то, что ты должен изучить - охотиться. Мы больше не будем говорить о
растениях," сказал он.
Он на момент выдул свои скулы, затем
откровенно добавил и засмеялся, "Я не думаю, что мы когда-нибудь, не
так ли?"

Мы провели остальную часть дня, шагая в каждом направлении, пока он
давал мне невероятно детальное объяснение о гремучих змеях. Как они
гнездятся, как двигаются вокруг, их сезонные привычки, странности их
поведения. Затем он перешёл к толкованию каждой из этих сторон и
,наконец, он поймал и убил большую змею; он отрезал её голову, снял
кожу и поджарил мясо. Его движения имели такую грациозность и опыт, что
было настоящим удовольствием просто быть с ним рядом. Я слушал его и
наблюдал за ним зачарованный. Моя концентрация была настолько полной,
что остальной мир для меня практически исчез. Есть змею было тяжёлым
входом в в мир обычных дел. Меня тошнило, когда я начал жевать кусок
змеиного мяса. Это была необоснованная тошнота, так как мясо было
деликатесом, но мой желудок похоже, был довольно независим от меня. Я
едва мог проглотить и думал у Дон Хуана сердце не выдержит: он так
хохотал. После этого мы уселись провести досуг в тени валунов. Я начал
работать над моими записями и их количество заставило меня понять, что
он мне дал неимоверное количество информации о гремучих змеях.
"Твой дух охотника к тебе вернулся," вдруг сказал Дон Хуан серьёзно.
"Теперь ты - на крючке."
"Прошу прощенья?" Я хотел, чтобы он объяснил своё заявление, что я был
на крючке, но он только смеялся и повторил его. "Как это я - на
крючке?" настаивал я.
"Охотники всегда охотятся, я сам - охотник," сказал он.
"Ты имеешь ввиду, что охотишься, чтобы заработать на жизнь?"
"Я охочусь, чтобы прожить.
Я могу еду получить от земли и прожить где угодно."
70-71
Он обвёл рукой всё вокруг. "Быть охотником означает, что он много
знает," продолжал он. "Это значит, что он видит мир по-другому. Чтобы
быть охотником, нужно быть в абсолютном балансе с окружающим миром,
иначе охота станет бессмысленной обязанностью. Например, сегодня мы
поймали маленькую змею.
Мне пришлось извиниться перед ней, что мне придётся остановить её жизнь
так неожиданно и окончательно; я сделал то, что сделал, зная, что и моя
собственная жизнь когда-нибудь будет остановлена также неожиданно и
окончательно. Поэтому, как никак, мы и змеи - на равных: одна из них
нас сегодня накормила."
"Я никогда не рассматривал баланс в таком роде, когда я охотился,"
сказал я.
"Это не так. Ты не просто убивал животных: ты и твоя семья ели дичь."
Его заявления несли в себе убеждение того, кто там был. И конечно он
был прав: были времена, когда я приносил случайно убитую дичь для своей
семьи. После недолгого колебания я спросил,
"Откуда ты это знаешь?"
"Существуют определённые вещи, которые я просто знаю," сказал он.
"Однако я не могу сказать тебе как."
Я сказал ему, что мои тёти и дяди всегда очень серьёзно называли всех
птиц, которых я подстреливал, фазанами. Дон Хуан сказал, что он может
легко представить, как они называют воробья "маленький фазан" и добавил
комичную интерпретацию того, как они жуют его. Экстраординарные
движенья его скул создали впечатление, что он реально жевал всю птицу
целиком, прямо с костями.
"Я действительно думаю, что у тебя талант к охоте," сказал он,
уставившись на меня. "А мы занимались не тем, чем надо. Может быть ты
захочешь поменять свой образ жизни, чтобы стать охотником." Он напомнил мне, что я выяснил для
себя с небольшим усилием c моей
стороны, что в мире есть хорошие и плохие места; он добавил, что я
также нашёл особые цвета, сопутствующие им. "Это значит, что у тебя
есть способность к охоте," объявил он. "Не
каждый, кто пробует, найдёт свои цвета и свои места в то же самое
время." Быть охотником звучало привлекательно и романтично, но для меня
это
абсурдно, так как меня особо не заботила охота. "Необязательно любить
или не любить охоту, охотиться или не охотиться," ответил он на мою
жалобу. "У тебя естественная склонность. Я думаю, что самые лучшие
охотники вообще не любят охотиться; они это просто делают, вот и всё."
У меня было ощущение, что Дон Хуан был способен победить в любом споре,
и всё же, он утверждал, что он вовсе не любил болтать. "Это как то, что
я сказал тебе об охотниках," сказал он. "Я особо не люблю
разговаривать. У меня просто способность к этому, я хорошо это делаю,
вот и всё." Я нашёл его ментальное проворство по настоящему смешным.
"Охотники должны быть исключительно аккуратными индивидуалами,"
продолжал он. "Охотник оставляет шансу очень немного. Я пытался
всю дорогу убедить
тебя, что ты должен научиться жить по другому. Успеха я до сих пор не
имел: ничего не было, что могло бы тебя захватить. Сейчас по другому: я
вернул назад твой старый дух охотника, возможно с помощью этого ты
поменяешься." Я запротестовал, что я не хочу быть охотником. Я напомнил
ему, что вначале я просто хотел, чтобы он рассказал мне о медицинских
травах, но он заставил меня отклониться так далеко от этой цели, что я
больше не мог ясно вспомнить, действительно ли я хотел изучать
растения. "Хорошо, правда хорошо. Если у тебя нет такой ясной картины
того, что ты хочешь, ты может быть станешь более скромным. Давай
посмотрим на это так. Для твоих целей это реально не имеет значения,
изучишь ли ты растения или охоту. Ты сам мне это сказал. Ты
заинтересован во всём,
что кто-нибудь может тебе рассказать. Правда?" Я сказал это ему,
пытаясь определить масштаб антропологии и чтобы иметь его как учителя.
Дон Хуан спокойно рассмеялся, явно осознавая свой контроль ситуации. "Я
- охотник," сказал он, как-будто он читал мои мысли. "Шансу я оставляю
очень немного. Наверно, мне
следует объяснить тебе, что я научился быть охотником.

72-73
Я не всегда жил так, как живу сейчас. В какой-то момент моей жизни мне
пришлось поменяться, а сейчас я указываю направление тебе, я веду тебя.
Я знаю, о чём
я говорю; кто-то научил меня всему этому. Я сам до этого не додумался."
"Ты имеешь ввиду, что у тебя был учитель, Дон Хуан?"
"Скажем, кто-то научил меня охотиться так, как я хочу учить тебя
сейчас," сказал он и быстро поменял тему. "Я думаю, что когда-то давно
охота была одним из величайших действий, которые мужчина мог
исполнить," сказал он. "Все охотники были могучими людьми. Собственно,
охотник должен быть могучим, чтобы выдержать трудности такой жизни." Я
вдруг заинтересовался. Он говорил о времени может быть до испанского
нашествия? Я начал проверять его.
"О каком времени ты говоришь?"
"Когда-либо."
"Когда? Что "когда-либо" значит?"
"Это значит когда-либо или может быть сейчас, сегодня. Это неважно.
Одно время все знали, что охотник был лучший из мужчин. Сейчас не
каждый это знает, но есть достаточное количество людей, кто знает. Я
знаю это и когда-нибудь ты будешь знать. Понимаешь, что я имею ввиду?"
"Это индейцы-Яки так чувствуют об охотниках? Вот это я хочу знать."
"Не обязательно."
"Может быть индейцы-Пима?"
"Не все они, но некоторые."
Я назвал разные соседние группы. Мне хотелось, чтобы он заявил, что
охота была общим убеждением и практикой неких особых народов. Но он
избегал прямо отвечать мне, поэтому я сменил тему. "Почему ты делаешь
всё это для меня, Дон Хуан?" спросил я. Он снял свою шляпу и почесал
виски в притворном удивлении.
"Я делаю тебе жест," сказал он тихо. "Другие люди делали тебе жест;
когда-нибудь ты сам будешь иметь такой же жест с другими. Скажем,
сейчас моя очередь.
Однажды я выяснил, что если я хочу быть охотником, стоющего уважения,
то мне придётся поменять мою жизнь. Я бывало много скулил и жаловался.
У меня на это были хорошие причины. Я - индеец, а к индейцам относятся
как к собакам. Я ничего не мог сделать, чтобы исправить это, так что
всё, что мне осталось, была моя печаль. Но потом моя судьба пощадила
меня и кто-то научил меня охотиться. Я понял, что так как я жил, не
стоило жить и я поменялся."
"Но я счастлив своей жизнью, Дон Хуан. Почему я должен менять её?"
Он начал очень тихо петь мексиканскую песню, а затем мурлыкал мелодию.
Его голова опускалась и поднималась, следуя ритму мелодии.
"Ты думаешь, что ты и я - равны?" сказал он резким голосом. Его вопрос
обезоружил меня. Я испытал странный тон в ушах, как-будто он реально
выкрикнул свои слова, хотя он этого не сделал; однако, в его голосе
появился металлический звук, который эхом раздавался у меня в ушах. Я
почесал мизинцем левой руки внутри моего левого уха. Мои уши всё время
чесались и я разработал нервозный ритмический способ растирать внутри
них мизинцем обоих рук. Движение больше походило на тряску всей моей
руки. Дон Хуан наблюдал за моими движениями с явным восхищением.
"Ну? Мы - равны?" спросил он.
"Конечно, мы равны," сказал я и, естественно, показал своё
превосходство. Я был очень тепло к нему настроен, хотя временами я не
знал, что с ним делать; и всё же я всё ещё в душе, хотя никогда не
говорил это, верил что я, будучи студентом университета, человек
сложного Западного мира, был выше индейца.
"Нет, мы - не равны," спокойно сказал он.
"Но почему? Конечно мы - равны," запротестовал я.
"Нет, мы - не равны. Я - охотник и воин, а ты - доносчик." Я разинул
рот, не мог поверить, что Дон Хуан реально это сказал.
74
Я уронил блокнот и по-дурацки уставился на него и затем конечно, я
закипел. Он смотрел на меня спокойными собранными глазами. Я избегал
его взгляда. И затем он начал говорить, чисто произнося свои слова. Они
плавно и смертельно выливались наружу. Он сказал, что я сводничал для
кого-то ещё. Что я не сражался с моими собственными битвами, а с
битвами каких-то незнакомых людей. Что я не хотел изучать ни растения,
ни охоту, ничего другого. И что его мир точных действий, чувств и
решений был намного более эффективный, чем немыслимое идиотство,
которое я называю "моей жизнью". Когда он закончил говорить, я онемел.
Он говорил без агрессивности или превосходства, а с такой силой, и всё
же с таким спокойствием, что я больше не сердился. Мы молчали. Я сгорал
от стыда и не мог ничего подходящего придумать, что сказать. Я ждал,
когда он заговорит. Пршли часы. Дон Хуан стал совершенно неподвижным,
пока его тело не приобрело странную, почти пугающую несгибаемость; его
силуэт стало трудно различить, когда стемнело, и, наконец, когда стало
черным-черно вокруг нас, он, казалось, слился с темнотой валунов.
Его состояние неподвижности было таким тотальным, что это было
как-будто он больше не существовал. Была полночь, когда я, наконец,
понял, что он мог и останется там неподвижным в этой дикой природе, в
тех скалах, наверно навсегда, если ему придётся. Его мир точных
действий, чувств и решений и в самом деле был выше. Я Я спокойно
дотронулся до его руки и слёзы рекой полились из моих глаз.
7. БЫТЬ НЕДОСЯГАЕМЫМ
75
Четверг, 29 июнь 1961. Снова Дон Хуан, как он делал каждый день почти
неделю, держал меня зачарованным своими знаниями особых деталей
поведения дичи. Сначала он объяснил и затем показал ряд приёмов,
основанных на том, что он называл "странности перепёлок". Я стал
настолько втянут в его объяснения, что прошёл весь день, а я этого не
заметил и даже забыл пообедать. Дон Хуан комментировал шуточки, что это
было очень необычно для меня: пропустить обед.
К концу дня он поймал 5 перепёлок в незамысловатый капкан, который он
научил меня сделать.
"Две для нас достаточно," сказал он и освободил три из них. Затем он
научил меня как зажарить перепёлку. Я хотел нарезать кустов и сделать barbecue яму, так как делал мой дед, устлать
зелёными ветками и листьями, и закрыть глиной. Но Дон Хуан сказал, что
нужды нет ранить кусты, раз мы уже ранили перепёлок. После еды мы
прошлись к скалистому району. Сели на песчанную сторону холма и я в
шутку сказал, что если бы он предоставил это мне, то я бы пожарил все
пять перепёлок, и моё barbecue
было бы ещё вкуснее, чем его жареное. "Не сомневаюсь, но если бы ты это
сделал, мы может быть никогда из этого места целыми не выбрались бы,"
ответил он.
"Что ты имеешь ввиду? Что бы нам помешало?" спросил я.
"Кусты, перепёлки, всё
вокруг было бы брошено сюда."
76-77
"Я никогда не знаю, когда ты говоришь серьёзно," сказал я. Он сделал
жест притворной нетерпеливости и чмокнул губами.
"У тебя странное понимание того, что означает "говорить серьёзно". Я
много смеюсь, потому что я люблю смеяться, однако, всё, что я говорю,
абсолютно серьёзно, даже если ты не понимаешь этого. Почему мир должен
быть таким, каким ты думаешь он должен быть? Кто дал тебе право так
говорить?" сказал он.
"Доказательств нет, что мир - другой," ответил я. Темнело, я не знал,
было ли время возвращаться в его дом, но он, похоже, не торопился и я
получал удовольствие. Ветер был холодным. Вдруг он встал и сказал мне,
что нам придётся залесть на холм и встать на месте, свободном от
кустов.

"Не бойся, я - твой друг и я позабочусь, чтобы ничего плохого с тобой
не случилось," сказал он.
"Что ты имеешь ввиду?" спросил я встревоженный. Дон Хуан имел
неимоверно коварную лёгкость перекинуть меня от настоящего удовольствия
к реальному страху. "Мил - очень странный в это время дня, вот что я
имею ввиду. Неважно что ты будешь видеть - не бойся," сказал он.
"Что я собираюсь видеть?"
"Я ещё не знаю," ответил он, вглядываясь в даль в направлении юга. Он
не казался обеспокоенным. Я также продолжал смотреть в том же
направлении. Вдруг,
он повеселел и указал левой рукой в тёмное место пустынных кустов. "Вот
оно, смотри! смотри!" повторил он, как-будто он ждал чего-то, и что
вдруг появилось.
"Что это?" спросил я.
"Вот оно, смотри! смотри!"
повторил он, но я ничего не видел, только кусты. "Оно сейчас здесь, оно
здесь," торопливо бросил он. Неожиданный порыв ветра ударил меня в этот
момент и обжёг мне глаза. Я уставился в сторону указанного района. Там
абсолютно не было ничего необычного.
"Я ничего не вижу," сказал я.
"Ты только что это почувствовал. Прямо сейчас. Оно попало в твои глаза
и не дало тебе посмотреть."
"О чём ты говоришь?"
"Я нарочно привёл тебя на холм, мы здесь очень заметны и что-то идёт на
нас," сказал он.
"Что? Ветер?"
"Не только ветер, тебе это может показаться ветром, потому что всё, что
ты знаешь, это ветер."
Я напряг глаза, уставившись на кусты в пустыни. Какой-то момент Дон
Хуан молча стоял возле меня, потом пошёл в ближайшие кусты и начал
отрывать большие ветки от окружающих кустов; он собрал их восемь и
связал их вместе. Он велел мне сделать то же самое и громко извиниться
перед растениями за их изувечение. Когда у нас получилось две связки,
он заставил меня бежать с ними на холм и лечь на спину между двумя
большими валунами. С невероятной скоростью он распределил ветки моей
связки, чтобы закрыть всё моё тело, затем он закрыл ветками себя в той
же манере и прошептал через ветки, чтобы я наблюдал как, так называемый
ветер, прекратит дуть, как только мы станем незаметными. В какой-то
момент, к моему полному удивлению, ветер реально перестал дуть, как
предсказал Дон Хуан. Это произошло постепенно и я мог бы не заметить
перемены, если бы я специально не ждал этого. Какое-то время ветер
шипел через листья сверху моего лица, и затем постепенно стало спокойно
вокруг нас. Я прошептал Дон Хуану, что ветер остановился, и он
прошептал мне, чтобы я не делал никакого явного шума или движения,
потому что то, что я называл ветром, был совсем не ветер, а то, что
имело свои желания и реально могло нас узнать. Я нервно рассмеялся.
Приглушоным голосом Дон Хуан привлёк моё внимание к тишине вокруг нас.
78-79
Он прошептал, что он собирается встать и я должен следовать за ним,
сложив очень тихо ветки в сторону моей левой рукой. Мы встали
одновременно. Дон Хуан на момент уставился в темноту в южном
направлении, потом резко повернулся и посмотрел на запад. "Хитрый,
реально хитрый," пробормотал он, указывая на место по направлению
юго-запада. "Посмотри! Посмотри!" торопил он меня. Я пристально
вглядывался со всей своей интенсивностью. Мне хотелось видеть то, на
что
он ссылался, но я вообще ничего не заметил. Или скорее я не заметил
ничего такого, чего не видел раньше; были только кусты, которые
казались взволнованными мягким ветром; они ходили волнами. "Это здесь,"
сказал Дон Хуан. В этот момент я почувствовал удар ветра в моё лицо.
Похоже, что ветер реально начал дуть, после того, как мы встали. Я не
мог этому поверить; здесь должно быть логическое объяснение этому. Дон
Хуан посмеялся самому себе и сказал мне не напрягать мои мозги, пытаясь
это понять. "Давай пойдём снова собирать ветки, я ненавижу делать это
маленьким растениям, но мы должны остановить тебя." сказал он.
Он поднял ветки, которые мы использовали , чтобы покрыть себя, собрали
горкой небольшие камни и покрыли их землёй. Потом повторили те же самые
движения, которые мы делали до этого, каждый из нас собрал 8 новых
веток. Тем временем ветер продолжал дуть беспрерывно. Я мог
чувствовать, как он ерошил мои волосы вокруг ушей. Дон Хуан прошептал,
что как только он покроет меня, мне не следует делать никаких, даже
лёгких, движений или звуков. Он очень быстро положил ветки на моё тело
и потом лёг сам и закрыл себя ветвями. Мы оставались в таком положении
20 минут и в течение этого времени самый экстраординарный феномен
произошёл; опять ветер поменялся от упорных продолжительных порывов до
мягких вибраций. Я сдерживал дыхание, ожидая сигнала Дон Хуана. В
какой-то момент он мягко стряхнул ветки, я сделал то же самое и мы
встали. Вершина холма была спокойна, только небольшая мягкая вибрация
листьев в кустарнике вокруг. Глаза Дон Хуана уставились в район кустов
к югу от нас. "Там оно снова!" воскликнул он громким голосом, я
невольно подпрыгнул и чуть не потерял баланс. Он громким властным
голосом велел мне посмотреть.
"Что я должен увидеть?" спросил я в отчаянии. Он сказал, что ветер, или
что-угодно, был как облако или как спираль-вихрь (Неорганическое Существо, ЛМ),
который был довольно высоко над кустарником, раскручивая свой путь к
вершине холма, где мы были. Я увидел как формируется рябь на кустах
вдали.
"Он движется сюда," сказал Дон Хуан мне в ухо. "Смотри как оно ищет
нас." Тут же сильный и продолжительный порыв ветра ударил мне в лицо,
как он сделал до этого. Однако в этот раз моя реакция была другой: ужас
овладел мной. Я не видел то, что Дон Хуан описал, но я видел жуткую,
сверхестественную волну ряби на кустах. Я не хотел поддаваться страху
однако и специально искал любое подходящее объяснение. Я сказал себе,
что там наверно, постоянное завихрение воздуха, а Дон Хуан, будучи
хорошо знакомым с районом, не только осознавал это, но и был способен
ментально устроить такой феномен. Всё, что ему нужно было сделать, это
- лечь, посчитать и ждать, когда утихнет ветер; и как только он встал,
ему нужно было только снова подождать следующего появления ветра. Голос
Дон Хуана перебил мои ментальные упражнения. Он говорил мне, что пора
уходить. Я замешкался: мне хотелось остаться, чтобы быть уверенным, что
ветер стихнет.
"Дон Хуан, я ничего не вижу," сказал я.
"Но ты хотя бы заметил что-то необычное."
"Наверно, тебе нужно снова сказать мне, что я должен видеть."
"Я уже сказал тебе," сказал он. "То, что прячется в ветре и выглядит
как вихрь, как облако, как туман, как лицо, которое крутится вокруг."
Дон Хуан сделал жест руками, изображая горизонтальное и вертикальное
движение.
80-81
"Оно движется в определённом направлении," продолжал он. "Оно или
катится, или крутится. Охотник должен знать всё это, чтобы правильно
двигаться."
Я хотел подшутить над ним, но он, похоже, упорно старался убедить меня,
что я не посмел. Какой-то момент он смотрел на меня и я отвёл глаза.
"Верить, что мир только такой, как ты думаешь, глупо," сказал он. "Мир
- мистическое место, особенно в сумерках." Он указал в сторону ветра
движением подбордка. "Оно может следовать за нами, оно может сделать
нас усталыми или даже убить нас."
"Что, ветер?"
"В это время дня, в сумерках нет ветра. В это
время существует только СИЛА." Мы час посидели на вершине холма.
Ветер всё это время дул с силой и беспрерывно.
Пятница, 30 июня 1961.
В конце дня, после еды Дон Хуан и я перебрались в район перед его
входной дверью. Я сел на "моё место" и начал работать над своими
записями. Он лёг на спину и сложил руки на животе. Мы оставались в доме
весь день из-за "ветра". Дон Хуан объяснил, что мы взбудоражили "ветер"
нарочно и что лучше не искать приключений на свою голову. Мне даже
пришлось спать, закрытым ветвями. Неожиданный порыв ветра заставил Дон
Хуана встать невероятно лёгким, проворным прыжком.
"Проклятье! Ветер ищет тебя." сказал он.
"Ну это уже слишком, Дон Хуан, я так не могу," сказал я, смеясь. Я не
был упрям, я просто нашёл это невозможным одобрить идею, что ветер имел
свою собственную волю, и что он искал меня, или что он реально заметил
нас и помчался к нам на вершину холма. Я сказал, что идея "своенравного
ветра" было взглядом на мир, который был довольно упрощённым.
"Тогда, что такое ветер?" спросил он вызывающе. Я терпеливо объяснил
ему, что массы горячего и холодного воздуха производят разное давление,
и что давление заставляет массы воздуха двигаться вертикально или
горизонтально. Это взяло мне довольно долго, чтобы объяснить основы
метеорологии.
"Ты думаешь, что всё, что ветер значит, это горячий и холодный воздух?"
спросил он тоном изумления.
"Боюсь, что так," ответил я и молча испытывал удовольствие от своего
триумфа. Дон Хуан похоже обалдел. Но потом посмотрел на меня и начал
громоподобно хохотать.
"Твоё мнение - окончательное мнение," сказал он с ноткой сарказма. "Это
- твоё последнее слово, не так ли? Однако, для охотника твоё мнение -
настоящая чепуха.
Никакой разницы нет если давление 1, 2 или 10; если бы ты жил здесь, в
дикой природе, ты бы знал, что в течение сумерек ветер становится
СИЛОЙ. Охотник, кто чего-то стоит, знает это и действует согласно
этому."
"Как он действует?"
"Он использует сумерки и эту СИЛУ, спрятанную в ветре."
"Как?"
"Если это ему удобно, то охотник прячется от СИЛЫ, покрывая себя и
оставаясь неподвижно, пока сумерки не закончатся. Сила завернула его в
защитный кокон."
Дон Хуан сделал жест завёртывания своими руками. "Его защита как..." он
остановился, ища слово и я подсказал "кокон". "Правильно," сказал он.
"Защита СИЛОЙ сохраняет тебя как кокон. Охотник может оставаться в
открытой местности и никакая пума, койот или скользкий жук не
побеспокоют его. Горный лев может подойти к носу охотника и понюхать
его, и если охотник не двигается, то лев уйдёт. Я гарантирую тебе это.
С другой стороны, если охотник хочет быть замеченным, всё, что он
должен сделать, это - встать на вершине холма в сумерках и СИЛА начнёт искать и беспокоить его всю ночь. Поэтому,
если охотник захочет путешествовать ночью или, если он захочет
бодрствовать, он должен сделать себя открытым ветру. В этом заключается
секрет великих охотников. Быть открытым и быть закрытым на точном
повороте дороги."
82-83
Я чувствовал себя немного смущённым и попросил его напомнить его точку.
Дон Хуан терпеливо объяснил, что он использовал сумерки и ветер, чтобы
указать на критическую важность игры между тем, чтобы быть доступным
или недоступным. "Ты должен научиться быть намеренно доступным или
недоступным," сказал он.
"Как сейчас твоя жизнь проходит: ты и не подозреваешь, что доступен всё
время." Я запротестовал. У меня было такое чувство, что моя жизнь
становилась всё более и более секретной. Он сказал, что я не понял его,
и что недоступный это не значит прятаться или быть мистическим, а быть
недоступным.
"Дай мне сказать это иначе," он терпеливо продолжал. "Нет смысла
прятаться, если все знают, что ты прячешься. Твои проблемы сейчас
исходят из этого. Когда ты прячешься, все знают, что ты прячешься, и
когда ты не прячешься, ты доступен всем." Я начал чувствовать угрозу и
поспешил защитить себя. "Не оправдывайся," сухо сказал Дон Хуан. "В
этом нет нужды, все мы - глупцы и ты такой же. В какой-то момент в моей
жизни, я как и ты, делал себя доступным снова и снова до тех пор, пока
от меня ничего не осталось ни для ничего, кроме как плакать. И я
плакал, как и ты." Дон Хуан какой-то момент осматривал меня и потом
громко вдохнул.
"Я был моложе тебя," продолжал он, "но в один прекрасный день мне всё
надоело и я поменялся. Скажем, однажды, когда я становился охотником, я
научился секретам как быть доступным и недоступным." Я сказал ему, что
его точка зрения мне непонятна. Я реально не мог понять, что он имел
ввиду под "быть доступным".
Он использовал испанские слова. "Ты должен убрать себя оттуда,"
объяснил он. "Ты должен вернуть себя с проезжей части. Всё твоё
существо там, поэтому нет смысла прятаться; ты только вообразишь, что
ты спрятан. Быть посреди дороги означает, что каждый прохожий наблюдает
все твои появления и исчезновения."
Его метафора была интересной, но в то же время неясной. "Ты говоришь
загадками," сакзал я. Он пристально и надолго уставился на меня и затем
начал напевать мелодию. Я выпрямил спину и сел - весь внимание. Я
уже знал, когда Дон Хуан напевал мексиканскую мелодию, то собирался
ударить меня.
"Эй," сказал он, улыбаясь и посмотрел на меня. "Что случилось с твоей
подружкой-блодинкой? Та девушка, которая тебе когда-то реально
нравилась." Я должно быть глядел на него как отъявленный идиот. Он
хохотал с великим удовольствием. Я не знал, что и сказать. "Ты
рассказал мне про неё," сказал он убеждающе.
Но я не помнил, чтобы когда-нибудь говорил ему о ком-то, тем более о
девушке-блондинке. "Я никогда не упоминал ничего такого тебе," сказал
я.
"Конечно ты говорил," сказал он, как-будто не обращая внимания на мои
слова. Я уже хотел запротестовать, но он меня остановил, сказав, что
это неважно, как он о ней узнал, а важным являлось то, что она мне
очень нравилась. Я почувствовал, как прилив настоящей враждебности по
отношению к нему, нарастал внутри меня.
"Не прикидывайся," сухо сказал Дон Хуан. "Это момент, когда тебе
следует отбросить своё чувство важности. Однажды у тебя была женщина,
очень дорогая женщина, и затем, однажды ты её потерял." Я начал
сомневаться, мог ли я когда-нибудь говорить о ней с Дон Хуаном. Я
пришёл к заключению, что такой возможности никогда не было. Однако,
такое могло быть: каждый раз, когда он ездил со мной, мы всегда
бесперестанно разговаривали обо всём. Я всё не помнил,
о чём мы говорили, потому что не мог делать записи пока ехал. Я
чувствовал себя как-то успокоенным своими заключениями. Я сказал ему,
что он был прав.
Что действительно была в моей жизни очень важная девушка-блондинка.
"Почему она не с тобой?" спросил он.
84-85
"Она ушла."
"Почему?"
"Было много причин."
"Немного было причин, а только одна. Ты сделал себя слишком доступным."
Я правда хотел знать, что он имел ввиду. Он снова дотронулся до меня. Я
правда хотел знать, что он имел ввиду. Он снова дотронулся до меня, он
казалось, осознавал влияние его прикосновения и прикусил губу, чтобы
скрыть озорную улыбку.
"Все знали о вас обоих," сказал он с несгибаемым убеждением.
"Это было неправильно?"
"Это было смертельно неправильно. Она была прекрасным человеком." Я
выразил искреннее чувство, что эти его попытки были неприятны мне,
особенно тот факт, что он всегда делал свои заявления с уверенностью
того, кто был при этом и всё видел. "Но это правда," сказал он с
обезоруживающим беспристрастием.
"Я всё это видел, она была надёжным человеком." Я знал, что спорить -
бесполезно, но я был зол на него за то, что он разбередил старую рану
моей жизни и сказал, что эта девушка не была уж такой хорошей, и что
по-моему, она была слишком слабой. "Также как и ты," спокойно сказал
он. "Но это неважно. Что засчитывается это то, что ты её везде искал;
это делает её особым человеком в твоём мире, а для особого человека
нужно иметь только прекрасные слова." Я смутился: мной овладела
огромная печаль.
"Что ты со мной делаешь, Дон Хуан? Тебе всегда удаётся делать меня
печальным. Почему?" спросил я.
"А сейчас ты потакаешь своей сентиментальности," упрекнул он меня.
"Какой смысл во всём этом, Дон Хуан?"
"Быть недоступным - в этом смысл," объявил он. "Я вызвал воспоминание
этого человека только как предлог: прямо показать тебе то, что я не мог
показать тебе с помощью ветра. Ты потерял её, потому что ты был
доступным, ты был всегда в её распоряжении и твоя жизнь стала рутиной."
"Нет! Ты неправ, моя жизнь никогда не была рутиной." сказал я.
"Она была и есть рутина," сказал он авторитетным тоном. "Это -
необычная рутина и она даёт тебе впечатление, что это не рутина, но
уверяю тебя - это так."
Я хотел скандалить и утонуть в самом мрачном, но он каким-то образом,
своими глазами заставил меня почувствовать себя беспокойным; казалось,
они толкали меня сильнее и сильнее. "Искусство охотника это - стать
недоступным," сказал он. "На примере этой девушки-блондинки, это бы
означало, что ты стал охотником и встречаешься с ней только иногда. Не
так как ты это делал: ты оставался с ней день за днём до тех пор, пока
чувство не превратилось в скуку. Правильно?"
Я не ответил, чувствовал, что мне не нужно: он был прав. "Быть
недоступным означает, что ты трогаешь мир вокруг себя слегка. Ты не ешь
пять перепёлок, а только одну. Ты не разрушаешь растения, только чтобы
сделать мангал для жарки перепёлок. Ты не подставляешь себя силе
ветра, если это не обязательно. Ты не используешь и не выжимаешь из
людей всё до тех пор, пока они не превращаются в ничто, особенно те,
кого ты любишь."
"Я никогда никого не использовал," искренне сказал я, но Дон Хуан
настаивал, что я использовал, и таким образом, я мог прямо утверждать,
что я устал и мне скучно с людьми.
"Быть недоступным означает, что ты нарочно избегаешь лишать энергии
себя и других," продолжал он. "Это значит, что ты не голоден и не в
отчаянии, как тот бедный глупец, который думает, что уже никогда не
поест и съедает всю еду, какую только может, все пять перепёлок!" Дон
Хуан определённо бил меня ниже пояса. Я засмеялся и это, похоже, ему
понравилось. Он слегка дотронулся до моей спины. "Охотник знает: он
всегда заманит дичь в свой капкан снова и снова, поэтому он не
беспокоится. Беспокоиться - это становиться доступным и не сознавать
этого. И как только ты забеспокоишься, ты прилипнешь к чему угодно от
отчаяния; и как только ты прилипнешь, ты наверняка измучишься или
измучишь того, к кому прилипаешь." Я сказал ему, что в моей ежедневной
жизни было невозможно быть недоступным. Моё мнение было: чтобы
функционировать, мне нужно было быть в общении со всеми, кто имел дело
со мной. "Я уже сказал тебе, что быть недоступным не значит прятаться
или быть таинственным," спокойно сказал он.
86
"Это также не значит, что ты не можешь иметь дело с людьми. Охотник
использует свой мир слегка и с нежностью, независимо от того, что мир
может быть вещами или растениями, животными или людьми, или силой.
Охотник имеет дело лично со своим миром и всё же, он недоступен тому
самому миру."
"Это - противоречие,"сказал я. "Он не может быть недоступным, если он
там в своём мире час за часом, день за днём."
"Ты не понял," терпеливо продолжал Дон Хуан. "Он - недоступен, потому
что он не выжимает мир из своей формы. Он постукивает его слегка и
остаётся там только, сколько ему нужно, а потом быстро двигается прочь,
едва оставляя следы."
8. ОТБРАСЫВАЯ ЖИЗНЕННЫЕ
РУТИНЫ
87
Воскресенье, 16 июля 1961. Мы провели всё утро провели всё утро,
наблюдая за грызунами, которые были похожи на толстых белок; Дон Хуан
называл их водяными крысами. Он указал, что они очень проворны
избегать опасность, но после того, как они убегали от преследователей,
у них была ужасная привычка: останавливаться или даже взбираться на
камень, вставать на задние лапы, осматриваться вокруг и прихорашивать
себя.

"У них очень хорошее
зрение," сказал Дон Хуан. "Ты должен двигаться только, когда они на
бегу, поэтому ты должен научиться предугадывать когда и где они
остановятся, так чтобы ты тоже остановился." Я полностью погрузился в
наблюдение за ними и у меня были, что называется, полевые заметки для
охотников, когда я обнаружил так много их. И наконец, я мог предугадать
их движения почти безошибочно. Тогда Дон Хуан показал мне как делать
капканы, чтобы их ловить.
Он объяснил, что охотнику необходимо время, чтобы наблюдать, как они
едят, гнездятся, чтобы определить, где ставить капканы. Тогда он
поставит их ночью и всё, что ему нужно будет делать на следующий день,
это - напугать их так, чтобы они разбежались по его капканам. Мы
собрали несколько палок и начали конструировать охотничьи ловушки. Свою
я почти закончил и взволнованно предполагал, будет ловушка работать или
нет, когда неожиданно Дон Хуан остановился и посмотрел на своё левое
запястье, как-будто он проверял часы, которых у него никогда не было, и
сказал, что согласно его часам, было время обеда.
88-89
Я держал длинную палку, которую я старался согнуть в обруч, я
машинально положил её вниз с остальной частью моего охотничьего
снаряжения. Дон Хуан посмотрел на меня с любопытством, затем изобразил
звук воющей фабричной сирены. Я хохотал: звук сирены был
неподражаем. Я подошёл ближе к нему и заметил, что он уставился
на меня. Он качал головой из стороны в сторону. "Будь я проклят,"
сказал он.
"Что происходит?" спросил я, он снова изобразил длинный воющий звук
фабричной сирены.
"Обед закончился," сказал он. "Возвращайся к работе." На момент я
смутился, но потом подумал, что он шутил, наверно потому что у нас
реально ничего для обеда не было. Я был настолько поглощён
грызунами, что я забыл: у нас не было продуктов. Я снова подобрал палку
и попытался согнуть её. Секундой позже Дон Хуан снова свистнул. "Время
идти домой," сказал он, посмотрел на свои воображаемые часы, потом на
меня и подмигнул. "Пять часов," сказал он по секрету. Я подумал, что
ему вдруг наскучила охота и он решил на этом закончить. Я просто
положил всё и начал готовиться уходить. Я не смотрел на него, полагая,
что он тоже готовит своё снаряжение. Когда я закончил, то посмотрел
вверх и увидел его сидящим, скрестив ноги, в нескольких метрах от меня.
"Я закончил, мы можем идти в любое время," сказал я. Он встал и залез
на валун. Он стоял там 5-6 футов над землёй и смотрел на меня. Он
положил руки по обеим сторонам рта и проделал очень долгий и
пронзительный звук. Он был как увеличенная фабричная сирена. Он
повернулся на полный круг, имитируя воющий звук.
"Что ты делаешь Дон Хуан?" спросил я. Он сказал, что сигналил всему
миру идти домой. Я был реально поражён. Я не мог понять: он шутил или
просто сошёл с ума.
Я внимательно наблюдал за ним и старался найти связь между тем, что он
делал и тем, что он может быть говорил до этого. Мы почти не
разговаривали всё утро и
я не мог вспомнить ничего важного. Дон Хуан всё ещё стоял на вершине
валуна и смотрел на меня, улыбаясь и снова подмигивая. Вдруг меня это
встревожило. Дон Хуан
положил руки по обеим сторонам рта и проделал ещё один долгий и
пронзительный звук, похожий на свист. Он сказал, что было 8 часов утра
и что мне придёться подготовить моё снаряжение снова, потому что у нас
был целый день впереди. К тому моменту, я пришёл в полное
замешательство. Через минуту мой страх увеличился до нестерпимого
желания бежать оттуда. Я подумал, что Дон Хуан сошёл с ума, и уже
собрался бежать. Тут Дон Хуан соскользнул с валуна и подошёл ко мне
улыбаясь. "Ты подумал, что я сумасшедший, не так ли?" спросил он. Я
сказал ему, что он досмерти напугал меня своим неожиданным поведением.
Он сказал, что сейчас мы - в расчёте. Я не понял, что он имел ввиду. Я
был глубоко обеспокоен тем, что его поведение казалось реально
ненормальным.
Он объяснил, что он нарочно пытался напугать меня досмерти тяжестью его
необычного поведения, потому что я сам сводил его с ума тяжестью своего
ожидаемого поведения. Он добавил, что мои рутины были такими же
ненормальными, как и его свист. Я был шокирован и подтвердил, что у
меня реально никаких рутин не было. Я сказал ему, что убеждён: моя
жизнь на самом деле была хаосом из-за отсуствия здоровых рутин. Дон
Хуан рассмеялся и указал мне на место рядом с ним. Вся ситуация снова
мистически поменялась. Мой страх испарился как только он начал
говорить.
"Какие мои рутины?" спросил я.
"Всё, что ты делаешь - рутина."
"А разве мы не все такие?"
"Не все. Я не делаю вещи как рутину."
"Что послужило причиной всего этого, Дон Хуан? Что я сделал или что я
сказал, что заставило тебя вести себя так, как ты себя вёл?"
90-91
"Ты беспокоился об обеде.""Я ничего тебе не говорил; откуда ты узнал,
что я беспокоился об обеде?"
"Ты беспокоишься о еде каждый день около 12 дня, 6 вечера и 8 утра,"
сказал он с ехидной улыбкой. "Ты беспокоишься о еде в то время даже
когда ты не голоден. Всё, что мне нужно было сделать, чтобы показать
твои рутины духу, это - свиснуть в свисток. Твой дух натренирован
работать с сигналом." Он уставился на меня с вопросительным взглядом. Я
не мог защитить себя. "Сейчас ты готовишься сделать охоту - рутиной,"
продолжал он. "Ты уже установил свой темп в охоте; ты
говоришь/ешь/спишь в определённое время." Мне нечего было сказать. Как
Дон Хуан описал мои привычки принятия пищи, было рутиной, которую я
использовал во всём в своей жизни. Однако я твёрдо верил, что моя жизнь
была меньше рутиной, чем у большинства моих друзей м знакомых. "Ты
знаешь много об охоте сейчас," продолжал Дон Хуан. "Тебе будет легко
понять, что хороший охотник признаёт одну вещь выше всего: он знает
рутины его жертвы. Вот, что делает его хорошим охотником. Если бы ты
запомнил путь, каким я следовал, уча тебя охоте, ты бы наверно понял,
что я имею ввиду. Сначалаа, я учил тебя как сделать и установить
капканы, затем я учил тебя рутинам дичи, за которой ты охотился, и
потом мы проверили капканы во время этих рутин. Те части - внешние
формы охоты. Сейчас мне придёться учить тебя окончательную и намного
более трудную часть. Наверно пройдут годы, прежде чем ты сможешь
сказать, что ты это понимаешь и что ты - охотник." Дон Хуан сделал
паузу, как бы дать мне время. Он снял свою шляпу и имитировал движения
прихорашивающийся грызунов, которых мы наблюдали.
Мне это было очень смешно. Его круглая голова делала его похожим на
одного из тех грызунов. "Быть охотником это не только ловить дичь в
капканы," продолжал он. "Охотник, который чего-то стоит, не ловит дичь,
потому что он устанавливает свои ловушки или потому что он знает рутины
своей жертвы, а потому что он сам не имеет рутин. Это его приемущество.
Он совсем не как животные, на которых он охотится, кто придерживается
тяжёлых рутин и предугадывает странности;
он - свободен, переменчив, непредсказуем." То, что Дон Хуан говорил,
звучало для меня как случайная, нерациональная идеализация. Я не мог
себе представить жизнь без рутин. Мне хотелось быть с ним очень
честным, а не просто соглашаться или не соглашаться с ним. Я
чувствовал, что то, что у него было на уме, мне или кому-то
другому невозможно было осуществить. "Мне неважно как ты себя
чувствуешь," сказал он. "Чтобы быть охотником, ты должен прекратить
рутины в своей жизни. Ты приуспел в охоте. Ты быстро научился, и сейчас
ты можешь видеть, что тебя, как и твою жертву, легко предсказать." Я
попросил его быть точным и дать мне конкретный пример. "Я говорю об
охоте," сказал он спокойно. "Поэтому я обращаю внимание на вещи,
которые делают животные; места, где они едят; время, когда они
засыпают; где они гнездятся; как они ходят. Эти рутины я передаю тебе,
так чтобы ты мог осознать их в своё время. Ты наблюдал привычки
животных в пустыне. Они едят и пьют в определённых местах, они
гнездятся в особых местах, они оставляют свои следы по особому;
собственно говоря, всё, что они делают, может быть предугадано хорошим
охотником. Как я тебе говорил раньше, на моих глазах ты ведёшь себя как
твоя жертва. Однажды в моей жизни кто-то указал то же самое мне, так
что ты в этом не уникален. Все мы ведём себя как жертвы, за которой мы
гоняемся. Это тоже конечно, делает нас жертвой для кого-то или чего-то.
Сейчас забота охотника, кто знает всё это, самому не стать жертвой.
Видишь, что я имею ввиду?" Я снова выразил своё мнение, что его
рекоммендации были невыполнимыми. "Это берёт время," сказал Дон Хуан.
"Ты можешь начать с того, чтобы не есть обед каждый день в 12 часов."
Он посмотрел на меня и улыбнулся доброжелательно. Его выражение лица
было до того смешным, что я расхохотался. "Однако, есть некоторые
животные, которых невозможно проследить,"
92-93
продолжал он. "Существуют типы
оленей, например, которого по счастью, удачный охотник может способен
встретить раз в жизни." Дон Хуан сделал драматическую паузу и
пристально посмотрел на меня. Похоже, он ожидал вопроса, но у меня его
не было. "Что , ты думаешь, делает их такими уникальными и настолько
трудными, чтобы их встретить?" спросил он. Я вздёрнул плечи, так как не
знал, что сказать. "У них нет рутин," выдал он мне тоном открытия. "Вот
что делает их магическими."
"Оленю нужно спать ночью, разве это не рутина?" сказал я.
"Конечно, если олень спит каждую ночь в определённое время и в
определённом месте. Но те магические существа так себя не ведут.
Собственно, когда-нибудь
ты сможешь сам удостовериться в этом. Может быть, это будет твоя судьба
преследовать одного из них до конца своей жизни."
"Что ты этим хочешь сказать?"
"Тебе нравится охота; может быть когда-нибудь, в каком-то месте мира,
твою дорогу может пересечь магическое существо и ты может быть начнёшь
его преследовать. Магическое существо - зрелище, стоющее посмотреть.
Мне здорово повезло столкнуться с таким. Наша встреча произошла после
того, как я много изучал и практиковал охоту.

Однажды я был в густом
лесу в горах Центральной Мексики, когда вдруг я услышал сладкий свист.
Мне он был незнаком; никогда, во все годы скитаний на природе, я не
слышал такой звук. Я не мог определить его на территории; казалось, он
звучал из разных мест. Я думал, что наверно, я был окружён стадом
каких-то незнакомых животных. Я снова услышал дразнящий свист;
казалось, он выходил отовсюду. Тогда я понял, как мне повезло. Я знал:
это было магическое существо - олень. Я также знал, что магический
олень знает рутины обычных людей и рутины охотников. Очень легко
выяснить, что обычный человек сделает в такой ситуации. Прежде всего,
его страх сразу же превратит его в жертву. Как только он станет
жертвой, у него останется два выхода из положения: или он сбежит, или
постоит за себя. Если он не вооружён, он обычно, убегает в открытое
поле, чтобы или застыть на месте, или упасть на землю. Охотник, с
другой стороны, когда бродит в дикой природе, никогда не идёт в
какое-то место, не продумав свою защиту, поэтому он тут же уйдёт в
укрытие. Он может бросить своё панчо на землю или он может свесить его
с ветви, чтобы ввести в заблуждение, и затем он спрячется и будет
ждать, пока дичь не сделает движение первой. Поэтому в присуствии
магического оленя, я никак себя не вёл. Я быстро встал на голову и
начал тихо выть; я реально проливал слёзы и всхлиповал так долго, что
чуть не потерял сознание. Вдруг я почувствовал лёгкий бриз; Что-то
обнюхивало мои волосы за правым ухом. Я пробовал повернуть голову,
чтобы увидеть, кто это был, и упал вниз, а сел как раз в тот момент,
чтобы видеть как сияющее существо уставилось на меня. Олень смотрел на
меня и я сказал ему, что не причиню ему никакого вреда. И олень
заговорил со мной." Дон Хуан остановился и посмотрел на меня. Я
невольно улыбнулся: идея говорящего оленя была совершенно невероятной,
если мягко выразиться. "Он говорил со мной," сказал Дон Хуан с
ухмылкой.
"Олень говорил?"
"Да, говорил." Дон Хуан встал и поднял свою связку охотничьего
снаряжения.
"Он реально разговаривал?" спросил я тоном изумления. Дон Хуан
покатился от смеха. "Что он сказал?" спросил я полушутя: я был уверен,
что он меня разыгрывает. Какой-то момент Дон Хуан был спокоен,
как-будто он пытался вспомнить, затем его глаза засияли, когда он
сказал мне, что ему поведал олень.
"Магический олень сказал "Привет, приятель"," продолжал Дон Хуан. "И я
ответил, "Привет". Потом он спросил меня, "Почему ты плачешь?" и я
сказал, "Потому что мне тяжело." Затем магическое существо подошло к
моему уху и сказало также ясно, как я говорю сейчас, "Не расстраивайся."
94
Дон Хуан, с озорным огоньком, уставился мне в глаза. Он начал
громоподобно хохотать. Я сказал, что его диалог с оленем был в своём
роде тупым.
"А что ты ожидал?" спросил он, всё ещё смеясь. "Я - индеец," его
чувство юмора было таким диковенным, что всё, что я мог сделать, это -
смеяться вместе с ним.
"Ты ведь не веришь, что магический олень разговаривает, не так ли?"
"Я извиняюсь, но я просто не могу поверить, что такие вещи могут
происходить," ответил я.
"Я тебя не виню," сказал он с готовностью. "Это - одна из чертовских
вещей."
9. ПОСЛЕДНЯЯ БИТВА НА
ЗЕМЛЕ
95
Понедельник, 24 июля 1961.
Около 12 дня, после того, как мы часами бродили в пустыне, Дон Хуан
выбрал место для отдыха в тени. Как только мы сели он начал говорить.
Он сказал, что
я многому научился в охоте, но сам я нисколько не изменился, как он бы
хотел.
"Этого недостаточно только знать, как делать и устанавливать ловушки,"
сказал он. "Охотник должен жить как охотник, чтобы выжать всё из своей
жизни.
К сожалению, перемены трудны и происходят очень медленно; иногда берёт
годы для человека стать убеждённым в необходимости перемены. Мне взяло
годы, но может быть у меня не было способностей для охоты. Я думаю для
меня самым трудным было реально желать перемены."
Я убедил его, что понял его. Собственно, с тех пор как он начал учить
меня охотиться, я также начал пересматривать свои действия. Наверно,
самое сильное открытие для меня было то, что мне нравились приёмы Дон
Хуана, мне нравился сам Дон Хуан как человек. Было что-то прочное в его
поведении; то как он вёл себя, не оставляло никаких сомнений в его
мастерстве и всё же он никогда не использовал своё приемущество, чтобы
требовать что-то для себя. Его интерес к переменам в моей жизни, я
чувствовал был похож на неличные предположения или возможно, это было
похоже на авторитетный комментарий на мои провалы.
Он заставлял меня сильно осознавать мои провалы, и всё-таки, я не мог
видеть, как его советы могли вылечить что-то во мне. Я искренне верил,
что то, что я хотел делать в своей жизни, его путь принесёт мне только
трудности, страдания и несчастье.
96-97
Однако, я научился уважать его мастерство, которое всегда выражалось в
формах красоты и точности.
"Я решил поменять мою тактику," сказал он. Я попросил его объяснить;
его заявление было туманным и я не был уверен: оно относилось ко мне
или нет.
"Хороший охотник меняет свои приёмы так часто, как ему нужно," ответил
он. "Ты сам это знаешь."
"Что у тебя в голове, Дон Хуан?"
"Охотник должен не только знать привычки его жертвы, , он также должен
знать, что на этой Земле существуют силы, которые руководят человеком,
животным и всем, что живёт." Он прекратил говорить. Я ждал, но он,
похоже, подошёл к концу того, что хотел сказать.
"О каких силах ты говоришь?" спросил я после долгой паузы.
"Силы, которые руководят нашей жизнью и смертью." Дон Хуан остановился
и, похоже, был в очень затруднительном положении, решая что сказать. Он
потёр руки и потряс головой, выдвинув скулы. Он дважды посигналил мне
утихомириться, когда я начинал просить его объяснить мне его загадочные
заявления.
"Ты не сможешь легко себя остановить" наконец сказал он. "Я знаю, что
ты упрямый, но это неважно, чем ты более упрямый, тем лучше будет,
когда ты наконец поменяешь себя."
"Я делаю всё, что в моих силах," сказал я.
"Нет, я не верю, ты не делаешь всё, что в твоих силах, ты только
говоришь, потому что это хорошо для тебя звучит; по правде, ты говоришь
то же самое обо всём, что делаешь. Ты старался делать годами всё, что в
твоих силах, но без всяких
результатов. Что-то нужно сделать, чтобы это исправить."
И, как обычно, я почувствовал, что вынужден защитить себя. Как правило,
Дон Хуан, похоже, целеустремлялся в мои самые слабые точки. Тогда я
вспомнил, что каждый раз, когда я пытался защищать себя от его
критики, я заканчивал тем, что чувствовал себя как дурак, и остановился
в середине длинной объяснительной речи. Дон Хуан посмотрел на меня с
любопытством и засмеялся, он сказал очень добрым тоном, что он мне уже
сказал, что мы все - дураки. Я - не был исключением.
"Ты всегда чувствуешь себя вынужденным объяснять свои поступки,
как-будто ты - единственный человек на Земле, кто неправ," сказал он.
"Это говорит твоё старое чувство важности; у тебя его слишком много; у
тебя также слишком много персональной истории. С другой стороны, ты не
берёшь ответственность за свои поступки; ты не используешь смерть, как
своего советника и, самое главное, ты - слишком доступен. Другими
словами, твоя жизнь - это такая же полная неразбериха, как и до нашей
встречи." И снова у меня появилось искреннее желание, гордость, я
хотел доказать ему, что он неправ. Он жестом велел мне замолчать.
"Необходимо взять на себя ответственность за существование в этом
странном мире, мы - в странном мире, ты знаешь." сказал он и я
утвердительно кивнул головой. "Мы не говорим о том же самом," сказал
он. "Для тебя мир странен, потому что если тебе в нём нескучно, то ты к
нему приспособился. Для меня мир странен, потому что он таинственный,
устрашающий, изумительный, громадный, огромной важности, бездонный,
непостижимый, неизмеримый. В моих интересах было убедить тебя, что ты
должен взять на себя ответственность за своё пребывание здесь, в этом
прекрасном мире, в этой красивой пустыне, в это удивительное время." Я
настаивал, что быть скучным в этом мире или приспособиться к нему было
естественно для человека. "Так поменяй это," сухо сказал он. "Если ты
не отреагируешь на этот вызов, считай что ты мёртв." Он подзадорил меня
назвать ту вещь в моей жизни, которая занимала все мои мысли. Я сказал
- искусство.
Я всегда хотел быть художником и годами я старался практиковаться в
этом. Я всё ещё с болью вспоминал о своём провале. "Ты никогда не брал
на себя ответственность за своё существование в этом непостижимом
мире," сказал он обвинительным тоном. "Поэтому ты никогда не стал
художником и наверно, ты никогда не будешь охотником."
"Это всё, что в моих силах, Дон Хуан."
"Нет. Ты не знаешь, что в твоих силах."
"Я делаю всё, что могу."
98-99
"Снова неправ: ты на большее способен. Одна простая вещь не так с
тобой: ты думаешь, что у тебя много времени." Он сделал паузу и
посмотрел на меня, как бы ожидая моей реакции. "Ты думаешь, что у тебя
полно времени," повторил он.
"Много времени для чего, Дон Хуан?"
"Ты думаешь, что твоя жизнь будет продолжаться вечность."
"Нет, я так не думаю."
"Тогда, если ты не думаешь,
что твоя жизнь будет продолжаться вечность, чего ты ждёшь? Почему ты
нерешителен к переменам?"
"Ты когда-нибудь думал, что может быть я не хочу меняться?"
"Да, это приходило мне в голову. Я тоже не хотел меняться, также как
ты. Однако, моя жизнь мне не нравилась, от неё я устал, также как и ты.
Сейчас, мне её не хватает." Я страстно доказывал, что его давление, в
отношении перемены в моей жизни, была настораживающей и
непредугаданной. Я сказал, что я реально в чём-
то был с ним согласен, но тот факт, что он должен быть всегда моим
диктующим хозяином, делает ситуацию непригодной для меня. "У тебя нет
времени для подобного шоу, глупец," сказал он серьёзным тоном. "То, что
ты сейчас делаешь, может быть твоим последним действием на Земле. Это
очень может быть твоей последней битвой. Нет той сила, которая может
гарантировать, что ты будешь жить ещё одну минуту."
"Я знаю это," ответил я, сдерживая гнев.
"Нет, ты не знаешь, если бы ты знал, то уже был бы охотником." Я
спорил, что знаю о моей надвигающейся смерти, но бесполезно говорить
или думать об этом, так как я не мог её предотвратить. Дон Хуан
засмеялся и сказал, что я был похож на комедианта, механически
повторяющего рутину. "Если это была твоя последняя битва на Земле, я бы
назвал тебя идиотом," спокойно сказал он. "Ты зря тратишь свой
последний акт на Земле в дурацком настроении." Какой-то момент мы были
спокойны: мои мысли пробегали с одного на другое. Он конечно был прав.
"У тебя нет времени, мой друг, нет времени. Ни у кого из нас нет
времени," сказал он.
"Я согласен, Дон Хуан, но..."
"Не просто соглашайся со мной," отрезал он. "Вместо того, чтобы так
легко соглашаться со мной, действуй, прими вызов, поменяйся!"
"Прям вот так?"
"Правильно. Перемена, о которой я говорю, никогда не происходит
постепенно; это происходит неожиданно. И ты не готовишь себя к этому
неожиданному действию, которое принесёт полную перемену." Я думал, что
он противоречит самому себе, и объяснил ему: если я должен подготовить
себя к перемене, то я определённо быстро менялся. "Ты вообще не
поменялся," сказал он. "Поэтому ты веришь, что ты понемногу меняешься.
И всё же, наверно, когда-нибудь ты удивишь самого себя внезапной
переменой и без какого-либо предупреждения. Я знаю это точно и поэтому
я не теряю надежды убедить тебя." Я не мог продолжать спорить, не был
уверен, что я реально хотел сказать. После минутной паузы Дон Хуан
продолжил объяснять свою точку зоения. "Наверно, я должен сказать это
иначе," сказал он.
"Что я советую тебе сделать это - запомнить, что у нас нет никакой
гарантии, что наши жизни будут продолжаться бесконечно. Я только что
сказал, что перемена приходит неожиданно, также как и смерть. Что ты
думаешь мы можем сделать в этом направлении?" Я подумал, что он задал
вопрос неискренне, но он добавил к этому движение бровями, поторапливая
меня с ответом.
"Жить так счастливо, как только можно," сказал я.
"Правильно! Но знаешь ли ты того, кто живёт счастливо?" Первая мысль
была сказать - да; я думал, что мог назвать несколько человек, которых
я знал как примеры. Однако подумав, я понял, что мои попытки
бесполезны. "Нет, я действительно не знаю," сказал я.
"Я знаю," сказал Дон Хуан. "Есть некоторые люди, кто очень осторожны в
отношении своих действий. Их счастье это - действовать с полным
осознанием, что у них нет времени; поэтому их действия имеют необычную
силу; их действия имеют чувство..." Казалось, Дон Хуан не мог найти
слова. Он почесал виски и улыбнулся. Затем вдруг встал, как-будто он
закончил наш разговор.
100-101
Я упрашивал его закончить то, что он говорил. Он сел и прикусил губы.
"Действия имеют силу," сказал он. "Особенно, когда человек действия
знает, что те действия - его последняя битва. Появляется странное
поглощающее счастье в действии с полным знанием того, что чтобы человек
не делал, очень может быть последним актом на Земле. Я советую, чтобы ты пересмотрел свою жизнь и
выполнял свои действия в этом свете." Я с ним не соглашался: счастье для
меня было предположить, что существует наследственная продолжительность
в моих действиях и что я смогу продолжать делать по желанию то, что я
делал в тот момент, особенно если я получал от этого удовольствие. Я
сказал ему, что моё несогласие не банально, а происходит от убеждения,
что мир и я имеем определённую продолжительность. Дон Хуан похоже
развлекали мои усилия разобраться. Он рассмеялся, покачал головой,
почесал волосы и наконец, когда я заговорил об "определённой продолжительности", он
бросил свою шляпу на землю и наступил на неё. Я закончил тем, что
расхохотался над его клоунадой.
"У тебя нет времени, мой друг," сказал он. "Это - людское несчастье,
никто из нас не имеет достаточно времени и твоя продолжительность не имеет значения
в этом огромном мистическом мире. Твоя продолжительность только делает тебя застенчивым," сказал он. "Твои
действия никак не могут иметь значения, сила, принудительная сила
действий, исполненных человеком, кто знает, что он воюет своё последнее
сражение на Земле. Другими словами, твоя продолжительность не делает тебя ни
счастливым, ни могущественным." Я признался, что боялся думать о
смерти, и обвинил его в том, что он возбуждает во мне нехорошие
предчувствия своим постоянным разговором о смерти. "Но мы все умрём,"
сказал он и указал на какие-то холмы вдали. "Там есть то, что явно ждёт меня; и я присоединюсь
к этому обязательно. Но
может быть ты другой и смерть тебя совсем не ждёт." Он засмеялся над
моим жестом отчаяния.
"Я не хочу об этом думать, Дон Хуан."
"Почему нет?"
"Это бессмысленно. Если оно
там меня ожидает, почему я должен об этом беспокоиться?"
"Я не говорил, что тебе нужно об этом беспокоиться."
"Тогда, что мне нужно делать?"
"Используй её. Сфокусируй своё внимание на связи между собой и твоей
смертью без сожаления, печали или беспокойства. Сфокусируй своё внимание на факте,
что у тебя нет времени и позволь своим действиям течь соответственно.
Позволь каждому из своих действий быть твоей последней битвой на Земле.
Только в тех условиях твои действия приобретут свою настоящую силу.
Иначе, они останутся на всю твою жизнь только действиями робкого
человека."
"Это разве плохо быть робким человеком?"
"Нет. Неплохо, если ты собираешься быть бессмертным, но если ты
собираешься умирать, времени для застенчивости нет, просто потому что
робкость заставляет тебя примкнуть к тому, что существует только в
твоих мыслях. Это успокаевает тебя, пока всё в спячке, но затем
грандиозный, таинственный мир откроет тебе свою пасть, как он открывает
её каждому из нас, и тогда ты поймёшь, что твои уверенные шаги были
совсем не уверенными. Быть робким останавливает наши исследования и
использования нас как мужчин."
"Это неестественно - всё время жить и постоянно думать о смерти, Дон
Хуан."
"Наша смерть ждёт и этот акт, который мы исполняем сейчас, очень может
быть нашей последней битвой на Земле," ответил он торжественным тоном.
"Я называю это битвой, потому что это - борьба. Большинство людей
двигаются от действия к действию без всякой борьбы или мысли. Охотник
напротив, оценивает каждое движение и, так как он близко знаком со
своей смертью, он продвигается с умом, как-будто его каждое движение -
это последняя битва. Только глупец не заметит приемуществ, которые
имеет охотник над обычными людьми, охотник даёт свою последнюю битву с
уважением. Это - вполне естественно, что его последний акт на Земле
должен быть его самым лучшим. Так приятнее, он притупляет его страх."
"Ты прав, просто к этому трудно привыкнуть," признал я.
"Тебе возьмёт годы, чтобы убедить себя и затем, тебе возьмёт годы, чтобы действовать
согласно этому. Я только надеюсь, что у тебя ещё осталось время."
102-103
"Меня пугает, когда ты это говоришь," сказал я. Дон Хуан осмотрел меня
с серьёзным выражением лица. "Я говорю тебе: это - странный мир,"
сказал он. "Силы, которые руководят людьми, непредсказуемы, грандиозны,
и всё-таки их великолепие стоит увидеть." Он остановился и снова
посмотрел на меня. Похоже, он вот-
вот раскроет мне что-то, но он проверил себя и улыбнулся.
"Есть что-то такое, что руководит нами?" спросил я.
"Конечно. Существуют Силы, которые нас ведут."
"Ты можешь описать их?"
"Не совсем, кроме как называть их Силы, Дух-spirits, ветры, воздух или что-то в
этом роде."
Я хотел проверить его дальше, но прежде чем я мог спросить его
что-нибудь, он встал. Я уставился на него ошеломлённый. Он встал одним
движением; его тело просто подпрыгнуло и он был на ногах. Я всё ещё
удивлялся удивительной способности, которая необходима, чтобы двигаться
с такой скоростью, и тут он приказал мне сухим тоном поймать зайца,
убить его, снять шкуру и поджарить его до сумерков. Он посмотрел на
небо и сказал, что у меня может быть достаточно времени.
Я механически начал делать то, что делал много раз. Дон Хуан шёл со
мной и следил за моими движениями испытующим взглядом. Я был очень
спокоен, двигался осторожно и без проблем поймал зайца-самца.
"А сейчас убей его," сухо сказал Дон Хуан. Я залез в капкан, чтобы
схватить зайца. Я взял его за уши и вытянул оттуда, и тут вдруг
ощущение ужаса заполнило меня. Впервые, с тех пор как Дон Хуан начал
учить меня охоте, до меня дошло, что он никогда не учил меня как
убивать дичь. Много раз мы бродили по пустыне и он сам убил только
одного зайца, двух перепёлок и одну гремучую змею. Я уронил зайца и
посмотрел на Дон Хуана.
"Я не могу убить его," сказал я.
"Почему не можешь?"
"Я никогда это не делал."
"Но ты убил сотни птиц и других животных."
"Ружьём, а не голыми руками."
"Какая разница? Время этого зайца истекло." Тон Дон Хуана шокировал
меня; он был настолько осведомлённым и повелевающим, что он не оставил
никакого сомнения в моей голове, что он знал: этому зайцу придётся
умереть. "Убей его!" скоммандовал он со свирепым взглядом в глазах.
"Я не могу." Он крикнул мне, что заяц должен убить. Он сказал, что его
похождения в этой прекрасной пустыне подошли к концу. И что я не должен
этому мешать, потому что Сила или spirit, который руководит зайцами,
привёл именно этого зайца в мой капкан как раз в конце сумерков. Серия
путанных мыслей и чувств обуяла меня, как-будто чувства там ждали меня.
Я ясно чувствовал, как агония трагедии зайца попала в мой капкан. За
несколько секунд мой ум прошёл самые критические моменты моей
собственной жизни: много раз я был в положении этого зайца. Я посмотрел
на него и он посмотрел на меня. Заяц попятился назад к задней стенке
клетки; он почти сжался в клубок, стал очень спокойным и неподвижным.
Мы обменялись меланхолическими взглядами, и этот взгляд, который я
вообразил как молчаливое отчаяние, установил полное решение с моей
стороны.
"Чёрт с ним," я громко сказал. "Я никого не собираюсь убивать. Этот
заяц свободен." Глубокая эмоция заставила меня задрожать. Мои руки
дрожали, когда
я пытался схватить зайца за уши; он быстро отскочил и мне не удалось. Я
снова нервно попробовал, и снова не удалось. Я был
в отчаянии, чувствовал тошноту и быстро откинул капкан, чтобы разбить
его и дать свободу зайцу. Клетка оказалась неожиданно очень крепкой и
не сломалась, как я ожидал. Моё отчаяние переросло в невыносимое
чувство муки. Со всей своей силой, я ударил правой ногой на край
клетки. Палки громко хрустнули. Я вытащил зайца из клетки, на
момент почувствовав облегчение, которое разбилось вдребезги в
следующий момент. Заяц повис безжизненно на моей руке: он был мёртв.
104
Я не знал что делать, стал озабочен тем, как заяц мог умереть. Я
повернулся к Дон Хуану: он уставился на меня. Чувство ужаса холодом
пронизало моё тело. Я сел на какие-то камни, ужасно болела голова. Дон
Хуан положил свою руку на мою голову и прошептал мне в ухо, что я
должен снять шкуру с зайца и поджарить его до окончания сумерек. Меня
тошнило. Он очень терпеливо разговаривал со мной, как с ребёнком. Он
сказал, что Силы, которые руководят людьми и животными, направили этого
зайца ко мне, и таким же путём они направят на меня мою собственную
смерть. Он сказал, что смерть зайца было подарком мне и, таким же
образом моя собственная смерть будет для чего-то или для кого-то. Я
ошалел. Простые события этого дня просто разбили меня. Я хотел думать,
что это был только заяц; однако я не мог стряхнуть с себя жуткое
ощущение, связанное с ним. Дон Хуан сказал, что мне нужно поесть мяса
этого зайца, даже немного, чтобы оправдать мои усилия.
"Я не могу это сделать," слабо запротестовал я.
"Мы просто отстой в руках тех сил," бросил он мне. "Так что заканчивай
со своей манией величия и используй этот подарок как следует." Я
подобрал зайца: он был тёплый. Дон Хуан нагнулся и прошептал мне в ухо,
"Твой капкан был его последней битвой на Земле. Я говорил тебе: у него
больше не осталось времени блуждать по этой прекрасной пустыне."
10. СТАНОВЯСЬ ДОСТУПНЫМ СИЛАМ
105
Четверг, 17 августа 1961. Как только я вылез из моей машины, я
пожаловался Дон Хуану, что не так хорошо себя чувствую.
"Сядь, сядь," сказал он тихо и почти повёл меня за руку к своей
террасе. Он улыбнулся и потрепал меня по спине. Две недели до этого, 4
августа, Дон Хуан, как он сказал, поменял свою тактику со мной и
позволил мне проглотить немного кружки peyote. В течение пика моих
галюцинаций я играл с собакой, которая жила в доме, где происходили сессии peyote. Дон Хуан понял мою игру с
собакой, как особое событие. Он спорил, что в минуты силы, такие как
те, в которых я жил тогда, обычный мир не существует и ничего даром не
даётся, что собака реально не была собакой, а перевоплощение Mescalito, сила существа,
содержащегося в peyote.
Обычные эффекты такого опыта были чувство усталости и меланхолии, плюс
случаи особенно живых снов и кошмаров.
"Где твои принадлежности для письма?" спросил Дон Хуан, когда я сел на
террасе. Я оставил свои блокноты в машине. Дон Хуан пошёл назад к
машине, осторожно вытащил мой портфель и принёс его мне. Он спросил,
носил ли я обычно с собой портфель, когда ходил. Я сказал - да. "Это -
сумасшедствие," сказал он. "Я сказал тебе никогда ничего не носить в
руках во время ходьбы. Купи рюкзак."
106-107
Я засмеялся. Идея ношения моих записей в рюкзаке была абсурдной. Я
сказал ему, что обычно я носил костюм и рюкзак сверху полного костюма
будет выглядеть нелепо. "Одень костюм сверху рюкзака," сказал он.
"Лучше пусть люди думают, что ты горбатый, чем разрушать своё тело,
таская всё это." Он настоял, чтобы я вытащил блокнот и писал. Похоже,
он намеренно пытался расслабить меня. Я снова пожаловался на чувство
неудобства и странное ощущение несчастья, которые я испытывал. Дон Хуан
засмеялся и сказал, "Ты начинаешь познавать." Потом у нас был долгий
разговор, он сказал, что Mescalito,
разрешив мне играть с ним, указал на меня, как на "избранника", и что
хотя он был изумлён этим знаком, потому что я не был индейцем, он
собирается передать мне секретные знания. Он сказал, что у него самого
был "бенефактор", кто научил его как стать "Человеком Знаний". Я
почувствовал, что что-то ужасное вот-вот случится. Откровение, что я
был его избранником, плюс явная странность его выходок и сокрушающий
эффект, который peyote
имел на меня, создали состояние невыносимого беспокойства и
нерешительности. Но Дон Хуан не обращал внимания на мои чувства и
посоветовал, что мне следует думать о чуде Mescalito, играющего со мной.
"Ни о чём больше не думай," сказал он. "Остальное придёт само собой."
Он встал, мягко потрепал меня по голове и сказал тихим голосом, "Я
собираюсь учить тебя как стать воином в той же манере, в которой я учил
тебя охоте. Однако я должен предупредить тебя: учиться как охотиться -
не делает из тебя охотника, также как учиться как стать воином - не
делает тебя воином." Я физически расстроился, что граничило с пыткой. Я
пожаловался на живые сны и кошмары, которые я испытывал. Он обдумывал
какой-то момент и снова сел.
"Это странные сны," сказал я.
"У тебя всегда были странные сны," ответил он.
"Говорю тебе, в этот раз они ещё более странные, чем когда-либо."
"Не морочь себе голову. Это только сны. Как сны любого обычного
спящего, в них нет силы. Какой смысл о них беспокоиться или говорить?"
"Они меня беспокоят, Дон Хуан. Мог бы я сделать что-то, чтобы
остановить их?"
"Ничего. Пускай они сами пройдут," сказал он. "Сейчас для тебя
наступило время стать доступным для Силы, и ты собираешься начать
осваивать Полёты."
Тон его голоса, когда он сказал "Полёты", заставил меня подумать, что
он использовал это слово как-то особенно. Я обдумывал спросить
подходящий вопрос, когда он начал снова говорить. "Я никогда не говорил
тебе о Полётах, потому что до сегодняшнего дня я был только
заинтересован учить тебя охоте," сказал он.
"Охотник не заинтересован в манипулировании Силы, поэтому его сны -
только обычные сны. Они могут быть привлекательны, но они не Полёты. С
другой стороны, воин ищет Силу, и один из путей к Силе - Полёты. Ты
можешь сказать, что разница между охотником и воином в том, что воин -
на своём пути к Силе тогда, как охотник ничего не знает или совсем
немного об этом. Решение: кто может быть воином и кто может быть только
охотником - не зависит от нас. Это Решение в области Сил, которые
руководят людьми. Вот почему твоя игра с Mescalito была таким важным Знаком.
Те Силы направили тебя ко мне; они направили тебя в то автобусное депо,
помнишь? Какой-то клоун привёл тебя ко мне. Совершенный Знак: клоун
указывает тебе меня. Поэтому я учил тебя быть охотником. А потом другой
Совершенный Знак: сам Mescalito играл с тобой! Видишь, что
я имею ввиду?" Его странная
логика подавляла. Его слова создали видения меня, покоряющемуся чему-то
грандиозному и непостижимому, тому, чего не добивался и существование
чего не представлял себе даже в моих дичайших фантазиях.
"Что ты предлагаешь, я должен делать?" спросил я.
108-109
"Стань доступным Силам; борись с проблемой," ответил он, "Ты называешь
их сны, потому что у тебя нет Силы. Воин, будучи мужчиной, кто ищет
Силу, не называет их снами, а называет их реальными."
"Ты имеешь ввиду, что он принимает свои сны как реальность?"
"Он не понимает одно за другое. Что ты называешь сны - реальны для
воина. Ты должен понять, что воин - не дурак. Воин - безукоризненный
охотник, кто охотится за Силами; он не пьяница или ненормальный, и у
него нет времени, желания обманывать, врать самому себе или делать
неправильный шаг. На карту поставлено слишком много для этого. Ставки -
это его упорядочная жизнь, которую ему пришлось так долго упрощать и
совершенствовать. Он не собирается выбросить это на ветер, делая глупую
ошибку, принимая одно за что-то другое. Полёты - реальны для воина,
потому что в этом он может действовать по своему, он может выбрать и
отвергнуть, может выбирать из множества предметов, тех, что ведут к
Силе, и затем он может манипулировать ими и использовать их; тогда как
находясь в обычном сне, он не может действовать по своему."
"Дон Хуан, ты имеешь ввиду
тогда, что Полёты - реальны?"
"Конечно они реальны."
"Такие же реальные как то, что мы делаем сейчас?"
"Если ты хочешь сравнивать вещи, то я могу сказать, что Полёты наверно
более реальные. В Полётах у тебя есть сила, ты можешь менять вещи; ты
можешь выяснить бесконечное множество скрытых фактов; ты можешь
контролировать всё, что хочешь."
Темы Дон Хуана всегда нравились мне на определённом уровне. Я мог легко
понять, почему ему нравилась идея, что в Полёте можно делать всё, что
угодно, но я не мог относиться к нему серьёзно. Разница между нами была
огромной: какой-то момент мы смотрели друг на друга. Его заявления были
безумными и всё же он был, по моему мнению, одним из самых
рассудительных мужчин, которых я когда-либо встречал. Я сказал ему, что
не мог поверить, чтобы он принимал сны за реальность. Он тихо
посмеивался, как-будто он знал масштабы моего бесполезного положения,
потом он встал, не говоря ни слова, и вошёл в свой дом. Долгое время я
сидел в ступоре, пока он не позвал меня в заднюю часть дома. Он
приготовил кукурузную кашу и протянул мне миску с кашей. Я спросил его
о том времени, когда человек просыпается. Я хотел знать, называет ли он
это как-то. Но он не понял или не хотел отвечать.
"Как ты назовёшь то, что мы делаем сейчас?" спросил я, имея ввиду что
то, что мы делали, было реальностью, а не сном.
"Я называю это - поедание," сказал он и сдержал свой смех.
"Я называю это - реальность, потому что наше поедание реально
происходит," сказал я.
"Полёты тоже происходят," ответил он, посмеиваясь. "А также охота,
прогулки, смех." Я не настаивал на споре. Однако я не мог, даже если я
растянусь больше моего лимита, принять его взгляды. Он, похоже, был
доволен моим отчаянием. Как только мы покончили с едой, он просто
объявил, что мы собираемся на прогулку по пустыне в той же манере, в
какой мы бродили раньше. "В этот раз - по другому," сказал он. "С
сегодняшнего дня мы собираемся в места Силы; ты собираешься научиться,
как сделать себя доступным Силам." Я снова выразил своё беспокойство и
сказал, что не подхожу для такого. "Да, ладно - ты потакаешь своим
глупым страхам," сказал он низким голосом, потрепав меня по спине и
доброжелательно улыбнувшись. "Я надеюсь на твой дух охотника. Тебе
нравится бродить со мной по этой прекрасной пустыне. Слишком поздно для
тебя бросить." Он начал идти в кусты пустыни, он посигналил мне своей
головой следовать за ним. Я мог пойти к своей машине и уехать, только я
любил бродить с Дон Хуаном по этой изумительной пустыне. Я любил
ощущение, которое я только испытывал в его компании, что это и в самом
деле, грандиозный, мистический и всё же красивый мир. Как он и
подчеркнул: я был на крючке. Дон Хуан вёл меня в холмы к востоку. Это
был долгий поход. День был жаркий; однако жара, которая обычно была
нестерпима для меня, каким-то образом была незаметна.

110-111
Мы прошли достаточно большую дистанцию в каньон, пока Дон Хуан не
остановился и не сел в тени валунов. Я вытащил печенье из моего
рюкзака, но он сказал мне не есть их и сесть на выпуклом, выступающем
месте. Он указал на одинокий, почти круглый валун на расстоянии 10-15
футов и помог мне залезть на него. Я подумал, что он тоже сядет со
мной, но вместо этого он залез наполовину, чтобы передать мне несколько
кусков сухого мяса. Он объяснил мне с чрезвычайно серьёзным видом, что
это было мясо Силы и должно прожёвываться очень медленно, а также не
должно смешиваться ни с какой другой пищей. Потом он вернулся к месту в
тени и сел спиной к валуну. Он какзался отдохнувшим, почти спящим. Он
оставался в этом положении пока я не покончил с едой. Потом он сел
прямо и склонил свою голову вправо. Похоже, он внимательно слушал. Он
посмотрел на меня 2-3 раза, резко встал и начал глазами сканировать
район, как это делает охотник. Я тут же оцепенел на месте и только
двигал своими глазами, чтобы следовать его движениям. Очень осторожно
он прошёл за какими-то скалами, как-будто он ожидал дичь появиться в
том районе, где мы были. Тогда я понял, что мы были в круглом пещерном
изгибе сухого водяного каньона, окружённого песчанными валунами.
Вдруг Дон Хуан вышел из-за скал и улыбнулся мне. Он потянулся, зевнул и
пошёл к валуну, где я был. Я расслабился и сел.
"Что случилось?" спросил я шёпотом. А он ответил мне, крикнув, что
вокруг не было ничего такого, чтобы беспокоиться. Я сразу почувствовал
встряску в своём желудке. Его ответ несоответствовал ситуации и мне не
верилось, чтобы он кричал, если бы на то не было веской причины. Я
начал сползать вниз с валуна, но он закричал, что я должен там
оставаться ещё немного. "Что ты делаешь?" спросил я, Он сел и скрыл
себя между двумя валунами на основании скалы, где был я,
и затем он сказал очень громким голосом, что он только смотрел вокруг ,
потому что он думал, что что-то слышал. Я спросил слышал ли он большое
животное.
Он приставил руку к уху и крикнул, что не мог меня слышать и что я
должен кричать мои слова. Мне было противно выкрикивать слова, но он
настаивал, чтобы я говорил громким голосом. Я выкрикнул, что хотел
знать, что происходит, и он выкрикнул в ответ, что ничего вокруг
реально не происходило. Он крикнул, спрашивая если я мог видеть
что-нибудь необычное с вершины валуна. Я сказал нет и он попросил меня
описать ему местность к югу. Некоторое время мы перекрикивались
туда-сюда, и потом он посигналил мне спуститься вниз. Я присоединился к
нему и он прошептал мне в ухо, что кричать было необходимо, чтобы было
видно наше присуствие, потому что я должен сделать себя доступным Силам
именно той водяной дыре. Я посмотрел вокруг, но не увидел водяной дыры.
Он указал, что мы стояли на ней.
"Здесь есть вода," шёпотом сказал он, "а также Сила. Здесь есть Дух и
мы должны привлечь его наружу; может быть он последует за тобой."
Мне хотелось знать больше о якобы духе, но он настаивал на полном
молчании. Он посоветовал мне оставаться совершенно неподвижным, не
шептать или делать малейшие движения, чтобы не обнаружить своё
присуствие. Веороятно ему это легко - оставаться совершенно неподвижно
часами; однако для меня это было невыносимо, настоящая пытка. Мои ноги
заснули, моя спина болела, напряжение росло вокруг шеи и плечей. Всё
моё тело онемело и стало холодным. Я был в жутком состоянии, когда Дон
Хуан, наконец, встал. Он просто прыгнул на свои ноги и протянул мне
руку, чтобы помочь встать. Когда я старался оживить свои ноги, то не
понял невероятную лёгкость, с которой Дон Хуан прыгнул после часов
неподвижности. Это взяло довольно много времени моим мускулам
восстановить пластичность, нужную для ходьбы. Дон Хуан направился к
себе домой. Он шёл очень медленно, установив длину, которую я должен
был держать, следуя за ним.
112-113
Он следовал окружным путём вокруг обычного маршрута и пересёк его 4-5
раз в разных направлениях. Когда он наконец, добрался до своего дома,
был уже конец дня. Я пытался задать ему вопросы о событиях дня. Он
объяснил, что в болтовне нет необходимости. На сегодняшний день мне
придёться отказаться от задавания вопросов, когда мы находимся в месте
Силы. Мне до смерти хотелось знать, что он этим имел ввиду и пытался
шёпотом спросить, но он напомнил мне холодным серьёзным взглядом, что
он говорит дело. Мы сели на веранде
его дома. Я работал над
своими записями. Время от времени он давал мне кусок сухого мяса; в
конце концов стемнело чтобы писать. Я старался думать о новых событиях,
но какая-то часть меня отказывалась и я заснул.
Суббота, 19 августа 1961
Вчера утром Дон Хуан и я поехали в город и позавтракали в ресторане. Он
посоветовал мне не менять мои привычки в еде слишком сильно.
"Твоё тело не привыкло к мясу Силы," сказал он. "Ты заболеешь, если не
будешь есть свою еду." Сам он ел - от души. Когда я пошутил на эту
тему, он просто сказал, "Моё тело всё любит."
Около 12 дня мы пошли назад к водяному каньону. Мы продолжали
выставлять себя на показ Духу "громким разговором" и вынужденым
молчанием, которое продолжалось часами. Когда мы покинули это место,
вместо того чтобы идти назад домой, Дон Хуан направился к горам.
Сначала мы достигли некоторых низких холмов, а затем мы забрались на
вершины некоторых холмов повыше. Там Дон Хуан выбрал место для отдыха
на открытом незатенённом месте. Он сказал мне, что нам придётся
подождать до сумерков, и что я должен держать себя наиболее натурально,
что включало в себя: задавать все вопросы, какие я хотел.
"Я знаю, что Дух там блуждает," сказал он очень низким голосом.
"Где?"
"Вон там, в кустах"
"Какой это Дух?" Он лукаво посмотрел на меня и ответил, "Как много
видов существует?" Мы оба рассмеялись. Я задавал вопросы из-за
нервозности. "Он выйдет наружу в сумерки," сказал он. "Мы просто должны
подождать." Я оставался спокойным и вопросов у меня больше не было.
"Сейчас время, когда мы должны продолжать разговор." Я почувствовал
идиотское ощущение вакуума. Я не мог ничего придумать, что сказать. Он
расхохотался и похлопал меня по спине.
"Ты реально - таблетка," сказал он. "Когда тебе приходиться говорить,
ты проглатываешь язык, давай начинай." Он сделал уморительный жест,
стуча дёснами друг об друга, открывая и закрывая свой рот с огромной
скоростью. "Существуют определённые вещи, о которых с сегодняшнего дня
мы будем говорить только в местах Силы," продолжал он. "Я привёл тебя
сюда, потому что это - твоя первая проба. Это - место Силы и здесь мы
можем говорить только о Силе."
"Я действительно не знаю, что Сила из себя представляет," сказал я.
"Сила - это то, с чем воин имеет дело," сказал он. "Сначала, это
невероятно натянутая, искусственная вещь; даже трудно думать об этом.
Это то, что происходит с тобой сейчас. Потом Сила становится серьёзным
делом; можно это не иметь или можно даже не полностью понять, что это
существует, и всё же знать, что что-то там есть, что не было заметным
раньше. Следующее, Сила выражается как что-то неконтролируемое, которое
приходит к кому-то. Мне невозможно сказать, как оно приходит или что
это такое. Это - ничто и всё же оно заставляет чудеса появляться перед
твоими глазами. И, наконец, Сила - это что-то в тебе, то, что
контролирует твои действия и всё же подчиняется твоим командам."
Наступила короткая пауза. Дон Хуан спросил меня, понял ли я. Я был не в
своей тарелке, но сказал, что понял. Он, похоже, заметил моё
замешательство и усмехнулся. "Я собираюсь учить тебя прямо здесь первый
шаг к Силе," сказал он, как-будто он диктовал письмо мне. "Я собираюсь
учить тебя, как организовать Полёт."
114-115
Он посмотрел на меня и снова спросил, знаю ли я, что он имеет ввиду. Я
не знал и вообще едва следил за ним. Он объяснил, что "организовать
Полёт" означает, иметь сжатый прагматичный контроль над основной
ситуацией в Полёте, по сравнению с контролем любого
выбора в пустыне, который человек
имеет, например, взобраться на холм или оставаться в тени
водяного каньона. "Ты должен начать делать что-то с простого," сказал
он. "Сегодня ночью, во сне ты должен посмотреть на свои руки." Я громко
рассмеялся. Его тон был таким обыденным, как-будто он говорил мне
сделать что-то ординарное.
"Почему ты смеёшься?" спросил он удивлённо.
"Как я могу смотреть на руки в моих снах?"
"Очень просто, сфокусируй свои глаза на них, вот так." Он нагнул голову
вперёд и уставился на свои руки с открытым ртом. Картина была настолько
смешной, что
я не удержался от смеха.
"Я - серьёзно, как ты можешь ожидать от меня сделать это?" спросил я.
"Так, как я тебе показал," отрезал он. "Конечно ты можешь, смотреть на
всё что угодно: свои ноги, живот, свой член, если
хочешь. Я сказал твои руки, потому что это было самое лёгкое для меня,
на что смотреть. Не думай, что это - шутка. Полёты - это так же
серьёзно, как ВИДЕТЬ, умирать или любая другая вещь в этом
таинственном, грандиозном мире. Подумай об этом, как о чём-то
развлекательном. Представь все немыслемые вещи, которые ты можешь
достигнуть. Человек, ищущий Силу, почти не имеет лимита в своём Полёте." Я попросил его дать мне
какие-нибудь детали. "Нет никаких деталей, просто смотри на свои руки,"
сказал он.
"Должно быть больше, чего ты мог бы мне рассказать," настаивал я. Он
тряхнул головой и прищурил глаза, смотря на меня короткими взглядами.
"Мы все разные," наконец сказал он. "То, что ты называешь деталями,
будет только то, что я сам делал, когда я учился. Мы - неодинаковы; мы
даже совсем не похожи."
"Может что-нибудь ты скажешь поможет мне."
"Для тебя будет проще начать смотреть на свои руки." Казалось, он
собирался с мыслями и качал головой вверх и вниз. "Каждый раз когда ты
смотришь на что-то в своих снах, оно меняет форму, сказал он после
долгого молчания. "Трюк в том, чтобы научиться организовать Полёт, это
явно не просто смотреть на вещи и удерживать их вид. Полёт - реален,
когда ты способен на всём сконцентрироваться. Тогда уже нет разницы
между тем, что ты делаешь, когда ты спишь, и что ты делаешь, когда не
спишь. Видишь, что я имею ввиду?" Я признался, что хотя я понимаю, что
он сказал, я был неспособен согласиться с его взглядами. Я начал
говорить, что в цивилизованном мире были группы людей, у кого были
обманчивые фантазии и кто не мог отличить то, что происходит в
настоящем мире от того, что происходит в их фантазиях. Я сказал, что
такие люди несомненно были не в своём уме. Моя скованность
увеличивалась каждый раз, когда он рекоммендовал, чтобы я действовал
как ненормальный. После моего долгого объяснения, Дон Хуан сделал
комический жест отчаяния, положив свои руки на щёки и громко вздохнув.
"Оставь свой цивилизованный мир в покое, сказал он. "Пускай
существует. Никто не просил тебя вести себя как ненормальный. Я уже
сказал тебе: воин должен быть совершенным, чтобы иметь дело с Силами,
за которыми охотится; как ты можешь думать, что воин не сможет
разобраться в вещах? С другой стороны, ты, мой друг, кто знает, что
такое реальный мир, будешь нервно обращаться и мигом отдашь концы, если
тебе придётся зависеть от своей способности рассказаывать, что реально,
а что нет." Я явно не выразил то, что у меня было на уме. Каждый раз,
когда я протестовал, я просто выражал невыносимую досаду, что всё время
нахожусь в состоянии оправдывать себя. "Я не стараюсь сделать из тебя
больного, ненормального человека," продолжал Дон Хуан. "Ты это и сам
можешь сделать без моей помощи. Но Силы, которые ведут нас, привели
тебя ко мне, и я отважился научить тебя поменять свой тупой образ жизни
и жить чистой, сильной жизнью охотника. Затем Силы снова привели тебя и
сказали мне, что тебе следует научиться жить безукоризненной жизнью
воина. Наверно ты не сможешь, кто знет? Мы такие же таинственные и
грандиозные, как и этот непостижимый мир, так что, кто может угадать,
на что ты способен?"

116-117
В голосе Дон Хуана проскальзывала печаль. Я хотел извиниться, но он
снова начал разговор. "Тебе необязательно смотреть на свои руки,"
сказал он. "Как я уже сказал, выбери что угодно. Но выбери вещь заранее
и найди её в своих снах. Я выбрал руки, потому что они всегда будут с
тобой. Когда они начнут менять форму, ты должен отвести взгляд от них и
выбрать что-то ещё, а затем снова посмотреть на свои руки. Берёт много
времени, чтобы овладеть этим приёмом."
Я настолько увлёкся своей писаниной, что не заметил, как стемнело.
Солнце уже ушло за горизонт, небо стало облачным и надвигались сумерки.
Дон Хуан встал и показывал скрытно на юг. "Пошли," сказал он. "Мы
должны двигаться на юг до тех пор, пока Дух Воды не покажется."
Мы шли наверно полчаса, местность резко поменялась и мы вышли на пустое
пространство.Там был большой, круглый холм, где были сожжёные кусты.
Выглядело как лысая голова и мы шли прямо к ней. Я подумал, что Дон
Хуан собирался залезть на пологий склон, но вместо этого он остановился
и оставался очень внимательным. Всё его тело, казалось, напряглось и
задрожало на мгновенье. Затем он снова расслабился и мягко встал. Я не
мог понять, как его тело могло оставаться вертикально, когда его
мускулы были так расслаблены. В этот момент очень сильный порыв ветра
встряхнул меня. Тело Дон Хуана повернулось к ветру, на запад. Он не
использовал мускулы, чтобы повернуться или, по крайней мере, он не
использовал мускулы так, как я использую свои, чтобы повернуться. Тело
Дон Хуана, казалось, скорее было выдернуто снаружи. Выглядело так,
как-будто кто-то ещё поставил его тело лицом в новом направлении. Я
продолжал наблюдать за ним. Он посмотрел на меня краем глаза. Выражение
на его лице была сама решимость, цель. Всё его существо было само
внимание и я уставился на него с удивлением. Я никогда не был в
подобной ситуации, которая требует такой странной концентрации. Вдруг
его тело задрожало, как-будто его окатил внезапный душ холодной воды. С
ним произошла ещё встряска и потом он пошёл, как-будто ничего не
произошло, я следовал за ним. Мы с двух сторон обошли голые холмы на
восточной стороне, пока не оказались в середине его; там он
остановился, повернув лицо на запад. Там, где мы стояли, вершина холма
не была такой круглой и гладкой, как ой она казалась издалека. Там,
ближе к вершине была пещера или дыра. Я внимательно посмотрел на неё,
потому что Дон Хуан делал то же самое.
Ещё один сильный порыв ветра обдал холодом мою спину. Дон Хуан
повернулся к югу и глазами сканировал район. "Там!" шёпотом сказал он и
указал на предмет на земле. Я напряг зрение, чтобы увидеть. На земле,
на расстоянии 20 футов было что-то. Оно было светло-коричневым и, пока
я разглядывал его, оно дрожало.
Я сфокусировал всё своё внимание на нём. Предмет был почти круглый и,
казалось, свернулся клубком; по правде, оно было похоже на лежащую
собаку.
"Что это?" прошептал я Дон Хуану.
"Я не знаю," прошептал он мне, пока рассматривал предмет. "На что он
похож, как ты думаешь?" Я сказал ему, что оно похоже на собаку.
"Слишком большой для собаки," сказал он в сущности. Я сделал пару шагов
к нему, но Дон Хуан мягко остановил меня. Я снова уставился на
существо. Это явно было какое-то животное, которое или спало, или было
мёртвым. Я почти мог видеть его голову; его уши торчали, как уши волка.
К тому времени, я был абсолютно уверен, что это было свёрнутое
животное. Я подумал, что это был коричневый телёнок. Я прошептал
это Дон Хуану. Он ответил, что оно было слишком компактным для телёнка,
кроме этого - его торчащие уши. Животное снова задрожало и затем я
заметил, что оно было живым. Я реально мог видеть, что дышало, однако,
оно не дышало ритмично. Его вдохи скорее были похожи на нерегулярные
дрожания. В тот момент меня осенило.
"Это - умирающее животное," прошептал я Дон Хуану.
"Ты прав, но какое животное?" прошептал он мне.
118-119
Я не мог разглядеть его особые детали. Дон Хуан сделал к нему пару
осторожных шагов, я следовал за ним. Было уже темно к тому времени и
нам пришлось сделать ещё два шага, чтобы иметь животное на виду.
"Берегись!" прошептал Дон Хуан мне в ухо. "Если это умирающее животное,
оно может напасть на нас из последних сил." Животное, что бы оно ни
было, казалось было на своих задних ногах; прерывистое дыхание, тело
спазмотически тряслось, но оно не меняло своё свёрнутое положение.
Однако в какой-то момент, колоссальная спазма реально подняла животное
с земли. Я услышал нечеловеческий вопль и животное потянуло свои ноги;
его клыки были более, чем устрашающими, они вызывали тошноту. Животное
повернулось на бок после растягивания своих ног и затем перевернулось
на спину.
Я услышал грозное рычание и голос Дон Хуана крикнул, "Спасайся!" И это
то, что я сделал: помчался прямо к вершине холма с невероятной
скоростью и проворством. Когда я был на полпути к вершине, то посмотрел
назад и увидел, что Дон Хуан стоит в том же месте. Он посигналил мне
спуститься и я спустился с холма.
"Что случилось?" спросил я, полностью потеряв дыхание.
"Я думаю животное мертво," сказал он. Мы осторожно двигались к
животному, оно развалилось во все стороны на своей спине. По
приближении ближе к нему,
я почти закричал от страха: оно было не совсем мёртвым. Его тело всё
ещё дрожало, его, поднятые вверх, ноги дико тряслись. Животное явно было на
последнем издыхании. Я шёл впереди Дон Хуана. Новая встряска двинула
тело животного и я мог видеть его голову. В ужасе, я повернул свою
голову к Дон Хуану. Судя по его телу, животное явно принадлежало к
млекопитающимся, однако, у него был клюв, как у птицы.

Я уставился на него в состоянии
абсолютного ужаса. Мой мозг отказывался в это верить, я был ошарашен,
не мог сказать ни слова. Никогда в своей жизни, я не видел ничего
подобного. Что-то невероятное было там, перед моими глазами. Мне
хотелось, чтобы Дон Хуан объяснил мне это невероятное животное, но я
мог только мямлить непонятное ему. Он уставился на меня, а я на него и
на животное, и затем что-то во мне организовало мир и я тотчас знал,
какое это было "животное". Я подошёл к нему и поднял его: это была
большая сухая ветка дерева. Она частично сгорела и, наверно, ветер сдул
пепел с неё, и таким образом, создавалось впечатление большого
торчащего, круглого животного. Цвет сгоревших остатков делало его
светло-коричневым на фоне зелёной растительности.
Я расхохотался над моей глупостью и взволнованно объяснил Дон Хуану,
что ветер, дующий сквозь неё, создал впечатление живого животного. Я
думал, что ему понравится, как я разобрался в этой тайне, но он
повернулся и пошёл на вершину холма. Я следовал за ним. Он залез внутрь
углубления, которое выглядело как пещера. Это не была дыра, а
неглубокая вмятина в песчанные скалы. Дон Хуан набрал несколько
небольших веток и использовал их смести сор, который скопился на дне
вмятины.
"Нам нужно избавиться от клещей," сказал он и посигналил мне сесть,
устроиться поудобнее, потому что мы собирались провести ночь там. Я
начал говорить о ветке, но он прервал меня. "То, что ты сделал - не
триумф," сказал он. "Ты растранжирил прекрасную силу, силу, которая
дала жизнь этой сухой ветке."
Он сказал, что настоящий триумф для меня был бы, оставить это и
следовать за Силой, пока мир не перестанет существовать. Он не сердился
на меня или разочаровывался моим выходом из положения. Он повторял
заявлять, что это было только начало, что берёт время приручить Силу.
Он потрепал меня по плечу и пошутил, что раньше этим днём я был
человеком, кто знал, что было реально и что не было. Я почувствовал
стыд и начал извиняться за мою склонность всегда быть уверенным в своей
правоте. "Неважно," сказал он. "Та ветвь была настоящим животным и была
живой в тот момент, когда Сила дотронулась до неё. Так как то, что
делало её живой, была Сила, трюк был как в Полёте: удерживать её вид.
Понимаешь, что я имею ввиду?" Я хотел спросить его что-то ещё, но он
поторопил меня и сказал, что мне необходимо сохранять абсолютное
молчание, но не спать всю ночь, и что он один собирается разговаривать
какое-то время. Он сказал, что Дух, кто знал его голос, может
подчиниться звуку его голоса и оставить нас в покое.

120
Он объяснил, что идея стать доступным Силам, имеет серьёзные ньансы.
Могущество было разрушительной силой, которая легко могла привести
любого к смерти,
и к ней нужно относиться с огромным вниманием. Чтобы стать доступным
Могуществу, придётся делать это систематически с огромной
осторожностью.
Это включает в себя: делать своё присуствие явным, содержащим в себе,
показом громкого разговора, или любым другим типом шумной деятельности,
и затем, было обязательным следить за длительным и полным молчанием.
Контролируемая шумная деятельность и контролируемое спокойствие были
знаком воина.
Он сказал, что, если честно, мне нужно было держать образ живого
монстра немного дольше. В контролируемой манере, не теряя головы, или
становясь ненормальным от волнения или страха, мне нужно прилагать все
усилия "Остановить Мир". В комбинацию этого состояния входили: страх,
восхищение,обожание, могущество и смерть. Он сказал, что такое
состояние будет очень трудно повторить.
Я прошептал ему в ухо, "Что ты имеешь ввиду под "Остановить Мир"?" Он
свирепо посмотрел на
меня, прежде чем ответить, что это был приём, практикуемый теми, кто
охотился за Силой; приём, с помощью которого мир, каким мы его
знаем, рушится.
11. НАСТРОЙ ВОИНА
121
Я подъехал к дому Дон Хуана в четверг, 31 августа 1961 года, и прежде
чем у меня был шанс поприветствовать его, он просунул свою голову через
окно моей машины, улыбнулся и сказал, "Мы должны проехать большое
расстояние к месту Силы, а уже почти 12 дня."
Он открыл дверь машины, сел на переднее сиденье рядом со мной и велел
мне ехать на юг почти 70 миль; затем мы повернули на восток по
грунтовой дороге и ехали по ней, пока не достигли склонов гор. Я
припарковал машину на обочине дороги в углублении, которое выбрал Дон
Хуан, так как оно было достаточно глубокое, чтобы спрятать машину из
вида. Оттуда мы прямо пошли к вершине низких холмов, пересекая огромное
плоское безлюдное место. Когда стемнело, Дон Хуан выбрал место для сна.
Он требовал полного молчания.
На следующий день мы слегка поели и продолжили наше путешествие в
восточном направлении. Растительность больше не была кустами пустыни, а густые
зелёные горные кусты и деревья. Около полудня мы взобрались на вершину
гигантского утёса многочисленных скал, которая выглядела как стена. Дон
Хуан сел и посигналил мне тоже сесть.
"Это - место Силы," сказал он после паузы. "Это место, где давно были
похоронены воины." В этот момент прямо над нами пролетела, каркая,
ворона. Дон Хуан проследил её полёт фиксированным взглядом. Я осмотрел
валун и удивился, как и где были похоронены воины, когда он постучал
мне по плечу.
122-123
"Не здесь, глупец," сказал он улыбаясь. "Вот здесь." Он указал на поле
ниже нас, на дне перед утёсом, к востоку. Он объяснил, что это поле
окружено натуральными кораловыми валунами. Там, где я сидел, я видел
место диаметром наверно 100 ярдов, оно выглядело идеальным кругом.
Густые кусты скрывали его поверхность, замаскировывая валуны. Я бы не
заметил этот идеальный круг, если бы Дон Хуан не указал мне на него. Он
сказал, что имеется множество таких мест старого мира индейцев. Они не
были точно местами Силы, как определённые холмы или формы земли,
которые были жилищами духов, а скорее местами просветления, где можно
было научиться, где можно было найти решение к дилеммам. "Всё, что тебе
нужно сделать это: придти сюда, или провести ночь на этом камне, чтобы
пересмотреть свои чувства."
"Мы собираемся провести ночь здесь?"
"Я так думаю, но маленькая ворона только что сказала мне не делать
это." Я старался выяснить больше о вороне, но он поторопил меня
нетерпеливым движением руки. "Посмотри на круг валунов," сказал он.
"Зафиксируй его в своей памяти и потом, когда-нибудь ворона приведёт
тебя в одно из этих мест. Чем правильнее его округлость, тем больше его
Сила."
"Кости воинов всё ещё содержатся там?" Дон Хуан сделал комический жест
удивления и затем широко улыбнулся.
"Это - не кладбище," сказал он. "Здесь никто не похоронен. Я сказал
воины были однажды здесь похоронены. Я имел ввиду, они когда-то
приходили сюда хоронить себя на ночь или на два дня или на то время, на
которое им было нужно. Я не имел ввиду, что кости мертвецов похоронены
здесь. Меня кладбища не касаются: в них нет силы, но есть в костях
воинов, но они не на кладбищах. Ещё больше Силы в костях "Человека
Знаний", однако это практически невозможно их найти."
"Кто такой "Человек Знаний", Дон Хуан?"
"Любой воин может стать "Человеком
Знаний". Как я сказал тебе, воин - безукоризненный охотник, кто
охотится на Силу. Если он имеет успех в охоте, он может стать "Человеком Знаний".
"Что ты ..." он остановил мой
вопрос движением руки. Он встал, посигналил мне следовать за ним и
начал спускаться по крутому утёсу. Там была явная дорожка в почти
перпендикулярном лице, ведущему к круглому месту. Мы шли вниз по
опасной тропинке и, когда мы достигли низа, Дон Хуан, вообще не
останавливаясь, вёл меня через густые кусты к середине круга. Там он
использовал толстые сухие ветки, чтобы освободить от грязи место сесть
для нас. Место было абсолютно круглое.
"Я планировал похоронить тебя здесь на всю ночь," сказал он. "Но сейчас
я знаю, что сейчас - не время. У тебя не энергии и я собираюсь
похоронить тебя только на короткое время." Идея, быть похороненным,
сделала меня дюже нервовым и я спросил, как он планировал похоронить
меня. Он хихикнул как ребёнок и начал собирать сухие ветки. Он не дал
мне помочь ему и сказал, чтобы я сел и ждал. Он бросил собранные ветки
в середину очищенного круга. Затем он велел мне лечь головой на восток,
положить мой жакет под голову и сделал клетку вокруг меня. Он соорудил
её, воткнув куски веток в виде вилок в мягкую землю; эти ветки служили
поддержкой длинным палкам, которые давали форму клетке и вид открытого
гроба. Он закрыл, похожую на ящик, клетку небольшими ветками и листьями
сверху длинных палок, закрыв меня от плеч донизу. Только моя голова
торчала на жакете, служившим подушкой. Затем он взял толстый кусок сухого дерева и,
используя его как лопату, он высвободил землю вокруг меня и закрыл ею
клетку. Конструкция была такой крепкой и листья были так хорошо
уложены, что земля не попала внутрь. Я мог свободно двигать ногами,
даже скользить внутрь и наружу. Дон Хуан сказал, что обычно сам воин
должен сделать клетку, проскользнуть в неё и запечатать её изнутри.
124-125
"А как насчёт животных?" спросил я. "Могут они соскрести грязь на
поверхности, проникнуть в клетку и нанести вред человеку?"
"Нет, это не проблема для воина, это проблема для тебя, потому что у тебя нет энергии. С
другой стороны, воин руководится своей несгибаемой волей и сам
справиться. Ни крысы, ни змеи, ни горный лев не беспокоят его."
"Для чего они себя хоронят, Дон Хуан?"
"Для Просветления и для Силы." Я ощутил наиболее приятное чувство покоя
и удовлетворения; мир в тот момент казался спокойным. Тишина была
изысканной и в то же время расслабляющей. Я не привык к такой тишине. Я
пытался говорить, но он запретил. Через некоторое время спокойствие
места повлияло на моё настроение. Я начал думать о своей жизни, о моей
личной истории и испытал знакомое чувство печали и угрызений совести. Я
сказал ему, что не заслуживаю быть там, что его мир был сильным и
справедливым, а я был слабым, и что мой дух поменяли в худшую сторону
обстоятельства моей жизни. Он рассмеялся и пригрозил покрыть мою голову
землёй, если я буду продолжать говорить в таком настрое. Он сказал, что
я - мужчина и как любой мужчина я заслуживаю всё, что относится к
мужчинам: радость, боль, печаль, борьба - и что природа чьих-то
действий была неважна, если вести себя как воин. Снизив голос почти до
шёпота, он сказал, что если я реально чувствовал, что мой дух был
изуродован, то я должен просто исправить это - очистить его, сделать
его совершенным - потому что нет другой цели во всей нашей жизни,
которая была бы более стоющей.
Не исправить дух - приведёт к смерти, и это было то же самое, что
ничего искать, так как смерть собирается настигнуть нас, несмотря ни на
что. Он надолго замолчал и потом он сказал тоном глубокого убеждения,
"Искать совершенства для духа воина - единственная цель, стоющая нашего
мужества." Его слова действовали как каталист. Я чувствовал вес моих
прошлых действий, как невыносимый и замедливающий груз. Я признал, что
был безнадёжен и начал всхлиповать, говоря о моей жизни. Я сказал, что
бродил так долго, что я стал бесчувственным к боли и печали, кроме
определённых случаев, когда я почувствую своё одиночество и
беспомощность. Он ничего не сказал, схватил меня подмышки и вытащил
меня из клетки. Я сел, когда он отпустил меня, он тоже сел. Наступило
неловкое молчание, я подумал, что он даёт мне время взять себя в руки.
Я взял блокнот и начал писать из-за нервозности. "Ты зависишь как лист
от милости ветра, не так ли?" сказал он наконец, уставившись на меня.
Точно так я себя и чувствовал. Казалось, он мне сочувствовал и сказал,
что мой настрой напоминает ему песню, и начал петь низким голосом. Его
пение было очень приятным, а слова уносили мен вдаль: "Я так далеко от
неба, где я родился. Моими мыслями обладевает жуткая ностальгия. Как
лист на ветру, мне так тоскливо и одиноко, от ностальгии иногда мне
хочется плакать, а иногда смеяться."
Мы долго не разговаривали, пока он не прервал молчание. "Со дня твоего
рождения, так или иначе, кто-то делал с тобой что-то," сказал он.
"Правильно," ответил я.
"И они делали это с тобой без твоего согласия."
"Правильно."
"И сейчас ты беспомощный, как лист на ветру."
"Правильно. Всё как оно есть."
Я сказал, что обстоятельства моей жизни иногда были разрушительными. Он
внимательно слушал, но я не мог понять: он соглашался из сежливости или
он искренне мне симпатизировал, пока я не заметил, что он старается
спрятать улыбку. "Сколько бы ты не жалел себя, тебе придётся сменить
пластинку," сказал он мягким тоном. "Это не гармонирует с жизнью
воина." Он расхохотался и снова запел эту песню, но искажал интонацию
некоторых слов: результатом были комичные вопли и жалобы. Он объяснил:
причина, что мне нравится песня в том, что в моей собственной жизни я
ничего не сделал, а только искал недостатки во всём и жаловался. Я не
мог с ним спорить: он был прав. И всё же, я верил, что у меня
достаточно оснований, чтобы чувствовать себя как лист на ветру.

126-127
"Самое трудное в мире - это принять настрой воина," сказал он.
"Бесполезно огорчаться, жаловаться, и чувствовать справедливым это
делать, веря, что кто-то всегда делает что-то для нас. Никто ничего
никому не делает и меньше всего для воина. Ты здесь со мной, потому что
ты хочешь быть здесь. К настоящему времени, ты взял полную
ответственность, так что идея, что ты на милости ветра -
непозволительна."
Он встал и начал разбирать клетку: соскрёб с неё глину и положил её
туда, откуда взял, и осторожно разбросал все палки по кустам. Потом он
покрыл чистый круг листьями, оставив только то место, как-будто ничто
никогда не поменялось. Я вслух поражался его ловкостью. Он сказал, что
хороший охотник, что мы здесь были, неважно насколько осторожен он был,
так как следы человека не могут быть полностью стёрты. Он сел, скрестив
ноги, и велел мне сесть как можно удобнее лицом к месту, где он меня
похоронил, оставаться неподвижно, пока мой печальный настрой не
исчезнет.
"Воин закапывает себя, чтобы получить силу, а не всхлипывать от жалости
к себе," сказал он. Я попытался объяснить, но он заставил меня
остановиться нетерпеливым движением головы. Он сказал, что ему спешно
пришлось вытащить меня из клетки, потому что мой настрой был
нестерпимым, и он боялся, что это место отвергнет мою слабость и ранит
меня. "Жалость к себе не гармонирует с силой," сказал он. "Настрой
воина призывает к контролю над собой и в то же время, он призывает не
держаться за себя."
"Как так может быть? Как он может контролировать себя и отбросить себя
одновременно?" спросил я.
"Это трудный приём," сказал он. Он похоже
раздумывал: продолжать разговор или нет. Дважды он было хотел сказать
что-то, но воздержался и только улыбнулся. "Ты ещё не совсем справился
со своей проблемой," сказал он. "Ты всё ещё чувствуешь себя слабым и
сейчас не смысла говорить о настрое воина."
Прошёл почти час в полном молчании. Затем он неожиданно спросил меня,
был ли у меня прогресс в изучении Техники Полёта, которым он меня
научил. Я прилежно практиковался и смог, после монументального
усилия, достичь степени контроля в моих снах. Дон Хуан был прав, сказав, что
упражнения можно понять как развлечение. Впервые в своей жизни я с
нетерпением ждал, когда пойду спать. Я дал ему детальное описаниемоего
прогресса. Мне было относительно легко научиться удерживать в памяти
образ моих рук, после того как я научился приказывать себе смотреть на
них. Мои видения, хотя и не всегда моих собственных рук, длились
казалось, долгое время, пока я наконец, не терял контроль и не
погружался в обычные непредсказуемые сны. У меня не было никакого
желания, когда дать себе команду: посмотреть на свои руки или смотреть
на другие предметы в своих снах. В какой-то момент я вспоминал, что мне
нужно смотреть на мои руки и затем на окружающий мир. Однако были ночи,
когда я вообще не мог вспомнить, что я это сделал. Дон Хуан казался удовлетворённым и хотел
знать, какими были обычные предметы, которые я находил в своих
видениях. Я не мог вспомнить ничего особенного и начал разбирать свой
кошмарный сон прошлой ночью.
"Не будь таким придирчивым," сухо заметил он. Я сказал ему, что
записывал все детали моих снов. С тех пор как я начал практиковаться в
запоминании своих рук, мои сны стали очень сильными и их воспоминания
увеличились до такой степени, что я мог вспомнить мельчайшие детали. Дон Хуан сказал, что следовать им было -
напрасной тратой времени, так как детали и их живость были не так
важны. "Обычные сны бывают очень живыми, как только ты обучишься
Полёту," ответил он.
"Эта живость и ясность - внушительный барьер, и ты - хуже всех, кого я
когда-либо встречал в своей жизни. У тебя самая жуткая мания: ты
записываешь всё, что можешь."

128-129
По правде, я верил что то, что я делал, было стоющим. Ведя подробнейший
дневник моих снов, давало мне степень прояснения природы тех видений,
которые мне снились.
"Брось это!" бросил он властно. "Это - не к чему. Всё, что ты делаешь,
это - отвлекаешься от цели Полёта, а это - контроль и сила." Он лёг,
закрыл глаза шляпой и продолжал говорить, не смотря на меня. "Я
собираюсь напомнить тебе всю технику, которую тебе необходимо
тренировать," заключил он. "Первое, вначале ты должен фокусироваться на
своих руках. Затем переведи фокус на другие предметы и бросай на них
быстрые взгляды. Фокусируй свой взгляд на стольких предметах, на
скольких можешь. Помни: если ты бросаешь быстрый взгляд, образы не
сдвигаются. Каждый раз, когда ты смотришь на свои руки, ты получаешь
больше энергии, нужной для Полёта, поэтому вначале, не смотри на
слишком много вещей. Четыре вещи за раз будет достаточно. Позднее ты
можешь увеличивать масштаб до тех пор, пока ты не покроешь всё, что
хочешь, но как только образы начнут двигаться, и ты чувствуешь, что
теряешь контроль, вернись к своим рукам. Когда ты почувствуешь, что ты
можешь смотреть на вещи сколько угодно, ты будешь готов к новому
приёму. Сейчас я собираюсь учить тебя этому новому приёму,
но я думаю, что ты должен применять его только, когда ты готов." 15
минут он был спокоен, наконец сел и посмотрел на меня. "Следующий шаг
при приготовлении к Полёту - это научиться путешествовать," сказал он.
"Также, как ты научился смотреть на свои руки, ты можешь силой Воли
двигать себя, путешествовать в разные места. Сначала, ты должен
основать место, куда ты хочешь попасть. Выбери хорошо известное место -
может быть свою школу, парк, дом друга - затем пожелай попасть туда.
Этот приём - очень трудный. Ты должен выполнить два задания: ты должен
пожелать попасть в то особое место; и затем, когда ты овладеешь этим
приёмом, ты должен научиться контролировать точное время своего
путешествия."
Как я уже писал о его заявлениях, у меня было чувство, что я реально
сошёл с ума: я реально изучал ненормальные инструкции, не щадя сил,
чтобы понять их.
Я испытывал угрызения совести и стыд. "Что ты со мной делаешь, Дон
Хуан?" спросил я, на самом деле не имея это ввиду. Он казался
удивлённым.
На мгновение он уставился на меня и затем улыбнулся. "Ты снова и снова
задаёшь мне всё тот же вопрос. Я ничего с тобой не делаю. Ты сам
делаешь себя доступным Силе; ты охотишься за ней, а я только веду
тебя." Он склонил голову в сторону и пристально изучал меня. Одной
рукой он взял меня за подбородок, другой - за затылок моей головы и
двинул мою голову из стороны в сторону. Мускулы моей шеи были очень
напряжены и такое движение головы убрало напряжение. Дон Хуан на момент посмотрел на небо
и казалось, проверял в нём что-то. "Время уходить," сухо сказал он и
встал. Мы шли в восточном направлении, пока не дошли до группы
небольших деревьев в долине между двумя большими холмами. К тому
времени было уже почти 5 вечера. Он мимоходом бросил, что нам наверно
придёться провести ночь в этом месте. Он указал на деревья и сказал,
что там была вода. Он напряг тело и начал нюхать воздух как животное. Я
мог видеть как напрягались мускулы его желудка очень быстрыми и
короткими схватками, когда он носом вдувал и выдувал воздух в быстрой
последовательности.
Он убедил меня делать то же самое и самому определить, где была вода. Я
неохотно пытался имитировать его. Через 5-6 минут быстрого дыхания у
меня закружилась голова, но мои ноздри великолепно очистились и я
реально мог определить запах речной ивы. Однако я не мог точно сказать,
где они были. Дон Хуан
велел мне отдохнуть несколько минут и потом он заставил меня нюхать
опять. Вторая попытка была более интенсивной. Я реально мог отличить
справа слабый запах ивы. Мы прошли в этом направлении четверть мили и
нашли болотистое место со стоячей водой. Мы обогнули его и добрались
немного выше, до плоской столовой горы. Выше и вокруг горы кусты были
очень густыми.
130-131
"Это место кишит горными львами и другими котами поменьше," сказал
ненароком Дон Хуан, как-будто это было обычное дело, в порядке вещей.
Я кинулся к нему и он расхохотался. "Обычно я сюда совсем не хожу,"
сказал он. "Но ворон указал мне это направление. В этом месте есть
что-то особенное."
"Нам действительно нужно быть здесь, Дон Хуан?"
"Да, иначе я бы избегал это место." Это сделало меня дюже нервовым. Он
велел мне внимательно слушать то, что он собирался сказать.
"Единственную вещь в этом месте можно делать - это охотиться на львов."
сказал он. "Поэтому я буду учить тебя, как это делать. Есть особый
метод конструирования ловушки для водяных крыс, которые живут вокруг
водяных источников. Крысы служат приманкой. Стороны клетки сделаны так,
чтобы упасть, и очень острые наконечники вставлены по сторонам.
Наконечники спрятаны, когда клетка готова и они ни на что не влияют,
пока что-то не попадает в клетку. В этом случае, стенки падают и
наконечники пронзают то, что попадает в ловушку."
Я не мог понять, что он имел ввиду, тогда он нарисовал диаграмму на
земле и показал мне, что если боковые наконечники в клетке установлены
под углом в дырках рамы, то клетка повалится на любую сторону, если
что-то ударит её сверху. Наконечники были острыми, сделаны из твёрдого
дерева и располагались по всей раме. Дон Хуан сказал, что
тяжёлая груда камней была положена сверху сетки их палок, которые были
связаны с клеткой и висели высоко над ней. Когда горный лев попадал в
ловушку, привлечённый водяными крысами, он обычно пытался сломать её
лапами со всей силой; затем наконечники протыкали его лапы и лев в
ужасе подпрыгивал, сбрасывая лавину камней на себя.
"Когда-нибудь тебе нужно будет поймать горного льва," сказал он. "У них
особая сила. Они ужасно умные и единственная возможность их поймать,
это - обмануть их запахом речной ивы и болью." С невероятной скоростью
и умением он соорудил ловушку и, после долгого ожидания, он поймал три
крупные, похожих на белку, грызунов. Он велел мне собрать вязанку веток
ивы с краёв болота и заставил меня натереть ими мою одежду. Он сделал
то же самое, затем быстро и умело он сплёл две простые сетки из
камышей, набрал большую охапку зелёных растений и грязи из болота, и
отнёс их назад на плоскогорье, где он и спрятался. Тем временем,
похожие на белок, грызуны начали пищать очень громко. Дон Хуан начал разговор со мной из
своего потайного места, велев мне использовать другую сетку, собрать в
неё ещё больше растений и грязи, залезть на низкие ветви дерева рядом с
капканом, где были грызуны. Дон
Хуан сказал, что он не хотел причинить вред ни льву, ни грызунам,
поэтому он собирался запустить грязь в льва, если тот подойдёт к
капкану. Он велел мне быть начеку и ударить льва моей тяжёлой сеткой
сразу после него, чтобы напугать его. Он посоветовал мне быть очень
осторожным и не упасть с дерева. Его последний совет мне: быть
настолько неподвижным, чтобы слиться с ветками. Я не мог видеть, где
был Дон Хуан. Писк
грызунов стал невыносимым и наконец, так стемнело, что я едва мог
различить окружающий мир.
Я услышал поблизости неожиданный звук мягких шагов и приглушённое
кошачье дыхание, затем очень тихое рычание и грызуны перестали пищать.
Как раз тогда я увидел тёмную массу животного прямо под деревом, где я
находился. Ещё до того, как я убедился, что это был горный лев, он
бросился к клетке, но не достигнув её, что-то ударило его и заставило
сжаться. Я бросил мою сетку с растениями и грязью во льва, как велел
мне Дон Хуан, но не попал,
однако это произвело сильный грохот. В это мгновенье Дон Хуан выдал серию пронзительных
криков так, что холод пробежал по спине. Лев с невероятной лёгкостью
помчался к плоскогорью и исчез. Дон Хуан продолжал производить
душераздирающие крики ещё какое-то время.
134-135
Затем он велел мне спуститься с дерева, поднять клетку с грызунами,
бежать к плоскогорью и добраться туда, где он был, как можно быстрее. В
невероятно короткое время я уже стоял рядом с Дон Хуаном. Он велел мне имитировать
его крики как можно хорошо, чтобы держать льва на расстоянии, пока он
разбирает клетку и выпускает грызунов. Я начал имитировать Дон Хуана, но не мог добиться того же
эффекта. Мой голос был хриплым из-за волнения. Он сказал, что я должен
не обращать на себя внимания и кричать с настоящим чувством, потому что
лев был всё ещё рядом. Вдруг, я полностью осознал ситуацию: лев был
настоящий.
Я выдал великолепную серию пронзительных криков. Дон Хуан ревел от хохота. Он позволил
мне поорать ещё недолго и затем сказал, что мы должны покинуть место
как можно спокойно, так как лев не был дураком и возможно возвращался
обратно по своим следам туда, где были мы.
"Он точно будет нас преследовать," сказал он. "Несмотря на нашу
осторожность, мы оставляем тропу шириной с Панамериканский тракт."
Я шёл очень близко к Дон
Хуану. Время от времени он останавливался на мгновенье и слушал. В
какой-то момент он начал бежать в темноте и я последовал за ним,
вытянув руки перед глазами, чтобы защитить себя от ветвей. Наконец мы
добрались до основания утёса, где мы были раньше. Дон Хуан сказал, что если нам
удасться залезть на вершину без схватки со львом, то мы спасены. Он
первым пошёл наверх, чтобы показать мне путь. Мы начали лезть в
темноте. Не знаю как, но я уверенно следовал за ним. Когда
мы почти достигли верха, я услышал странный крик животного, почти как
мычание коровы, только немного дольше и хрипловато.
"Наверх! Наверх!" закричал Дон
Хуан. Я полез наверх в полной темноте впереди Дон Хуана. Когда он достиг плоской
вершины столовой горы, я уже сидел, задыхаясь. Он катался на
траве. Сначала я подумал, что напряжение было слишком велико для него,
но он хохотал над моим быстрым подъёмом. Пару часов мы сидели в полном
молчании и затем мы начали возвращаться назад к моей машине.
Воскресенье, 3 сентября 1961.
В доме Дон Хуана не было,
когда я проснулся. Я работал над своими записями и было время найти
сухих веток для очага в кустах поблизости до его возвращения. Я ел,
когда он вошёл в дом. Он начал смеяться над моей, как он называл,
рутиной: есть в 12 дня, но всё же присоединился к моим бутербродам. Я
сказал ему, что случай с горным львом поражал меня. В итоге, это всё
казалось нереальным. Было так, как-будто всё было представлено для меня
на сцене. Последовательность событий была настолько быстрой, что у меня
реально не было времени испугаться. У меня было достаточно времени,
чтобы действовать, но не обдумывать мои обстоятельства. Пока я делал
записи, вопрос: действительно ли я видел горного льва, пришёл мне в
голову. Сухая ветвь всё ещё была свежа в моей памяти.
"Это был горный лев," безаппеляциозно заявил Дон Хуан.
"Это было настоящее животное?"
"Конечно."
Я сказал ему, что мои подозрения появились из-за лёгкости всего
события. Было так, как-будто лев ждал там и был натренирован делать всё
так, как планировал Дон
Хуан. Его не смутил поток моих скептических замечаний. Он подсмеивался
надо мной. "Ты странный человек," сказал он. "Ты видел и слышал льва:
он был прямо под деревом, где был ты. он не обнюхивал тебя и не прыгнул
на тебя из-за запаха речных ив. Ивы убивают любой другой запах, даже у
котов. У тебя в руке была связка их."
Я сказал, что я в нём не сомневался, но всё, что случилось прошлой
ночью, было невероятно чуждо событиям моей повседневной жизни. Какое-то
время, пока я делал записи, у меня даже было чувство, что Дон Хуан мог играть роль льва.
Однако, мне пришлось отбросить эту идею, так как я реально видел тёмный
силуэт четвероногового животного, устремлённого к клетке и потом
прыгающим к плоскогорью.
"Почему ты из этого делаешь целое событие?" сказал он. "Это просто был
большой кот. В тех горах должно быть их тысячи. Ну и что? Ты, как
обычно, фокусируешь своё внимание не на том, что нужно. Какая разница:
был это лев или мои штаны. Твои чувства в тот момент: это важно."
Никогда в своей жизни я не видел и не слышал большого дикого кота на
прогулке. Когда я об этом думал, я не мог смириться с фактом, что я был
от такого в нескольких шагах. Дон Хуан терпеливо слушал, пока я не
описал все свои ощущения. "Откуда у тебя это преклонение перед большими
котами?" спросил он вопрошающе. "Ты был близок ко многим животным,
которые живут вокруг нас, и ты никогда перед ними так не преклонялся.
Ты любишь котов?"
"Нет!"
"Тогда забудь об этом. Так или иначе, урок был не о том, как охотиться
на львов."
"Тогда о чём?"
"Маленькая ворона указала мне на это особое место, и в этом месте я
увидел возможность заставить тебя понять, как действовать, когда ты
имеешь настрой воина. Всё, что ты сделал прошлой ночью, было сделано в
пределах надлежащего настроя. Ты был в контроле и в то же время,
беспристрастный, когда ты спрыгнул с дерева, чтобы подхватить клетку и
подбежать ко мне. Тебя не парализовало от страха. И затем, почти на
вершине утёса, когда лев издал рёв, ты очень быстро залез на вершину. Я
уверен, что ты бы не поверил, чего ты добился, если бы посмотрел на
утёс днём. В какой-то степени ты обладаешь хладнокровием и в то же
время, в какой-то степени, ты можешь контролировать себя. Ты не бросил
всё и не сбежал, а взобрался на утёс в полной темноте. Ты мог бы
потерять дорогу и убиться. Чтобы взобраться по отвесной стене в
темноте, требуется держать себя в руках и, в то же время, отбросить
себя. Вот это я называю - Настрой Воина."
Я сказал, что то, что я совершил той ночью, было результатом страха, а
не продуктом моего контроля и хладнокровия.
"Я знаю это," ответил он улыбаясь. "И я хотел показать тебе, что можешь
стимулировать себя безгранично, если ты в надлежащем настрое. Воин
создаёт свой собственный настрой. Ты этого не знал. Страх проник в
настрой воина, но сейчас, так как ты об этом уже знаешь, всё что
угодно, может послужить поводом вызвать его." Мне хотелось с ним
поспорить, но мои причины не совсем мне были ясны. Я чувствовал
необъяснимое раздражение. "Это удобно всегда действовать в таком
настрое," продолжал он. "Такой настрой насквозь проходит через всякую
хрень и очищает человека. Это было прекрасное чувство, когда ты достиг
вершины утёса. Не так ли?" Я сказал ему, что понял то, что он имел
ввиду, однако, я чувствовал, что это будет идиотизмом пробовать
применять то, чему он учил меня, в моей повседневной жизни. "Нужно быть
в настрое воина в каждом действии," сказал он. "Иначе становишься
искажённым и уродливым. Нет Силы в жизни, в которой не хватает такого
настроя. Посмотри на себя. Тебя всё огорчает и оскорбляет. Ты ноешь,
жалуешься, чувствуешь, что каждый заставляет тебя петь под свою
дудочку. Ты - лист, зависящий от прихоти ветра. Нет Силы в твоей жизни.
Какое неприятное чувство это должно быть! Воин, с другой стороны,
охотник. Он всё расчитывает. Это - контроль. Но когда он заканчивает с
расчётами, он действует. Он становится отчуждённым. Воин не лист, зависящий от прихоти ветра.
Никто не может толкать его; никто не может заставить его делать вещи против его
воли или против его лучшей оценки. Выбор воина - это выжить, и он
выживает, несмотря ни на что."
Мне нравился его подход, хоть я и думал, что он нереален. Он казался
слишком простым для сложного мира, в котором я жил. Он смеялся над
моими доводами, а
я настаивал, что настрой воина не мог помочь мне преодолеть чувство
быть обиженным или даже быть раненым действиями моих друзей. Как в
предполагаемом случае - быть физически под угрозой жестокого человека,
оказавшегося в вышестоящем положении. Он грохотал от смеха и признал
мой пример подходящим.
"Воин может быть ранен, но не оскорблён," сказал он.

136
"Для воина нет ничего оскорбительного в действиях его товарищей, если
он сам действует в надлежащем настрое. Прошлой ночью ты не был
оскорблён львом. Тот факт, что он преследовал нас, не злил тебя. Я не
слышал, чтобы ты проклинал его или чтобы ты сказал: он не имеет права
преследовать нас. Это мог быть жестокий лев, как знать. Но ты это не
рассматривал, пока старался избежать его. Единственной разумной вещью
было: выжить. И этого ты прекрасно добился. Если бы ты был один и лев
тебя поймал и загрыз досмерти, ты бы никогда не подумал жаловаться или
чувствовать себя оскорблённым его действиями. Настрой воина - не такой
уж неестественный для твоего или для любого другого мира. Тебе он
нужен, чтобы избегать всякую дрянь." Я объяснил ему свою точку зрения.
Льва и моих друзей нельзя сравнивать, потому что я знал интимные,
мужские странности, тогда как я ничего не знал о львах. Что меня
оскорбляло в моих друзьях-мужчинах это: они действовали злобно и со
знанием дела. "Я знаю, я знаю," терпеливо сказал Дон Хуан. "Достичь
настрой воина - нелегко. Это - революция. Считать льва, водяных крыс, и
наших мужчин - равными, это - глубочайший акт духа воина. Нужна Сила,
чтобы этого добиться."
12. БИТВА МЕЖДУ СИЛАМИ
137
Четверг 28 декабря 1961. Мы
отправились в путешествие очень рано утром, поехали на юг, потом на
восток, в горы. Дон Хуан нёс сосуды с водой и едой. Мы поели в моей
машине до того как начать поход.
"Держись ближе ко мне," сказал он. "Тебе эта местность незнакома и не
будем рисковать. Ты идёшь на поиски Силы и всё, что ты делаешь, имеет
значение. Следи за ветром, особенно в конце дня. Обрати внимание: когда
ветер меняет направление, то поменяй своё положение, так чтобы я всегда
мог бы прикрыть тебя от него."
"Что мы будем делать в этих горах, Дон Хуан?"
"Ты охотишься за Силой."
"Я имею ввиду, что мы точно собираемся делать?"
"Плана не существует, когда дело касается охоты на Силу. Охота на Силу и охота на живность - то же самое.
Охотник охотится на всё, что попадается ему. Поэтому он всегда должен
быть начеку. О ветре ты знаешь и сейчас ты сам можешь охотиться на Силу
в ветре. Но есть другие вещи, о которых ты не знаешь, которые, как и
ветер, центр Силы в определённые моменты и в определённых местах. Сила
- это очень необычное дело," сказал он. "Это невозможно объяснить. Это
- чувство, которое имеют об определённых вещах. Сила - дело личное. Мой
учитель, например, мог сделать человека смертельно больным, просто
смотря на него. Женщины слабеют, когда он смотрел на них. Однако, он не
делал людей больными всё время, а только когда была замешана его личная
сила."

138-139
"Как он выбирал, кого сделать больным?"
"Я это не знаю. Он сам этого не знал. Сила - она такая: она командует
тебе и всё же, Сила тебе повинуется. Охотник за Силой ловит её и потом
хранит её, как свою личную находку. Таким образом, личная сила растёт и
ты можешь оказаться воином, кто имеет так много личной силы, что
становится Человеком Знаний."
"Как можно хранить Силу, Дон Хуан?"
"Это также другое чувство. Это зависит от того, каков воин из этого
человека. Мой учитель был человеком свирепой натуры. Он хранил силу
через это чувство. Всё, что он делал, было сильным и напрямик. Он
напоминал мне что-то движущееся напролом. И всё, что с ним происходило,
принимало такие же формы."
Я сказал ему, что не понимаю, как Сила может сохраняться через чувство.
"Это никак нельзя объяснить," ответил он, после долгого молчания. "Это
делать нужно самому." Он поднял сосуды с едой и пристегнул их к своей
спине. Он протянул мне верёвку с восьмью кусками сухого мяса,
привязанными к ней и велел мне повесить её на мою шею. "Это - продукт
Силы," сказал он.
"Что делает эту пищу продуктом Силы, Дон Хуан?"
"Это - мясо животного, которое имело Силу. Олень, уникальный олень. Моя
личная Сила привела его ко мне. Это мясо будет поддерживать нас
неделями, даже месяцами, если нужно. Жуй его понемножку и жуй его
основательно. Дай Силе медленно проникнуть в твоё тело." Мы начали
идти, было почти 11 утра.
Дон Хуан напомнил мне ещё раз как нужно вести себя. "Следи за ветром,
не давай ему сбить тебя и не позволяй ему делать тебя усталым. Жуй мясо
Силы и прячься от ветра за моей спиной. Ветер мне не повредит; мы друг
друга хорошо знаем."
Он вёл меня по тропе, которая вела прямо к высоким горам. День был
облачный и собирался дождь. Я мог видеть низкие грозовые тучи и туман
над горами, спускающийся в то место, где были мы. Мы шли в полном
молчании до 3х часов дня. Разжёвывание сухого мяса и в самом деле
придавало сил и наблюдение за неожиданными изменениями в направлении
ветра становилось мистическим занятием до такой степени, что всё моё
тело, казалось, чувствовало перемены ещё до того, как они происходили.
У меня было такое чувство, что я мог ощутить волны ветра, как давление
на верхнюю часть грудной клетки и мои бронхиальные трубки. Каждый раз
я, когда я собирался почувствовать порыв ветра, моя грудная клетка и
горло начинали чесаться. Дон
Хуан остановился на момент и посмотрел вокруг. Похоже, что он
соорентировался и затем повернул направо. Я заметил, что он также жевал
сухое мясо. Я чувствовал себя полным сил и совсем не уставшим. Задание,
осознавать перемены в ветре, было настолько поглощающим, что я не
замечал время. Мы вошли в глубокую долину и затем вверх в сторону
небольшой площадки на отвесной стороне огромной горы. Мы были довольно
высоко, почти на вершине горы. Дон Хуан взобрался на огромный камень
в конце площадки и помог мне туда влезть. Камень был положен так, что
напоминал полушарие на отвесных стенах. Мы медленно обошли камень. В
конце концов мне пришлось двигаться вокруг него на моей попе, держась
руками и пятками за поверхность. Пот с меня лил градом, так что руки
приходилось всё время вытирать. С другой стороны я мог видеть очень
большую неглубокую пещеру вблизи вершины горы. Она была похожа на зал,
который был выдолблен в скале. Это был песчанник, который был
сформирован вроде балкона с двумя колоннами. Дон Хуан сказал, что мы останемся
ночевать здесь, что это
было надёжное место, потому что оно было неглубоким для логова льва или
других хищников, слишком открытым для гнездования крыс, и слишком
ветрено для насекомых.
Он засмеялся и сказал, что это было идеальное место для мужчин, так как
ни одно живое существо его бы не выдержало. Он забрался на него как
горная коза.
Я поражался его непревзойдённой лёгкости и ловкости, тогда как я еле
тащил ноги. Медленно стащил себя на попе с камня и затем пытался
взбежать на сторону горы, чтобы достичь ложбины, но последние метры
полностью истощили меня.
140-141
Я шутливо спросил Дон
Хуана, сколько ему действительно лет. Я подумал, что чтобы достигнуть
ложбины так, как он это проделал, нужно быть молодым и очень крепким.
"Я настолько молод, насколько хочу," ответил он. "Это тоже - дело
личной Силы. Если ты сохраняешь Силу, твоё тело может выполнять
невероятные вещи. С другой стороны, ели ты разбазариваешь Силу, ты
мигом превратишься в толстого старика."
Длина ложбины была направлена вдоль линии востока-запада. Открытая
часть сформированного балкона была на юг. Я пошёл к западному концу:
открывался завораживающий вид. Мы избежали дождя. Дождь выглядел как
кусок прозрачного материала, висящего низко над землёй. Дон Хуан сказал, что у нас достаточно
времени соорудить укрытие. Он велел мне составить кучу из наибольшего
количества камней, какое я смогу принести в ложбину, пока он собирает
ветки для крыши. Через час он построил стену около фута толщиной на
восточном конце ложбины. Она была пару футов длиной и три фута высотой.
Он сплёл и связал несколько охапок ветвей, которые он собрал, и сделал
крышу, опирающуюся на два столба с верхушками в форме буквы V. Был
другой столб такой же длины, который был прикреплён к крыше и
поддерживал её на противоположной стороне стены. Конструкция выглядела
как высокий стол с тремя ногами. Дон Хуан сел в эту конструкцию,
скрестив ноги, на самом краю балкона. Он велел мне сесть рядом с ним
справа. Мы молчали какое-то время. Дон Хуан нарушил молчание и сказал
шёпотом, что мы должны вести себя так, как-будто нет ничего необычного
во всём этом. Я спросил его, было что-то особенное, что мне следует
сделать.
Он сказал, что мне следует заняться своими записями и делать это так,
чтобы это выглядело, как-будто я за своим столом и ничто в мире меня не
волнует кроме моих записей. В определённый момент он должен был слегка
толкнуть меня локтём и затем мне нужно будет посмотреть туда, куда он
покажет глазами. Он дал мне понять, что неважно то, что я увижу, но я
не должен не произнести ни слова. Только он мог говорить, не причиняя
себе вреда, потому что он был известен всем Силам в тех горах. Я
следовал его инструкциям и писал больше часа, полностью погрузившись в
своё задание. Вдруг я почувствовал лёгкое постукивание на моей руке и
увидел, как глаза и голова Дон Хуана двинулись, чтобы указать на слой
тумана, который спускался с вершины горы. Дон Хуан прошептал мне в ухо, едва
слышным даже на таком расстоянии.

"Двигай свои глаза взад-вперёд вдоль полосы тумана," посоветовал он.
"Но не смотри на него прямо. Моргай глазами и не фокусируй их на
тумане. Когда ты увидишь зелёное пятно на полосе тумана, своими глазами
укажи его мне."
Я двигал свои глаза слева-направо вдоль полосы тумана, который медленно
надвигался на нас. Прошло наверно полчаса и становилось темно. Туман
двигался ужасно медленно. В какой-то момент у меня появилось неожиданно
ощущение, что я заметил слабое свечение справа. Сначала я подумал, что
видел сквозь туман кусок зелёных кустов. Когда я прямо посмотрел на
него, я ничего не заметил, но когда я не фокусировался, я смог
обнаружить слабое зелёное пятно. Я указал его Дон Хуану. Он прищурил
глаза и уставился на него. "Фокусируйся на этом месте," прошептал он
мне в ухо. "Смотри не моргая, пока не УВИДИШЬ."
Я хотел спросить, что я должен видеть, но он взглянул на меня, как бы
напоминая мне, что я не должен говорить. Я снова уставился на пятно:
часть тумана, которая спустилась вниз сверху, висела так, как-будто это
был кусок плотного материала. Он проходил прямо через то место, где я
заметил зёлёное пятно. Так как мои глаза снова устали, я прищурился и
увидел сначала кусок тумана, наложенным на полосу тумана, и затем я
увидел тонкую ленту тумана между ними, что выглядело как тонкая, ничем
не поддерживаемая, конструкция, мост, соединяющий гору надо мной с
полосой тумана передо мной. В какой-то момент я подумал, что мог видеть
прозрачный туман, который сдувался с вершины горы, шёл мимо моста, не
нарушая его. Казалось, что мост был реально плотным. В какое-то
мгновенье мираж стал таким правдоподобным, что я мог реально различить
тёмную часть под мостом, по сравнению с его стороной цвета светлого
песчанника.
Я уставился на мост, обалдевая. И затем, или это я поднялся до его
уровня, или это мост снизил себя до моего уровня.
142-143
Вдруг, я смотрю на прямой луч передо мной. Это был невероятно длинный,
плотный луч, узкий и без перил, но достаточно широкий, чтобы по нему
пройти.
Дон Хуан с силой тряс меня за руку. Я чувствовал, как моя голова
прыгает вверх и вниз, потом я заметил, что мои глаза ужасно чесались. Я
тёр их совершенно бессознательно. Дон Хуан продолжал трясти меня, пока
я снова не открыл глаза. Он налил немного воды из своего сосуда в
ладонь и ею опрыскал моё лицо. Ощущение было очень неприятным: холод от
воды был настолько экстремальным, что капли чувствовались как болячки
на моей коже. Тогда я заметил, что моё тело было очень горячим. Меня
лихорадило.
Дон Хуан поспешно дал мне попить воды и затем попрыскал водой мои уши и
шею. Я услышал очень громкий, жуткий и продолжительный крик птицы.
Дон Хуан внимательно слушал какой-то момент и затем толкнул ногой камни
стены и развалил крышу. Он выкинул крышу в кусты и в сторону все камни,
один за другим, а мне прошептал в ухо, "Выпей воды и жуй сухое мясо. Мы
не можем здесь оставаться. Это не был крик птицы."
Мы полезли вниз с ложбины и пошли на восток. Как-то сразу всё
потемнело, как-будто перед моими глазами повесили занавес. Туман был
как непроницаемый барьер. Я никогда не представлял каким уродливым
может быть туман ночью. Я не мог понять, как шёл Дон Хуан. Я держался
за его руку, как-будто я был слепой.
И всё же, у меня было ощущение, что я шёл по краю пропасти. Мои ноги
отказывались двигаться. Я верил Дон Хуану и я рационально хотел
продолжать двигаться, но моё тело не хотело и Дон Хуану пришлось тащить меня в
полной темноте. Он должно быть досконально знал местность. В
определённой точке он остановился и заставил меня сесть. Я не смел
отпускать его руку. Моё тело чувствовало, без всякого сомнения, что я
сидел на голом куполе горы и, если я двинусь на см вправо, то упаду в
пропасть. Я был абсолютно уверен, что сидел на изогнутой стороне горы,
потому что моё тело бессознательно двигалось вправо. Я подумал, что оно
так делало, чтобы держаться вертикально, поэтому я старался
компенсировать, наклоняясь как можно дальше влево, к Дон Хуану. Дон Хуан вдруг от меня
отодвинулся и, без поддержки его тела, я упал на землю. Прикосновение к
земле восстановило моё чувство равновесия. Я лежал на плоском месте. Я
начал, трогая, обследовать мой окружающий мир. Я узнал сухие листья и
прутья. Вдруг появилась вспышка молнии, которая осветила весь район, и
прогремел жуткий гром. Я увидел Дон Хуана, стоящего слева, огромные
деревья и пещеру в нескольких шагах позади него. Дон Хуан велел мне залезть в дыру, я
залез в неё и сел спиной к скале. Я чувствовал, как Дон Хуан наклонился и прошептал,
чтобы я не издавал ни звука. Появились три вспышки молнии, одна за
другой. Я видел, как Дон
Хуан сидел слева, скрестив ноги. Пещера имела вогнутую форму,
достаточно большая для двоих-троих, чтобы сесть. Похоже, дыра была
выдолблена в основании камня. Я чувствовал, что и в самом деле, было мудро, что я залез в неё. Так как, если бы я
шёл, я бы ударил голову о камень. Сверкание молнии дало мне
представление, насколько плотной была завеса тумана. Я заметил стволы
гигантских деревьев в виде тёмных силуэтов на матовом освещении серой массы тумана. Дон Хуан прошептал, что туман и
молнии были в сговоре друг с другом, и мне придёться неустанно
наблюдать всю ночь, так как я был вовлечён в битву Сил. В эту секунду
грандиозная вспышка молнии открыла предо мной всю сцену: фантастическую
последовательность образов, как во сне. Туман был как белый фильтр,
который заморозил свет электрического разряда и равномерно рассеял его;
туман был как плотное белое вещество, висящее между высоченными
деревьями, но прямо передо мной, на уровне земли, туман рассеивался. Я
ясно различал детали местности. Мы были в хвойном лесу, нас окружали
очень высокие деревья. Они были настолько большими, что я мог
поклясться: мы были среди секвой, если бы я не помнил все наши
похождения. Произошла экспозиция молний, которая продолжалась несколько
минут.
144-145
Каждая вспышка делала детали, которые я уже заметил, более отчётливыми.
Прямо передо мной я явно видел тропу. Там не было растительности.
Тропа, похоже, заканчивалась в месте, свободном от деревьев. Было так
много вспышек молний, что я не мог проследить, откуда они появлялись.
Однако сцена была так хорошо освещена, что мне стало намного спокойнее.
Мои страхи и сомнения исчезли, как только появилось достаточно света
поднять тяжёлую завесу темноты. Так что, когда была долгая пауза между
вспышками молний, я больше не был растерян, подавлен темнотой вокруг
меня. Дон Хуан прошептал, что я, наверно, уже достаточно понаблюдал, и
что мне следует обратить внимание на звуки грома. К своему удивлению, я
осознал, что вообще не обращал никакого внимания на гром, несмотря на
то, что гром реально был невообразимым. Дон Хуан добавил, что мне нужно
следовать звуку и следить за направлением, откуда, я думал, гром
гремит. Больше не было серий молний и грома, а только периодические
вспышки интенсивного света и звука. Гром, казалось, всё время
раздавался справа. Туман поднимался и я, уже привыкший к полнейшей
темноте, мог различать скопления растительности. Молнии и гром
продолжались и, вдруг, вся правая сторона открылась и я мог видеть
небо. Электрический шторм , похоже, двигался справа от меня. Свет
озарил горизонт, показал силуэт громадной массы горы. Я увидел деревья
на её вершине; они выглядели как аккуратные чёрные вырезы, наложенные
на сияющее белое небо. Я даже видел кучевые облака над горами. Туман
совсем рассеялся вокруг нас. Постоянно дул ветер и я слышал шуршание
листьев в огромных деревьях слева. Электрический шторм был слишком
далеко, чтобы освещать деревья, но их тёмные массы оставались видимыми.
Однако свет шторма позволил мне установить, что была цепочка далёких
гор справа, и что лес был ограничен слева. Казалось, что я смотрел вниз
на тёмную долину, которую я вообще не мог видеть. Ряд гор, над которыми
был шторм, был на противоположной стороне долины. Потом начался дождь.
Я прижался спиной к камню как можно сильнее. Моя шляпа хорошо защищала
меня. Я сидел - колени к груди - и только мои щиколотки и туфли
намокли. Дождь шёл долгое время и был тёплым. Я чувствовал его на моих
ногах. Затем я заснул. Птичий гвалт разбудил меня. Я поискал вокруг Дон
Хуана: его там не было. Обычно, я бы подумал, не оставил ли он меня
здесь одного, но шок от того, что я увидел, чуть не парализовал меня. Я
встал, ноги были мокрыми, край шляпы намок и вода в шляпе меня
намочила. Я вообще не был в пещере, а под густыми кустами. Я испытал
момент неописуемой растерянности. Я стоял на проском месте между двумя
небольшими земляными холмами, покрытыми кустами. Слева деревьев не было
и справа не было долины. Прямо передо мной, где я видел тропу в лесу,
были гигантские кусты. Я отказывался верить тому, чему я был
свидетелем. Несоответствие моих двух версий реальности заставило меня
попробовать преодолеть разбор. Я подумал, что вполне может быть: я так
храпел, что Дон Хуан должно быть перенёс меня, не разбудив, на своей
спине в другое место. Я осмотрел место, где я спал. Земля там была
сухой и также на месте рядом, где был Дон Хуан. Я позвал его пару раз и
затем меня обуяло беспокойство и я сказал его имя как можно громче. Он
вышел из кустов. Я сразу понял: он знал, что происходит. Его улыбка
была такой озорной, что я сам улыбнулся. Я не хотел терять время на
игры с ним. Я высказал то, что случилось со мной, объяснил как можно
детальнее мои ночные галлюцинации. Он слушал, не перебивая.
146-147
Однако он не мог сохранять лицо серьёзным и пара раз расхохотался, но
тут же опять слушал. Я просил его прокомментировать 3-4 раза; он только
тряс головой, как-будто вся эта ситуация была также непонятна ему.
Когда я закончил свой рассказ, он посмотрел на меня и сказал,
"Ты ужасно выглядишь, может тебе нужно сходить в кусты?" Он хихикнул и
потом добавил, чтобы я снял одежду и выжал её, так она высохнет.
Солнечный свет был таким ярким и было совсем немного облаков. Это был
ветренный день. Дон Хуан ушёл, сказав мне, что собирается поискать
кое-какие растения и что я должен взять себя в руки, поесть что-то и не
звать его, пока я не буду спокойнее и сильнее. Мои одежды действительно
были мокрыми. Я сел на солнышке, чтобы просохнуть. Я чувствовал, что
единственный способ для меня расслабиться, было достать блокнот и
писать. Я ел пока работал над записями. Через пару часов
я успокоился и позвал Дон Хуана. Он ответил из места недалеко от
вершины горы. Он велел мне собрать сосуды и залезть наверх туда, где
был он. Когда я достиг места, то нашёл его сидящим на гладком камне. Он
открыл сосуды и положил себе немного еды. Он дал мне два больших куска
мяса. Я не знал с чего начать, было столько всего, что я хотел
прояснить. Казалось, он чувствовал мой настрой и смеялся с большим
удовольствием.
"Как ты?" спросил он элегантным тоном. Я не хотел ничего говорить, был
всё ещё огорчён. Дон Хуан убедил меня сесть на плоском камне. Он
сказал, что камень был предметом Силы, и что я буду обновлён после
того, как посижу на нём какое-то время."Сядь," сухо скомандовал он мне.
Он не улыбался, его глаза пронзили меня. Я машинально сел. Он сказал,
что я был небрежен с Силой, ведя себя неприветливо, и что мне нужно
положить этому конец, иначе Сила пойдёт против нас обоих, и мы никогда
не выберемся живыми из этих пустынных холмов. Затем небрежно спросил,
"Как твои Полёты?" Я объяснил ему, каким трудным это становится для
меня: дать себе команду - смотреть на мои руки. Сначала это было
относительно легко, наверно из-за новизны понятия. У меня совсем не
было проблем напомнить себе, что мне нужно смотреть на руки. Но
возбуждение исчезло и иногда ночью я не мог это вообще делать. "Ты
должен одевать повязку на голову, чтобы заснуть," сказал он. "Одеть
повязку - это сложный манёвр. Я не могу дать тебе такой, потому
что ты сам должен сделать его с самого начала.
Но ты не можешь его сделать, пока у тебя не не будет видения его во
сне. Понимаешь, что я имею ввиду? Повязка должна быть сделана согласно
особому видению. И она должна иметь полосу поперёк, которая будет
сидеть плотно на верхушке головы. Или она может быть как обтягивающая
шапочка. Полёты облегчаются, когда имеешь предмет Силы на верхушке
своей головы. Ты можешь одеть шляпу или рясу монаха и идти спать, но те
вещи только дают интенсивные сны, а не Полёты." Какой-то момент он
молчал и потом выдал быстрый поток слов, что видение повязки
необязательно должно случиться только во время сна, и может случиться в
состоянии бодрости и, в результате непредвиденного и, совсем не
имеющего отношения, события, как например, наблюдение за полётом птиц,
движение воды, облаков и т. д. Охотник за Силой наблюдает за всем,"
продолжал он. "И всё вокруг открывает ему секреты."
"Но как можно быть уверенным, что окружающий мир открывает секреты?"
спросил я и подумал, что у него какая-то специальная формула, которая
позволяет ему "правильно" интерпретировать воспринятое.
"Единственный путь быть уверенным - это следовать всем инструкциям,
которые я тебе дал, начиная с первого дня, когда ты пришёл ко мне,"
сказал он.
"Чтобы иметь Силу, нужно жить с Силой." Он мягко улыбнулся и, казалось,
потерял свою суровость; он даже слегка подтолкнул меня локтём. "Ешь
свою еду Силы," поторопил он меня.
148-149
Я начал жевать сухое мясо и в этот момент меня вдруг осенило, что
наверно, сухое мясо содержало наркотик, отсюда и галлюцинации. Какой-то
момент я почти почувствовал облегчение. Если он положил что-то в
мясо, то мои миражи были понятны. Я спросил его, было ли что-то
положено в "мясо Силы". Он засмеялся, но прямо мне не ответил. Я
настаивал, уверяя его, что я это меня не рассердит и даже не огорчит,
но мне нужно знать, чтобы я мог объяснить события прошлой ночью для
моего спокойствия. Я старался убедить его и, в конце концов, умолял его
сказать мне правду.
"Ты - больной на голову," сказал он, качая головой, не веря в
происходящее. "Ты склонен к коварству и упорно пытаешься объяснить всё
для собственного удовлетворения. В мясе ничего нет кроме Силы. Силу ни
я, ни кто-то другой туда не вложил. Это сделала сама Сила. Это сухое
мясо оленя и этот олень был подарком для меня точно также, как тот заяц
был подарком тебе не так давно. Ни я, ни ты ничего в зайца не клали. Я
не просил тебя сушить мясо зайца, потому что для этого действия
требуется больше энергии, чем у тебя имеется. Однако, я велел тебе
съесть мясо. Ты много его не съел, из-за своей непролазной тупости.
Что случилось с тобой прошлой ночью, не было шуткой или выходкой. У
тебя была встреча с Силой. Туман, темнота, молния, гром и дождь - все
были частями великой битвы Сил. Тебе, дураку, посчастливилось, воин
отдал бы всё, чтобы быть свидетелем такой битвы!" Моим ответом было,
что всё событие не могло быть битвой Сил, потому что оно не было
реальным. "А что реально?" очень спокойно спросил меня Дон Хуан.
"Вот, на что мы смотрим, это - реально," сказал я, указывая на
окружающий мир.
"Но реальным был и мост, который ты видел прошлой ночью, и также лес и
всё остальное."
"Но если они были реальны, где они сейчас?"
"Они - здесь. Если бы у тебя было достаточно силы, ты мог бы призвать
их назад. Прямо сейчас ты не сможешь это сделать, потому что ты
думаешь, что очень поможет продолжать сомневаться и ныть. Не поможет,
мой друг, не поможет. Существуют миры на мирах, прямо перед нашими
глазами. Над этим не посмеёшься. Прошлой ночью, если бы я не схватил
тебя за руку, ты бы прошёлся по этому мосту, хотел бы этого или нет. А
раньше, мне пришлось защищать тебя от ветра, который тебя искал."
"Что бы случилось, если ты не защитил меня?"
"Так как у тебя недостаточно силы, ветер заставил бы тебя сбиться с
дороги и даже мог убить, столкнув тебя в пропасть. Но туман был реален
прошлой ночью. Две вещи могли случиться с тобой в тумане. Ты мог
пройти через мост на другую сторону или ты мог упасть и разбиться до
смерти. И то и другое зависит от Сил.
Однако, одна вещь была бы точно . Если бы я не защитил тебя, тебе бы
пришлось пройти по тому мосту, несмотря ни на что. Это - природа Силы.
Как я тебе говорил раньше: Сила даёт тебе команду, и всё же Сила
слушается твоей команды. Например прошлой ночью, Сила заставила бы тебя
пройти через мост и затем, Сила повиновалась бы тебе, чтобы
поддерживать твой Дух, твою жизнеспособность, пока ты идёшь. Я
остановил тебя, потому что знал, у тебя недостаточно энергии, чтобы
воспользоваться Силой, а без Силы мост рухнул бы."
"Ты сам видел мост, Дон Хуан?"
"Нет. Я только видел Силу: это могло быть всё, что угодно. Для тебя в
этот раз, был мост. Я не знаю, почему мост. Мы - самые мистические
Существа."
"Дон Хуан, ты когда-нибудь
видел мост в тумане?"
"Никогда. Но это потому, что я не такой как ты. Я видел другие вещи.
Мои битвы Сил отличаются от твоих."
"Что ты видел, Дон Хуан?
Можешь мне сказать?"
"Я увидел своих врагов во время мой первой битвы Сил в тумане. У тебя
нет врагов. Ты не ненавидишь людей, а я ненавидел в то время. Я потакал
моей слабости и ненавидел людей. Я этого больше не делаю. Я победил
свою ненависть, но в то время моя ненависть чуть не убила меня. С
другой стороны, твоя битва Сил была аккуратной. Она не поглотила тебя.
Сейчас ты поглощаешь себя самого своими ничтожными мыслями и
сомнениями. Это - твоя манера потакать своим слабостям."
150-151
"Туман был безупречен с тобой. Ты симпатизируешь ему. Он дал тебе
великолепный мост, и этот мост будет там в тумане с момента появления.
Он будет открываться для тебя снова и снова, пока не наступит тот день,
когда тебе придёться пересечь его. Я очень рекоммендую, чтобы с этого
дня ты один не ходил никуда в туман, пока ты не будешь знать, что
ты делаешь. Сила - очень странная вещь. Чтобы иметь её и командовать
ей, нужно сначала самому иметь энергию. Однако, это накопляется
понемногу, пока не будет достаточно, чтобы выдержать в битве Сил."
"Что такое битва Сил?"
"То, что произошло с тобой прошлой ночью, было началом битвы Сил.
Сцены, на которые ты смотрел, были Местом Силы. Когда-нибудь эти сцены
будут тебе понятны; те сцены - самые значимые."
"Дон Хуан, можешь ты сам
сказать мне их значение?"
"Нет. Те сцены - это твоё личное завоевание, которое ты не можешь ни с
кем разделять. Но то, что произошло прошлой ночью, было только начало,
небольшой конфликт. Настоящая битва произойдёт, когда ты пересечёшь тот
мост. Что на другой стороне? Только ты будешь это знать и только ты
будешь знать, что в конце той тропы через лес. Но всё это то, что может
и не произойти с тобой. Чтобы путешествовать через те незнакомые тропы
и мосты, нужно иметь достаточно своей энергии."
"Что произойдёт, если у тебя недостаточно энергии?"

"Смерть всегда ждёт и когда силы воина ослабевают, смерть просто
сшибает его. Таким образом, исследовать Неизвестное без энергии -
идиотизм. Человек только найдёт смерть." Я вообще-то не слушал и
продолжал носиться с идеей, что сушёное мясо наверно спровоцировало
галлюцинации. Меня успокаивало потакать этой мысли. "Не напрягайся,
пытаясь понять это," ответил он, как-будто читал мои мысли. "Мир - это
тайна и то, на что ты смотришь, ещё не всё. В мире всего ещё больше,
откровенно говоря, мир - безграничен. Поэтому, когда ты стараешься его
понять, всё, что ты делаешь, это - пытаешься сделать мир знакомым. Ты и
я - прямо здесь, в мире,
который ты называешь реальным просто потому, что мы оба его знаем. Ты
не знаешь мир Силы, поэтому ты не можешь превратить его в знакомую
сцену."
"Ты ведь знаешь, что я реально не могу отспаривать твою точку зрения,"
сказал я. "Но мой разум тоже не может принять это."
Он засмеялся и слегка дотронулся до моей головы. "Ты действительно
сумасшедший," сказал он. "Но это ничего. Я знаю, насколько трудно жить
как воин. Если бы ты следовал моим инструкциям и выполнял все действия,
которым я тебя учил, к сегодняшнему дню у тебя было бы достаточно
энергии пересечь тот мост, достаточно энергии, чтобы ВИДЕТЬ и
ОСТАНОВИТЬ МИР."
"Но почему я должен хотеть Силу, Дон Хуан?"
"Сейчас ты не можешь думать о причине. Однако, если ты накопишь
достаточно энергии, сама Сила найдёт тебе прекрасную причину. Звучит
странно, не так ли?"
"Дон Хуан, почему ты сам
хочешь Силу?"
"Я - как ты. Я тоже не хотел этого. Я не мог найти причину, чтобы её
иметь. У меня были такие же сомнения, как и у тебя, и я никогда не
следовал инструкциям, которые мне давали. Я никогда не думал, что мне
это нужно. И всё же, несмотря на мой идиотизм, я накопил достаточно
энергии и, в один прекрасный день, моя личная сила заставила Мир
Рухнуть."
"Но почему нужно желать, чтобы Мир Рухнул?"
"Никто и не хочет, в этом всё и дело. Это просто происходит. И когда ты
будешь знать, на что это похоже: ОСТАНОВИТЬ МИР, ты поймёшь, что на это
есть причина. Видишь ли, одно из искусств воина - это - ОСТАНОВИТЬ МИР для особой причины и
затем его снова восстановить, чтобы продолжать жизнь." Я сказал ему, что наверно, прямой
путь, чтобы помочь мне, будет - дать мне пример особой причины, чтобы ОСТАНОВИТЬ МИР. Он оставался
молчаливым какое-то время, похоже, он думал, что сказать. "Я не могу
сказать тебе это," ответилон. "Берёт слишком много энергии, чтобы знать
это. Когда-нибудь ты будешь жить как воин, несмотря на свой характер;
тогда может быть, ты накопишь достаточно личной энергии, чтобы самому
ответить на этот вопрос. Я научил тебя почти всему, что воину нужно
знать, чтобы начать самому копить энергию.
152-153
И всё же, я знаю, что ты не можешь это сделать и мне приходиться быть с
тобой терпеливым. Я точно знаю, что это берёт борьбу на всю жизнь,
чтобы быть наедине в мире Силы." Дон Хуан посмотрел на небо и на горы.
Солнце уже спускалось к западу и дождевые облака быстро формировались
над горами. Я не знал сколько время, забыв подкрутить свои часы. Я
попросил, не мог бы он сказать мне - какое время дня? Его так взорвало
от хохота, что он скатился с фундамента прямо в кусты. Потом встал и
потянул свои руки, зевая. "Ещё рано, и мы должны ждать, когда туман
соберётся на вершине горы. Тогда ты должен стоять один на этом
фундаменте и благодарить туман за его услуги. Дай ему подойти и
окружить тебя. Я буду рядом, чтобы помочь, если нужно." Перспектива -
остаться одному в тумане - меня ужасала. Я чувствовал себя идиотом от
такой реакции. "Ты не можешь покинуть эти безлюдные горы, не высказав
свою благодарность," сказал он решительным тоном. "Воин никогда не
поворачивается спиной к Силе без того, чтобы не поблагодарить за
полученные услуги." Он лёг на спину, подложив руки за голову и закрыл
лицо шляпой.
"Как мне нужно ждать тумана?" спросил я. "Что я должен делать?"
"Пиши!" ответил он через шляпу. "Но не закрывай глаза и не поворачивай
свою спину туману." Я старался писать, но не мог сконцентрироваться. Я
встал и стал беспокойно двигаться. Дон Хуан поднял свою шляпу и
раздражённо посмотрел на меня. "Сядь!" велел он мне. Он сказал, что
битва Сил ещё не окончена, и что
я должен учить своего Духа (Энергетическое Существо) быть отрешённым,
то есть не показывать эмоции. Ничего из того, что я сделал, не должно
выдавать мои чувства, если я не хотел быть пойманным теми горами. Он
сел и показал рукой срочность. Он сказал, что я должен вести себя,
как-будто ничего необычного не случилось, потому что места Силы как то,
в котором мы были, имеют тенденцию высасывать энергию беспокойных
людей. И поэтому, можно создать странные и ранимые связи с местностью.
"Те связи привязывают человека к месту Силы, иногда на всю жизнь,"
сказал он. "И это место - не для тебя. Ты сам его не нашёл. Так что,
затяни свой пояс и не потеряй штаны." Его предостережения срабатывали
на мне как заклинание. Я часами писал без перерыва. Дон Хуан пошёл обратно спать и не
просыпался, пока туман наверно был в сотне метров от нас, спускаясь с
вершины горы. Он встал и осмотрел окрестности. Я посмотрел вокруг, не
поворачивая спины. Туман уже покрыл низину, спускаясь с гор справа от
меня. На левой стороне картина была ясной; однако ветер, похоже, дул
справа и толкал туман в низину, как бы окружая нас. Дон Хуан прошептал, что мне нужно
оставаться безучастным, стоя, где я был, не закрывая глаза, и что я
должен не оборачиваться, пока я полностью не буду окружён туманом.
Только тогда было возможно начать наш спуск. Он снял покрытие в
основании каких-то камней в нескольких шагах позади меня. Тишина в тех
горах была бесподобна и в то же время торжественна. Мягкий ветерок,
который нёс туман, дал мне ощущение шипения в моих ушах.
Big chunks of fog
came downhill like solid clumps of whitish matter, rolling down on me.
I smelled the fog. It was a peculiar mixture of a pungent (caustic,
acid smell or taste) and fragrant smell. And then I was enveloped in
it. I had the impression: the fog was working on my eyelids. They felt
heavy and I wanted to close my eyes. I was cold. My throat itched and I
wanted to cough, but I did not dare. I lifted my chin up and stretched
my neck to ease the cough, and as I looked up, I had the sensation, I
could actually See the thickness of the fog bank. It was, as if my eyes
could assess the thickness by going through it. My eyes began to close
and I could not fight off the desire to fall asleep. I felt, I was
going to collapse on the ground any moment. At that instant don Juan
jumped up, grabbed me by the arms and shook me. The jolt was enough to
restore my lucidity (clear, sane, rational, easily understood). He
whispered in my ear, that I had to run downhill as fast, as I could.
154
He was going to follow behind, because he did not want to get smashed
by the rocks, that I might turn over in my path. He said, that I was
the leader, since it was my battle of power, and that I had to be
clear-headed and abandoned, in order to guide us safely out of there.
"This is it," he said in a loud voice. "If you don't have the mood of a
warrior, we may never leave the fog." I hesitated for a moment. I was
not sure, I could find my way down from those mountains. "Run, rabbit,
run!" don Juan yelled and shoved me gently down the slope.
13.
A Warrior's Last Stand
Carlos
Castaneda "The Journey
to Ixtlan"
Index:
Introduction..................................................................................4
Part 1: Stopping the World 1. Reaffirmations From The World Around
Us............................9
2. Erasing Personal
History...........................................................14
3. Losing
Self-Importance.............................................................19
4. Death is an
Adviser....................................................................24
5. Assuming
Responsibility...........................................................30
6. Becoming a
Hunter....................................................................36
7. Being
Inaccessible.....................................................................42
8. Disrupting the Routines of Life
................................................49
9. The Last Battle on Earth
...........................................................53
10. Becoming Accessible to Power
..............................................59
11. The Mood of a
Warrior............................................................68
12. A Battle of
Power.....................................................................77
13. A Warrior's Last
Stand.............................................................87
14. The Gait of
Power....................................................................96
15.
Not-Doing................................................................................110
16. The Ring of Power
..................................................................120
17. A Worthy
Opponent.................................................................127
Part Two: Journey to Ixtlan 18. The Sorcerer's Ring of
Power..................................................137
19. Stopping the
World..................................................................145
20. Journey To
Ixtlan.....................................................................151
7
On Saturday, 22 May 1971, I went to Sonora, Mexico, to see don Juan
Matus, a Yaqui Indian sorcerer, with whom I had been associated since
1961. I thought, that my visit on that day was going to be in no way
different from the scores of times, I had gone to see him in the ten
years, I had been his apprentice. The events, that took place on that
day, and on the following days, however, were momentous to me. On that
occasion my apprenticeship came to an end. This was not an arbitrary
(random) withdrawal on my part, but a bona fide termination. I have
already presented the case of my apprenticeship in two previous works:
"The Teachings of Don Juan" and "A Separate Reality". My basic
assumption (logic) in both books has been, that the articulation
(enunciation, clear pronounciation) points, in learning to be a
sorcerer, were the states of nonordinary reality, produced by the
ingestion of psychotropic plants. In this respect don Juan was an
expert in the use of three such plants: Datura inoxia, commonly known
as jimson weed; Lophorphora williamsii, known as peyote; and a
hallucinogenic mushroom of the genus Psilocybe. My perception of the
world through the effects of those psychotropics had been so bizarre
and impressive, that I was forced to assume, that such states were the
only avenue to communicating and learning, what don Juan was attempting
to teach me. That assumption (logic) was erroneous. For the purposes of
avoiding any misunderstandings about my work with don Juan, I would
like to clarify the following issues at this point.
8-9
So far I have made no attempt whatsoever to place don Juan in a
cultural milieu (surroundings, environment). The fact, that he
considers himself to be a Yaqui Indian, does not mean, that his
knowledge of Sorcery is known to or practiced by the Yaqui Indians in
general. All the conversations, that don Juan and I have had throughout
the apprenticeship, were conducted in Spanish, and only because of his
thorough command of that language was I capable of obtaining complex
explanations of his system of beliefs. I have maintained the practice
of referring to that system as sorcery, and I have also maintained the
practice of referring to don Juan as a sorcerer, because these were
categories he, himself, used. Since I was capable of writing down most
,of what was said in the beginning of apprenticeship, and everything,
that was said in the later phases of it, I gathered voluminous field
notes. In order to
render (represent,
presented for consideration, give in return) those notes readable and
still preserve the dramatic unity of don Juan's teachings, I have had
to edit them, but what I have deleted is, I believe, immaterial to the
points I want to raise. In the case of my work with don Juan, I have
limited my efforts solely to viewing him as a sorcerer and to acquiring
membership in his knowledge. For the purpose of presenting my argument,
I must first explain the basic premise (subject, belief) of sorcery, as
don Juan presented it to me. He said, that for a sorcerer, the world of
everyday life is not real, or out there, as we believe it is. For a
sorcerer, reality, or the world we all know, is only a description. For
the sake of validating this premise (subject, belief), don Juan
concentrated the best of his efforts into leading me to a genuine
conviction, that what I held in mind, as the world at hand, was merely
a description of the world; a description, that had been
pounded (beating) into me from the moment I was born. He pointed out,
that everyone, who comes into contact with a child, is a teacher, who
incessantly describes the world to him, until the moment, when the
child is capable of perceiving the world, as
it is described. According to don Juan,
we have no memory
of that portentous (pompous, ominous) moment, simply because none of us
could possibly have had any point of reference to compare it to
anything else. From that moment on, however, the child is a member. He
knows the description of the world; and his membership becomes
full-fledged, I suppose, when he is capable of making all the proper
perceptual interpretations which, by conforming to that description,
validate it. For don Juan, then, the reality of our day-to-day life
consists of an endless flow of perceptual interpretations, which we,
the individuals, who share a specific membership, have learned to make
in common. The idea, that the perceptual interpretations, that make up
the world, have a flow, is congruous (harmonious, appropriate) with the
fact, that they run uninterruptedly and are rarely, if ever, open to
question. In fact, the reality, of the world we know, is so taken for
granted, that the basic premise (subject, belief) of sorcery, that our
reality is merely one of many descriptions, could hardly be taken as a
serious proposition. Fortunately, in the case of my apprenticeship, don
Juan was not concerned at all with whether or not I could take his
proposition seriously, and he proceeded to elucidate his points, in
spite of my opposition, my disbelief, and my inability to understand,
what he was saying. Thus, as a teacher of sorcery, don Juan endeavored
to describe the world to me from the very first time, we talked. My
difficulty in grasping his concepts and methods stemmed from the fact,
that the units of his description were alien and incompatible with
those of my own. His contention (verbal struggling, dispute) was, that
he was teaching me how to See, as opposed to merely "looking", and that
Stopping the World was the first step to Seeing. For years I had
treated the idea of Stopping the W,orld as a cryptic metaphor, that
really did not mean anything. It was only during an informal
conversation, that took place towards the end of my apprenticeship,
that I came fully to realize its scope and importance, as one of the
main propositions of don Juan's knowledge. Don Juan and I had been
talking about different things in a relaxed and unstructured manner. I
told him about a friend of mine and his dilemma with his nine-year-old
son.

10-11
The child, who had been living with the mother for the past four years,
was then living with my friend, and the problem was, what to do with
him? According to my friend, the child was a misfit in school; he
lacked concentration and was not interested in anything. He was given
to tantrums, disruptive behavior, and to running away from home. "Your
friend certainly does have a problem," don Juan said, laughing. I
wanted to keep on telling him all the "terrible" things the child had
done, but he interrupted me. "There is no need to say any more about
that poor little boy," he said. "There is no need for you or for me to
regard his actions in our thoughts one way or another." His manner was
abrupt and his tone was firm, but then he smiled.
"What can my friend do?" I asked.
"The worst thing he could do is to force that child to agree with him,"
don Juan said.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, that that child shouldn't be spanked or scared by his father,
when he doesn't behave the way, he wants him to."
"How can he teach him anything, if he isn't firm with him?"
"Your friend should let someone else spank the child."
"He can't let anyone else touch his little boy!" I said, surprised at
his suggestion. Don Juan seemed to enjoy my reaction and
giggled.
"Your friend is not a warrior," he said. "If he were, he would know,
that the worst thing, one can do, is to confront human beings bluntly."
"What does a warrior do, don Juan?"
"A warrior proceeds strategically."
"I still don't understand, what you mean."
"I mean, that if your friend were a warrior he would help his child to
Stop the World."
"How can my friend do that?"
"He would need personal power. He would need to be a sorcerer."
"But he isn't."
"In that case he must use ordinary means to help his son to change his
idea of the world. It is not Stopping the World, but it will work just
the same." I asked him to explain his statements. "If I were your
friend," don Juan said, "I would start by hiring someone to spank the
little guy. I would go to skid row (трущобы) and hire the worst-looking
man, I could find."
"To scare a little boy?"
"Not just to scare a little boy, you fool. That little fellow must be
stopped, and, being beaten by his father, won't do it. If one wants to
stop our fellow men, one must always be outside the circle, that
presses them. That way one can always direct the pressure." The idea
was preposterous (foolish,
absurd), but
somehow it was appealing to me. Don Juan was resting his chin on his
left palm. His left arm was propped against his chest on a wooden box,
that served as a low table. His eyes were closed, but his eyeballs
moved. I felt, he was looking at me through his closed eyelids. The
thought scared me.
"Tell me more about, what my friend should do with his little boy," I
said.
"Tell him to go to skid row and very carefully select an ugly-looking
derelict," he went on. Tell him to get a young one. One, who still has
some strength left in him."
Don Juan then delineated a strange strategy. I was to instruct my
friend to have the man follow him or wait for him at a place, where he
would go with his son.
The man, in response to a prearranged cue, to be given after any
objectionable behavior on the part of the child, was supposed to leap
from a hiding place, pick the child up, and spank the living daylights
out of him. "After the man scares him, your friend must help the little
boy regain his confidence, in any way he can.
If he follows this procedure three or four times, I assure you, that
that child will feel differently towards everything. He will change his
idea of the world."
"What if the fright injures him?"
12-13
"Fright never injures anyone. What injures the spirit is having someone
always on your back, beating you, telling you what to do and what not
to do. "When that boy is more contained (restrained), you must tell
your friend to do one last thing for him. He must find some way to get
to a dead child, perhaps in a hospital, or at the office of a doctor.
He must take his son there and show the dead child to him. He must let
him touch the corpse once with his left hand, on any place, except the
corpse's belly. After the boy does that, he will be renewed. The world
will never be the same for him." I realized then, that throughout the
years of our association don Juan had been employing with me, although
on a different scale, the same tactics he was suggesting my friend
should use with his son. I asked him about it.
He said, that he had been trying all along to teach me how to Stop the
World. "You haven't yet," he said, smiling. "Nothing seems to work,
because you are very stubborn. If you were less stubborn, however, by
now you would probably have Stopped the World with any of the
techniques I have taught you."
"What techniques, don Juan?"
"Everything, I have told you to do, was a technique for Stopping the
World."

A few months after that conversation don Juan accomplished, what he had
set out to do, to teach me to Stop the World. That monumental event in
my life compelled (forced) me to re-examine in detail my work of ten
years. It became evident to me, that my original assumption (logic)
about the role of
psychotropic plants was erroneous. They were not the essential feature
of the sorcerer's description of the world, but were only an aid to
cement, so to speak, parts of the description, which I had been
incapable of perceiving otherwise. My insistence on holding on to my
standard version of reality
rendered (represent, presented for consideration, give in return) me
almost deaf and blind to don Juan's aims. Therefore, it was simply my
lack of sensitivity, which had fostered (incouraged, cultivated) their
use. In reviewing the totality of my field notes, I became aware, that
don Juan had given me the bulk of the new description at the very
beginning of our association, in what he called "techniques for
Stopping the World". I had discarded those parts of my field notes in
my earlier works, because they did not pertain (related) to the use of
psychotropic plants. I have now rightfully reinstated them in the total
scope of don Juan's teachings and they comprise (include) the first
seventeen chapters of this work. The last three chapters are the field
notes, covering the events, that culminated in my Stopping the World.
In summing up, I can say, that when I began the apprenticeship, there
was another reality, that is to say, there was a sorcery description of
the world, which I did not know. Don Juan, as a sorcerer and a teacher,
taught me that description. The ten-year apprenticeship, I have
undergone, consisted, therefore, in setting up that unknown reality, by
unfolding its description, adding increasingly more complex parts, as I
went along. The termination of the apprenticeship meant, that I had
learned a new description of the world in a convincing and authentic
manner and thus, I had become capable of
eliciting (evoke,
bring out something latent) a new perception of the world, which
matched its new description. In other words, I had gained membership.
Don Juan stated, that in
order to arrive at Seeing, one
first had to Stop the World. Stopping the World was indeed an
appropriate rendition (interpretation) of certain states of Awareness,
in which the reality of everyday life is altered, because the flow of
interpretation, which ordinarily runs uninterruptedly, has been stopped
by a set of circumstances, alien to that flow. In my case the set of
circumstances, alien to my normal flow of interpretations, was the
sorcery description of the world. Don Juan's precondition (knowledge of
something in advance), for Stopping the World, was, that one had to be
convinced; in other words, one had to learn the new description in a
total sense, for the purpose of pitting (set in direct opposition) it
against the old one, and, in that way, break the dogmatic certainty,
which we all share, that the validity of our perceptions, or our
reality of the world, is not to be questioned. After Stopping the World
the
next step was Seeing. By that don Juan meant, what I
would like to categorize, as responding to the perceptual solicitations
(entice to immoral action) of a world, outside the description we have
learned to call reality."
14
My contention (verbal struggling, dispute) is, that all these steps can
only be understood in terms of the description, to which they belong;
and since it was a description, that he endeavored to give me from the
beginning, I must then let his teachings be the only source of entrance
into it. Thus, I have left don Juan's words to speak for
themselves.
Part 1: Stopping the World - 1. Reaffirmations From The World
Around Us
17
"I understand you know a great deal about plants, sir," I said to the
old Indian in front of me. A friend of mine had just put us in contact
and left the room, and we had introduced ourselves to each other. The
old man had told me, that his name was Juan Matus.
"Did your friend tell you that?" he asked casually.
"Yes, he did."
"I pick plants, or rather, they let me pick them," he said softly. We
were in the waiting room of a bus depot in Arizona. I asked him in very
formal Spanish, if he would allow me to question him. I said, "Would
the gentleman [caballero] permit me to ask some questions?"
"Caballero," which is derived from the word "caballo," horse,
originally meant horseman or a nobleman on horseback. He looked at me
inquisitively.
"I'm a horseman without a horse," he said with a big smile and then he
added, "I've told you, that my name is Juan Matus." I liked his smile.
I thought that, obviously he was a man, that could appreciate
directness and I decided to boldly tackle him with a request. I told
him, I was interested in collecting and studying medicinal plants. I
said, that my special interest was the uses of the hallucinogenic
cactus, peyote, which I had studied at length at the university in Los
Angeles. I thought, that my presentation was very serious. I was very
contained and sounded perfectly credible to myself.
18-19
The old man shook his head slowly, and I, encouraged by his silence,
added, that it would no doubt be profitable for us to get together and
talk about peyote. It was at that moment, that he lifted his head and
looked me squarely in the eyes. It was a formidable look. Yet it was
not menacing or awesome in any way. It was a look, that went through
me. I became tongue-tied at once and could not continue with the
harangues (long, pompous speech) about myself. That was the end of our
meeting. Yet he left on a note of hope. He said, that perhaps I could
visit him at his house someday. It would be difficult to assess the
impact of don Juan's look, if my inventory of experience is not somehow
brought to bear on the uniqueness of that event. When I began to study
anthropology and thus met don Juan, I was already an expert in 'getting
around'. I had left my home years before and, that meant in my
evaluation, that I was capable of taking care of myself. Whenever I was
rebuffed (blunt refusal),
I could usually cajole (persuade
by flattery, coax) my way
in or make concessions, argue, get angry, or if nothing succeeded, I
would whine or complain; in other words, there was always something I
knew, I could do under the circumstances, and never in my life had any
human being stopped my momentum so swiftly and so definitely, as don
Juan did that afternoon. But it was not only a matter of being
silenced; there had been times, when I had been unable to say a word to
my opponent, because of some inherent respect I felt for him, still my
anger or frustration was manifested in my thoughts. Don Juan's look,
however, numbed me to the point, that I could not think coherently. I
became thoroughly intrigued with that stupendous look and decided to
search for him.
I prepared myself for six months, after that first meeting, reading up
on the uses of peyote among the American Indians, especially about the
peyote cult of the Indians of the Plains. I became acquainted with
every work available, and when I felt, I was ready, I went back to
Arizona.
Saturday, 17 December 1960. I found his house after making long and
taxing (excessive demand, strain) inquiries among the local Indians. It
was early afternoon, when I arrived and parked in front of it. I saw
him sitting on a wooden milk crate. He seemed to recognize me and
greeted me, as I got out of my car. We exchanged social courtesies for
a while and then, in plain terms, I confessed, that I had been very
devious (deviating from the usual) with him, the first time we had met.
I had boasted, that I knew a great deal about peyote, when in reality I
knew nothing about it. He stared at me. His eyes were very kind. I told
him, that for six months I had been reading to prepare myself for our
meeting and, that this time I really knew a great deal more. He
laughed. Obviously, there was something in my statement, which was
funny to him. He was laughing at me and I felt a bit confused and
offended. He apparently noticed my discomfort and assured me, that
although I had had good intentions, there was really no way to prepare
myself for our meeting. I wondered, if it would have been proper to
ask, whether that statement had any hidden meaning, but I did not; yet
he seemed to be attuned to my feelings and proceeded to explain, what
he had meant. He said, that my endeavours reminded him of a story about
some people a certain king had persecuted and killed once upon a time.
He said, that in the story the persecuted people were indistinguishable
from their persecutors, except that they insisted on pronouncing
certain words in a peculiar manner, proper only to them; that flaw, of
course, was the giveaway. The king posted roadblocks at critical
points, where an official would ask every man passing by, to pronounce
a key word. Those, who could pronounce it the way the king pronounced
it, would live, but those, who could not were immediately put to death.
The point of the story was, that one day a young man decided to prepare
himself for passing the roadblock by learning to pronounce the
test-word, just as the king liked it. Don Juan said, with a broad
smile, that in fact it took the young man “six months” to master such a
pronunciation. And then came the day of the great test; the young man
very confidently came upon the roadblock and waited for the official to
ask him to pronounce the word.
20-21
At that point don Juan very dramatically stopped his recounting and
looked at me. His pause was very studied and seemed a bit corny to me,
but I played along. I had heard the theme of the story before. It had
to do with Jews in Germany and the way one could tell, who was a Jew by
the way they pronounced certain words. I also knew the punch line: the
young man was going to get caught, because the official had forgotten
the key word and asked him to pronounce another word, which was very
similar, but which the young man had not learned to say correctly. Don
Juan seemed to be waiting for me, to ask what happened, so I did.
“What happened to him?” I asked, trying to sound naive and interested
in the story.
“The young man, who was truly foxy,” he said, “realized, that the
official had forgotten the key word, and before the man could say
anything else, he confessed, that he had prepared himself for six
months.” He made another pause and looked at me with a mischievous
glint in his eyes. This time he had turned the tables on me. The
young man's confession was a new element and I no longer knew, how the
story would end.
“Well, what happened then?” I asked, truly interested.
“The young man was killed instantly, of course,” he said and broke into
a roaring laughter. I liked very much the way he had entrapped my
interest; above all, I liked the way he had linked that story to my own
case. In fact, he seemed to have constructed it to fit me. He was
making fun of me in a very subtle and artistic manner.
I laughed with him. Afterwards I told him, that no matter how stupid I
sounded, I was really interested in learning something about plants. “I
like to walk a great deal,” he said. I thought he was deliberately
changing the topic of conversation to avoid answering me. I did not
want to antagonize him with my insistence. He asked me,
if I wanted to go with him on a short hike in the desert. I eagerly
told him, that I would love to walk in the desert. “This is no picnic,”
he said in a tone of warning.
I told him, that I wanted very seriously to work with him. I said, that
I needed information, any kind of information, on the uses of medicinal
herbs, and that I was willing to pay him for his time and effort.
“You'll be working for me,” I said. “And I'll pay you wages.”
“How much would you pay me?” he asked. I detected a note of greed in
his voice.
“Whatever you think is appropriate,” I said.
“Pay me for my time . . . with your time,” he said. I thought, he was a
most peculiar fellow. I told him, I did not understand, what he meant.
He replied, that there was nothing to say about plants, thus to take my
money would be unthinkable for him. He looked at me piercingly. “What
are you doing in your pocket?" he asked, frowning. ”Are you playing
with your whanger (thong, whip)?” He was referring to my taking notes
on a minute pad, inside the enormous pockets of my windbreaker. When I
told him, what I was doing, he laughed heartily. I said, that I did not
want to disturb him by writing in front of him. “If you want to write,
write,” he said.
“You don't disturb me.” We hiked in the surrounding desert, until it
was almost dark. He did not show me any plants, nor did he talk about
them at all. We stopped for a moment to rest by some large bushes.
“Plants are very peculiar things,” he said without looking at me. “They
are alive and they feel.” At the very moment
he made that statement, a strong gust of wind shook the desert
chaparral around us. The bushes made a rattling noise. “Do you hear
that?” he asked me, putting his right hand to his ear, as if he were
aiding his hearing. “The leaves and the wind are agreeing with
me.”
22-23
I laughed. The friend, who had put us in contact, had already told me
to watch out, because the old man was very eccentric. I thought the
“agreement with the leaves” was one of his eccentricities. We walked
for a while longer, but he still did not show me any plants, nor did he
pick any of them. He simply breezed through the bushes touching them
gently. Then he came to a halt and sat down on a rock and told me to
rest and look around. I insisted on talking. Once more I let him know,
that I wanted very much to learn about plants, especially peyote. I
pleaded with him to become my informant in exchange for some sort of
monetary reward.
“You don't have to pay me,” he said. “You can ask me anything, you
want. I will tell you, what I know and then, I will tell you, what to
do with it.” He asked me, if
I agreed with the arrangement. I was delighted. Then he added a cryptic
statement: “Perhaps, there is nothing to learn about plants, because
there is nothing to say about them.” I did not understand, what he had
said or what he had meant by it.
“What did you say?” I asked. He repeated the statement three times and
then the whole area was shaken by the roar of an Air Force jet flying
low.
“There! The world has just agreed with me,” he said, putting his left
hand to his ear. I found him very amusing. His laughter was contagious.
“Are you from Arizona, don Juan?” I asked, in an effort to keep the
conversation, centered around his being my informant. He looked at me
and nodded affirmatively. His eyes seemed to be tired. I could see the
white underneath his pupils. “Were you born in this locality?” He
nodded his head again without answering me.
It seemed to be an affirmative gesture, but it also seemed to be the
nervous head shake of a person, who is thinking.
"And where are you from yourself?" he asked.
"I come from South America," I said.
"That's a big place. Do you come from all of it?" His eyes were
piercing again, as he looked at me. I began to explain the
circumstances of my birth, but he interrup-
ted me. "We are alike in this respect," he said. "I live here now, but
I'm really a Yaqui from Sonora."
"Is that so! I myself come from ..." He did not let me finish.
"I know, I know," he said. "You are, who you are, from wherever you
are, as I am a Yaqui from Sonora." His eyes were very shiny and his
laughter was strangely unsettling. He made me feel, as if he had caught
me in a lie. I experienced a peculiar sensation of guilt. I had the
feeling, he knew something, I did not know or did not want to tell. My
strange embarrassment grew. He must have noticed it, for he stood up
and asked me, if I wanted to go eat in a restaurant in town. Walking
back to his home and then driving into town made me feel better, but I
was not quite relaxed. I somehow felt threatened, although I could not
pinpoint the reason. I wanted to buy him some beer in the restaurant.
He said, that he never drank, not even beer. I laughed to myself. I did
not believe him; the friend, who had put us in contact, had told me,
that 'the old man was plastered out of his mind most of the time". I
really did not mind, if he was lying to me about not drinking. I liked
him; there was something very soothing about his person. I must have
had a look of doubt on my face, for he then went on to explain, that he
used to drink in his youth, but that one day he simply dropped it.
"People hardly ever realize, that we can cut anything from our lives,
any time, just like that." He snapped his fingers.
"Do you think, that one can stop smoking or drinking that easily?" I
asked.
"Sure!" he said with great conviction." Smoking and drinking are
nothing. Nothing at all, if we want to drop them." At that very moment
the water, that was boiling in the coffee percolator, made a loud
perking sound.
24-25
"Hear that!" don Juan exclaimed with a shine in his eyes. "The boiling
water agrees with me." Then he added after a pause, "A man can get
agreements from everything around him." At that crucial instant the
coffee percolator made a truly obscene (offensive) gurgling
(intermittent, broken sound) sound. He looked at the percolator and
softly said, "Thank you," nodded his head, and then broke into a
roaring laughter. I was taken aback. His laughter was a bit too loud,
but I was genuinely amused by it all. My first real session with my
"informant" ended then. He said good-bye at the door of the restaurant.
I told him, I had to visit some friends and, that I would like to see
him again at the end of the following week.
"When will you be home?" I asked. He scrutinized me.
"Whenever you come," he replied.
"I don't know exactly, when I can come."
"Just come then and don't worry."
"What if you're not in?"
"I'll be there," he said, smiling, and walked away. I ran after him and
asked him, if he would mind my bringing a camera with me to take
pictures of him and his house.
"That's out of the question," he said with a frown.
"How about a tape recorder? Would you mind that?"
"I'm afraid there's no possibility of that either." I became
annoyed and began to fret agitate). I said, I saw no logical reason for
his refusal. Don Juan shook his head negatively. "Forget it," he said
forcefully. "And if you still want to see me, don't ever mention it
again." I staged a weak final complaint. I said, that pictures and
recordings were
indispensable (necessary) to my work. He said, that there was
only one thing, which was indispensable (necessary) for anything we did. He called it
"the spirit". "One can't do without the spirit," he said. "And you
don't have it. Worry about that and not about pictures."
"What do you ...?"
He interrupted me with a movement of his hand and walked backwards a
few steps. "Be sure to come back," he said softly
and waved good-bye.
2. Erasing Personal History
26-27
Thursday, 22 December 1960.
Don Juan was sitting on the floor, by the door of his house, with his
back against the wall. He turned over a wooden milk crate and asked me
to sit down and make myself at home. I offered him some cigarettes. I
had brought a carton of them. He said, he did not smoke, but he
accepted the gift. We talked about the coldness of the desert nights
and other ordinary topics of conversation. I asked him, if I was
interfering with his normal routine. He looked at me with a sort of
frown and said, he had no routines, and that I could stay with him all
afternoon, if I wanted to. I had prepared some genealogy and kinship
charts, that I wanted to fill out with his help. I had also compiled,
from the ethnographic literature, a long list of culture traits, that
were purported to belong to the Indians of the area. I wanted to go
through the list with him and mark all the items, that were familiar to
him. I began with the kinship charts.
"What did you call your father?" I asked.
"I called him Dad," he said with a very serious face. I felt a little
bit annoyed, but I proceeded on the assumption (logic), that he had not
understood. I showed him the chart and explained, that one space was
for the father and another space was for the mother. I gave, as an
example, the different words, used in English and in Spanish for father
and mother. I thought, that perhaps, I should have taken mother
first.
"What did you call your mother?" I asked.
"I called her Mom," he replied in a naive tone.
"I mean, what other words did you use to call your father and mother?
How did you call them?" I said, trying to be patient and polite. He
scratched his head and looked at me with a stupid expression.
"Golly!" he said. "You got me there. Let me think." After a moment's
hesitation he seemed to remember something and I got ready to write.
"Well," he said, as if he were involved in serious thought, "how else
did I call them? I called them Hey, hey, Dad! Hey, hey, Mom!" I laughed
against my desire. His expression was truly comical and at that moment
I did not know, whether he was a preposterous (foolish, absurd) old man, pulling my leg, or whether
he was really a simpleton. Using all the patience, I had, I explained
to him, that these were very serious questions and that it was very
important for my work to fill out the forms. I tried to make him
understand the idea of a genealogy and personal history.
"What were the names of your father and mother?" I asked. He looked at
me with clear kind eyes.
"Don't waste your time with that crap," he said softly, but with
unsuspected force. I did not know, what to say; it was, as if someone
else had uttered those words.
A moment before, he had been a fumbling (proceeding awkwardly) stupid
Indian scratching his head, and then, in an instant, he had reversed
the roles; I was the stupid one, and he was staring at me with an
indescribable look, that was not a look of arrogance, or defiance
(challenge), or hatred, or contempt (scornful, despise). His eyes were kind and clear and
penetrating.
"I don't have any personal history," he said after a long pause. "One
day I found out, that personal history was no longer necessary for me
and, like drinking,
I dropped it." I did not quite understand, what he meant by that. I
suddenly felt ill at ease, threatened. I reminded him, that he had
assured me, that it was all right to ask him
questions. He reiterated (repeated), that he did not mind at all. "I
don't have personal history any more," he said and looked at me
probingly.
28-29
"I dropped it one day, when I felt, it was no longer necessary." I
stared at him, trying to detect the hidden meanings of his words.
"How can one drop one's personal history?" I asked in an argumentative
mood.
"One must first have the desire to drop it," he said. "And then one
must proceed harmoniously to chop it off, little by little."
"Why should anyone have such a desire?" I exclaimed. I had a terribly
strong attachment to my personal history. My family roots were deep. I
honestly felt, that without them my life had no continuity or purpose.
"Perhaps, you should tell me, what you mean by dropping one's personal
history," I said.
"To do away with it, that's what I mean," he replied cuttingly. I
insisted, that I must not have understood the proposition.
"Take you for instance," I said. "You are a Yaqui. You can't change
that."
"Am I?" he asked, smiling. "How do you know that?"
"True!" I said. "I can't know that with certainty, at this point, but
you know it and that is, what counts. That's what makes it personal
history." I felt, I had driven a hard nail in.
"The fact, that I know, whether I am a Yaqui or not, does not make it
personal history," he replied. "Only when someone else knows that, does
it become personal history. And I assure you, that noone will ever know
that for sure." I had written down, what he had said, in a clumsy way.
I stopped writing and looked at him. I could not figure him out. I
mentally ran through my impressions of him; the mysterious and
unprecedented way he had looked at me during our first meeting, the
charm, with which he had claimed, that he received agreement from
everything around him, his annoying humour and his alertness, his look
of bona fide stupidity, when I asked about his father and mother, and
then the unsuspected force of his statements, which had snapped me
apart. "You don't know, what I am, do you?" he said, as if he were
reading my thoughts. "You will never know, who or what I am, because I
don't have a personal history." He asked me, if I had a father. I told
him, I did. He said, that my father was an example of, what he had in
mind. He urged me to remember, what my father thought of me. "Your
father knows everything about you," he said. "So he has you all figured
out. He knows, who you are and what you do, and there is no power on
earth, that can make him change his mind about you." Don Juan said,
that everybody, that knew me, had an idea about me, and that I kept
feeding that idea with everything, I did. "Don't you see?" he asked
dramatically. "You must renew your personal history by telling your
parents, your relatives, and your friends everything you do. On the
other hand, if you have no personal history, no explanations are
needed; nobody is angry or disillusioned with your acts. And above all,
noone pins (locate precisely) you down with their thoughts." Suddenly,
the idea became clear in my mind. I had almost known it myself, but I
have never examined it. Not having personal history was indeed an
appealing concept, at least on the intellectual level; it gave me,
however, a sense of loneliness, which I found threatening and
distasteful. I wanted to discuss my feelings with him, but I kept
myself in check; something was terribly
incongruous (inharmonious,
incompatible with surroundings) in the situation at hand. I felt
ridiculous, trying to get into a philosophical argument with an old
Indian, who obviously did not have the "sophistication" of a university
student. Somehow he had led me away from my original intention of
asking him about his genealogy.
"I don't know, how we ended up talking about this, when all, I wanted,
was some names for my charts," I said, trying to steer the conversation
back to the topic,
I wanted.
"It's terribly simple," he said. "'The way, we ended up talking about
it, was, because I said, that to ask questions about one's past is a
bunch of crap." His tone was firm. I felt, there was no way to make him
budge (alter position), so I changed my tactics.
30-31
"Is this idea of, not having personal history, something, that the
Yaquis do?" I asked.
"It's something, that I do."
"Where did you learn it?"
"I learned it during the course of my life."
"Did your father teach you that?"
"No. Let's say, that I learned it by myself, and now I am going to give
you its secret, so you won't go away empty-handed today." He lowered
his voice to a dramatic whisper. I laughed
at his histrionics (exaggerated emotional
behavior). I had to admit,
that he was stupendous at that. The thought crossed my mind, that I was
in the presence of a born actor. "Write it down," he said
patronizingly. "Why not? You seem to be more comfortable writing." I
looked at him and my eyes must have betrayed my confusion. He slapped
his thighs and laughed with great delight. "It is best to erase all
personal history," he said slowly, as if giving me time to write it
down in my clumsy way, "because that would make us free from the
encumbering (impede, hindering) thoughts of other people." I could
not believe, that he was actually saying that. I had a very confusing
moment. He must have read in my face my inner turmoil and used it
immediately. "Take yourself, for instance," he went on saying. "Right
now you don't know, whether you are coming or going. And that is so,
because I have erased my personal history. I have, little by little,
created a fog around me and my life. And now nobody knows for sure, who
I am or what I do."
"But you, yourself, know, who you are, don't you?" I interjected.
"You bet I ... don't," he exclaimed and rolled on the floor, laughing
at my surprised look. He had paused long enough to make me believe,
that he was going to say, that he did know, as I was anticipating it.
His subterfuge (evasive, deceitful tactics, artifice) was very
threatening to me. I actually became afraid. "That is the little
secret, I am going to give you today," he said in a low voice. "Nobody
knows my personal history. Nobody knows, who I am or what I do. Not
even I." He squinted his eyes. He was not looking at me, but beyond me,
over my right shoulder. He was sitting cross-legged, his back was
straight and yet he seemed to be so relaxed.
At that moment he was the very picture of fierceness (ferocious,
intense, ardent). I fancied him to be an Indian chief, a "red-skinned
warrior" in the romantic frontier sagas of my childhood. My romanticism
carried me away and the most insidious feeling of ambivalence (simultaneous existence
of conflicting feelings) enveloped
me. I could sincerely say, that I liked him a great deal and, in the
same breath, I could say, that I was deadly afraid of him. He
maintained that strange stare for a long moment. "How can I know, who I
am, when I am all this?" he said, sweeping the surroundings with a
gesture of his head. Then he glanced at me and smiled. "Little by
little you must create a fog around yourself; you must erase everything
around you, until nothing can be taken for granted, until nothing is
any longer for sure, or real. Your problem now is, that you're too
real. Your endeavours are too real; your moods are too real. Don't take
things so for granted. You must begin to erase yourself."
"What for?" I asked belligerently (marked by hostile behaviour). It
became clear to me then, that he was prescribing behavior for me. All
my life I had reached a breaking point, when someone attempted to tell
me what to do; the mere thought of being told, what to do, put me
immediately on the defensive.
"You said, that you wanted to
learn about plants," he said calmly. "Do you want to get something for
nothing? What do you think this is? We agreed, that you would ask me
questions and I'd tell you, what I know. If you don't like it, there is
nothing else we can say to each other." His terrible directness made me
feel peeved (annoyed, contrary), and begrudgingly (envy for
possession) I conceded (admit as true, acknowledge), that he was right.
"Let's put it this way then," he went on.
"If you want to learn about plants, since there is really nothing to
say about them, you must, among other things, erase your personal
history."
"How?" I asked.
"Begin with simple things, such as not revealing, what you really do.
Then you must leave everyone, who knows you well. This way you'll build
up a fog around yourself."
32-33
"But that's absurd," I protested. "Why shouldn't people know me? What's
wrong with that?"
"What's wrong is, that once they know you, you are an affair, taken for
granted, and, from that moment on, you won't be able to break the tie
of their thoughts.
I personally like the ultimate freedom of being unknown. Noone knows me
with steadfast certainty, the way people know you, for instance."
"But that would be lying."
"I'm not concerned with lies or truths," he said severely. "Lies are
lies only, if you have personal history." I argued, that I did not like
to deliberately mystify people or mislead them. His reply was, that I
misled everybody anyway. The old man had touched a sore spot in my
life. I did not pause to ask him, what he meant by that or how he knew,
that I mystified people all the time. I simply reacted to his
statement, defending myself by means of an explanation. I said, that I
was painfully aware, that my family and my friends believed, I
was unreliable, when in reality I had never told a lie in my life.
"You always knew, how to lie," he said. "The only thing, that was
missing, was, that you didn't know, why to do it. Now you do."
I protested. "Don't you see, that I'm really sick and tired of people
thinking, that I'm unreliable?" I said.
"But you are unreliable," he replied with conviction.
"Damn it to hell, man, I am not!" I exclaimed. My mood, instead of
forcing him into seriousness, made him laugh hysterically. I really
despised the old man for all his cockiness (nonsense). Unfortunately,
he was right about me. After a while, I calmed down and he continued
talking. "When one does not have personal history,"
he explained, "nothing, that one says, can be taken for a lie. Your
trouble is, that you have to explain everything to
everybody, compulsively (conditioned by
obsession), and at the same
time you want to keep the freshness, the newness of what you do. Well,
since you can't be excited after explaining everything you've done, you
lie, in order to keep on going."
I was truly bewildered by the scope of our conversation. I wrote down
all the details of our exchange in the best way I could, concentrating
on, what he was saying, rather than pausing to deliberate on my
prejudices or on his meanings. "From now on," he said, "you must simply
show people, whatever you care to show them, but without ever telling
exactly, how you've done it."
"I can't keep secrets!" I exclaimed. "What you are saying is useless to
me."
"Then change!" he said cuttingly and with a fierce glint in his eyes.
He looked like a strange wild animal. And yet he was so coherent in his
thoughts and so verbal. My annoyance gave way to a state of irritating
confusion. "You see," he went on, "we only have two alternatives; we
either take everything for sure and real, or we don't. If we follow the
first, we end up bored to death with ourselves and with the world. If
we follow the second and erase personal history, we create a fog around
us, a very exciting and mysterious state, in which nobody knows, where
the rabbit will pop out, not even ourselves." I
contended (discuss,
dispute, fight), that
erasing personal history would only increase our sensation of
insecurity. "When nothing is for sure, we remain alert, perennially on
our toes," he said. "It is more exciting not to know, which bush the
rabbit is hiding behind, than to behave, as though we know everything."
He did not say another word for a very long time; perhaps an hour went
by in complete silence. I did not know, what to ask. Finally he got up
and asked me to drive him to the nearby town. I did not know why, but
our conversation had drained me. I felt like going to sleep. He asked
me to stop on the way and told me, that if I wanted to relax, I had to
climb to the flat top of a small hill on the side of the road and lie
down on my stomach with my head towards the east. He seemed to have a
feeling of urgency. I did not want to argue or perhaps I was too tired
to even speak. I climbed the hill and did, as he had prescribed.
34
I slept only two or three minutes, but it was sufficient to have my
energy renewed. We drove to the centre of town, where he told me to let
him off. "Come back," he said, as
he stepped out of the car. "Be sure to come back."
3. Losing Self-Importance
35
I had the opportunity of discussing my two previous visits to don Juan
with the friend, who had put us in contact. It was his opinion, that I
was wasting my time. I related to him, in every detail, the scope of
our conversations. He thought, I was exaggerating and romanticizing a
silly old fogey (old-fashioned habits). There was very little room in
me for romanticizing such a preposterous (foolish, absurd) old man. I
sincerely felt, that his criticisms about my personality had seriously
undermined my liking him. Yet, I had to admit, that they had always
been apropos (appropriate, pertinent), sharply delineated, and true to
the letter. The crux (root) of my dilemma at that point was my
unwillingness to accept, that don Juan was very capable of disrupting
all my preconceptions about the world, and my unwillingness to agree
with my friend, who believed, that "the old Indian was just nuts". I
felt
compelled (forced) to pay him another visit, before I
made up my mind.
Wednesday, 28 December 1960.
Immediately after I arrived at his house, he took me for a walk in the
desert chaparral. He did not even look at the bag of groceries, that I
had brought him. He seemed to have been waiting for me. We walked for
hours. He did not collect or show me any plants. He did, however, teach
me an "appropriate form of walking". He said, that I had to curl my
fingers gently, as I walked, so I would keep my attention on the trail
and the surroundings.
36-37
He claimed, that my ordinary way of walking was debilitating and, that
one should never carry anything in the hands. If things had to be
carried one should use a knapsack or any sort of carrying net or
shoulder bag. His idea was, that by forcing the hands into a specific
position, one was capable of greater stamina and greater awareness. I
saw no point in arguing and curled my fingers, as he had prescribed and
kept on walking. My awareness was in no way different, nor was my
stamina. We started our hike in the morning and we stopped to rest
around noon. I was perspiring and tried to drink from my canteen, but
he stopped me by saying, that it was better to have only a sip of
water. He cut some leaves from a small yellowish bush and chewed them.
He gave me some and remarked, that they were excellent, and if I chewed
them slowly, my thirst would vanish. It did not, but I was not
uncomfortable either. He seemed to have read my thoughts and explained,
that I had not felt the benefits of the "right way of walking" or the
benefits of chewing the leaves, because I was young and strong, and my
body did not notice anything, because it was a bit stupid. He laughed.
I was not in a laughing mood and that seemed to amuse him even more. He
corrected his previous statement, saying, that my body was not really
stupid, but somehow dormant. At that moment an enormous crow flew right
over us, cawing. That startled me and I began to laugh. I thought, that
the occasion called for laughter, but to my utter amazement he shook my
arm vigorously and hushed me up. He had a most serious expression.
"That was not a joke," he said severely, as if I knew, what he was
talking about. I asked for an explanation. I told him, that
it was incongruous (inharmonious,
incompatible with surroundings), that my laughing at the crow had made
him angry, when we had laughed at the coffee percolator.
"What you saw was not just a crow” He exclaimed.
"But I saw it and it was a crow," I insisted.
"You saw nothing, you fool," he said in a gruff (harsh, stern, rough)
voice. His rudeness was uncalled for. I told him, that I did not like
to make people angry and, that perhaps, it would be better, if I left,
since he did not seem to be in a mood to have company. He laughed
uproariously, as if I were a clown, performing for him.
My annoyance and embarrassment grew in proportion. "You're very
violent," he commented casually. "You're taking yourself too seriously."
"But weren't you doing the same?" I interjected. "Taking yourself
seriously, when you got angry at me?"
He said, that to get angry at me, was the farthest thing from his mind.
He looked at me piercingly. "What you saw was not an agreement from the
world," he said.
"Crows flying or cawing are never an agreement. That was an omen!"

"An omen of what?"
"A very important indication about you," he replied cryptically. At
that very instant the wind blew the dry branch of a bush right to our
feet. "That was an agreement!" he exclaimed and looked at me with shiny
eyes and broke into a belly laugh. I had the feeling, that he was
teasing me by making up the rules of his strange game, as we went
along, thus it was all right for him to laugh, but not for me. My
annoyance mushroomed again and I told him, what I thought of him. He
was not cross or offended at all. He laughed and his laughter caused me
even more anguish and frustration. I thought, that he was deliberately
humiliating me. I decided right then, that I had had my fill of "field
work". I stood up and said, that I wanted to start walking back to his
house, because I had to leave for Los Angeles. "Sit down!" he said
imperatively. "You get peeved (annoyed)like an old lady. You cannot leave
now, because we're not through yet." I hated him. I thought he was a
contemptuous (scornful,
despise) man. He began to sing an idiotic
Mexican folk song. He was obviously imitating some popular singer. He
elongated certain syllables and contracted others and made the song
into a most farcical affair. It was so comical, that I ended up
laughing. "You see, you laugh at the stupid song," he said.
38-39
"But the man, who sings it that way, and those, who pay to listen to
him, are not laughing; they think, it is serious."
"What do you mean?" I asked. I thought, he had deliberately concocted
the example, to tell me, that I had laughed at the crow, because I had
not taken it seriously, the same way I had not taken the song
seriously. But he baffled (puzzled, bewildered) me again. He said, I
was like the singer and the people, who liked his songs, conceited
(high opinion about himself, vain) and deadly serious about some
nonsense, that noone, in his right mind, should give a damn about. He
then recapitulated, as if to refresh my memory, all he had said before
on the topic of "learning about plants". He stressed
emphatically (positive, striking,
definite), that if I really
wanted to learn, I had to remodel most of my behavior. My sense of
annoyance grew, until I had to make a supreme effort to even take
notes.
"You take yourself too seriously," he said slowly. "You are too damn
important in your own mind. That must be changed ! You are so goddamn
important, that you feel justified to be annoyed with everything.
You're so damn important, that you can afford to leave, if things don't
go your way. I suppose you think, that shows you have character. That's
nonsense! You're weak, and conceited (high opinion about himself, vain)
!" I tried to stage a protest, but
he did not budge (alter position). He pointed out, that in the course
of my life, I had not ever finished anything, because of that sense of
disproportionate importance, that I attached to myself. I was
flabbergasted at the certainty, with which he made his statements. They
were true, of course, and that made me feel not only angry, but also
threatened. "Self-importance is another thing, that must be
dropped, just like personal history," he said in a dramatic tone. I
certainly did not want to argue with him. It was obvious, that I was at
a terrible disadvantage; he was not going to walk back to his house,
until he was ready and I did not know the way. I had to stay with him.
He made a strange and sudden movement, he sort of sniffed the air
around him, his head shook slightly and rhythmically. He seemed to be
in a state of unusual alertness. He turned and stared at me with a look
of bewilderment and curiosity. His eyes swept up and down my body, as
if he were looking for something specific; then he stood up abruptly
and began to walk fast. He was almost running. I followed him. He kept
a very accelerated pace for nearly an hour. Finally he stopped by a
rocky hill and we sat in the shade of a bush. The trotting had
exhausted me completely, although my mood was better. It was strange,
the way I had changed. I felt almost elated, but when we had started to
trot, after our argument, I was furious with him.
"This is very weird," I said,"but I feel really good." I heard the
cawing of a crow in the distance. He lifted his finger to his right ear
and smiled.
"That was an omen," he said. A small rock tumbled downhill and made a
crashing sound, when it landed in the chaparral. He laughed out loud
and pointed his finger in the direction of the sound. "And that was an
agreement," he said. He then asked me, if I was ready to talk about my
self-importance. I laughed; my feeling of anger seemed so far away,
that I could not even conceive (think, consider, formulate, become
posessed), how I had become so cross with him.
"I can't understand, what's happening to me," I said. "I got angry and
now I don't know, why I am not angry any more."
"The world around us is very mysterious," he said. "It doesn't yield
(provide, give in return, surrender in defeat, submit, relinquish) its
secrets easily." I liked his cryptic statements. They were challenging
and mysterious. I could not determine, whether they were filled with
hidden meanings or whether they were just plain nonsense. "If you ever
come back to the desert here," he said, "stay away from that rocky
hill, where we stopped today. Avoid it like the plague."
"Why? What's the matter?"
"This is not the time to explain it," he said. "Now we are concerned
with losing self-importance. As long, as you feel, that you are the
most important thing in the world you cannot really appreciate the
world around you.
40-41
You are like a horse with blinkers, all you see is yourself, apart from
everything else." He examined me for a moment. "I am going to talk to
my little friend here," he said, pointing to a small plant. He knelt in
front of it and began to caress it and to talk to it. I did not
understand, what he was saying at first, but then he switched languages
and talked to the plant in Spanish. He babbled inanities (absurd
remarks) for a while. Then he stood up. "It doesn't matter, what you
say to a plant," he said. "You can just as well make up words; what's
important is the feeling of liking it, and treating it as an equal." He
explained, that a man, who gathers plants must apologize every time,
for taking them, and must assure them, that someday his own body will
serve as food for them. "So, all in all, the plant and ourselves are
even," he said. "Neither we, nor they are more or less important. "Come
on, talk to the little plant," he urged me. "Tell it, that you don't
feel important any more."
I went as far, as kneeling in front of the plant, but I could not bring
myself to speak to it. I felt ridiculous and laughed. I was not angry,
however. Don Juan patted me on the back and said, that it was all
right, that at least, I had contained my temper. "From now on, talk to
the little plants," he said. "Talk, until you lose all sense of
importance. Talk to them, until you can do it in front of others. Go to
those hills over there and practice by yourself." I asked if it was all
right to talk to the plants silently, in my mind. He laughed and tapped
my head. "No!" he said. "You must talk to them in a loud and clear
voice, if you want them to answer you." I walked to the area in
question, laughing to myself about his eccentricities. I even tried to
talk to the plants, but my feeling of being
ludicrous (absurd) was overpowering. After what I
thought was an appropriate wait, I went back to where don Juan was. I
had the certainty, that he knew, I had not talked to the plants. He did
not look at me. He signaled me to sit down by him.
"Watch me carefully," he said. "I'm going to have a talk with my little
friend." He knelt down in front of a small plant and for a few minutes
he moved and contorted his body, talking and laughing. I thought he was
out of his mind. "This little plant told me to tell you, that she is
good to eat," he said, as he got up from his kneeling position. "She
said, that a handful of them would keep a man healthy. She also said,
that there is a batch of them growing over there." Don Juan pointed to
an area on a hillside perhaps two hundred yards away. "Let's go and
find out," he said. I laughed at his
histrionics (exaggerated emotional
behavior). I was sure, we
would find the plants, because he was an expert in the terrain and
knew, where the edible and medicinal plants were. As we walked towards
the area in question, he told me casually, that I should take notice of
the plant, because it was both a food and a medicine. I asked him, half
in jest, if the plant had just told him that. He stopped walking and
examined me with an air of disbelief. He shook his head from side to
side. "Ah!" he exclaimed, laughing. "Your cleverness makes you more
silly, than I thought. How can the little plant tell me now, what I've
known all my life?" He proceeded then to explain, that he knew all
along the different properties of that specific plant, and that the
plant had just told him, that there was a batch of them growing in the
area, he had pointed to, and that she did not mind, if he told me that.
Upon arriving at the hillside I found a whole cluster of the same
plants. I wanted to laugh, but he did not give me time. He wanted me to
thank the batch of plants. I felt excruciatingly selfconscious and
could not bring myself to do it. He smiled benevolently and made
another of his cryptic statements.
42
He repeated it three or four times, as if to give me time to figure out
its meaning. "The world around us is a mystery," he said. "And men are
no better, than anything else. If a little plant is generous with us,
we must thank her, or perhaps she will not let us go." The way he
looked at me, when he said that, gave me a chill. I hurriedly leaned
over the plants and said, "Thank you," in a loud voice. He began to
laugh in controlled and quiet spurts (short burst of energy or
activity). We walked for another hour and then started on our way back
to his house. At a certain time I dropped behind and he had to wait for
me. He checked my fingers to see, if I had curled them. I had not. He
told me imperatively, that whenever I walked with him, I had to observe
and copy his mannerisms or not come along at all. "I can't be waiting
for you, as though you're a child," he said in a scolding tone. That
statement sunk me into the depths of embarrassment and bewilderment.
How could it be possible, that such an old man could walk so much
better, than I? I thought, I was athletic and strong, and yet he had
actually had to wait for me to catch up with him. I curled my fingers
and, strangely enough, I was able to keep his tremendous pace without
any effort. In fact, at times I felt, that my hands were pulling me
forward. I felt elated. I was quite happy walking inanely (silly,
foolish) with the strange old Indian. I began to talk and asked
repeatedly, if he would show me some peyote plants. He looked at me,
but did not say a word.
4. Death is an Adviser
43
Wednesday, 25 January 1961.
"Would you teach me someday about peyote?" I asked. He did not answer
and, as he had done before, simply looked at me, as if I were crazy. I
had mentioned the topic to him, in casual conversation, various times
already, and every time he frowned and shook his head. It was not an
affirmative or a negative gesture; it was rather a gesture of despair
and disbelief. He stood up abruptly. We had been sitting on the ground
in front of his house. An almost imperceptible shake of his head was
the invitation to follow him. We went into the desert chaparral in a
southerly direction. He mentioned repeatedly, as we walked, that I had
to be aware of the uselessness of my self-importance and of my personal
history.
"Your friends," he said, turning to me abruptly. "Those, who have known
you for a long time, you must leave them quickly." I thought, he was
crazy and his insistence was idiotic, but I did not say anything. He
peered at me and began to laugh. After a long hike we came to a halt. I
was about to sit down to rest, but he told me to go some twenty yards
away and talk to a batch of plants in a loud and clear voice. I felt
ill at ease and apprehensive. His weird demands were more, than I could
bear and I told him once more, that I could not speak to plants,
because I felt ridiculous. His only comment was, that my feeling of
self-importance was immense.
44-45
He seemed to have made a sudden decision and said, that I should not
try to talk to plants, until I felt easy and natural about it. "You
want to learn about them and yet you don't want to do any work," he
said accusingly. "What are you trying to do?" My explanation was, that
I wanted bona fide information about the uses of plants, thus I had
asked him to be my informant. I had even offered to pay him for his
time and trouble. "You should take the money," I said. "This way we
both would feel better. I could then ask you anything, I want to,
because you would be working for me and I would pay you for it. What do
you think of that?"
He looked at me contemptuously (scornful, despise) and made an obscene
(неприличный) sound with his mouth, making his lower lip and his tongue
vibrate by exhaling with great force. "That's, what I think of it," he
said and laughed hysterically at the look of utmost surprise, that I
must have had on my face. It was obvious to me, that he was not a man,
I could
easily contend (discuss, dispute, fight) with. In spite of his age, he
was ebullient (overflowing with enthusiasm, exuberance, excitement) and
unbelievably strong. I had had the idea, that, being so old, he could
have been the perfect "informant" for me. Old people, I had been led to
believe, made the best informants, because they were too feeble to do
anything else, except talk. Don Juan, on the other hand, was a
miserable subject. I felt, he was unmanageable and dangerous. The
friend, who had introduced us, was right. He was an eccentric old
Indian; and, although he was not plastered out of his mind most of the
time, as my friend had told me, he was worse yet, he was crazy. I again
felt the terrible doubt and apprehension, I had experienced before. I
thought, I had overcome that. In fact, I had had no trouble at all,
convincing myself, that I wanted to visit him again. The idea had crept
into my mind, however, that perhaps I was a bit crazy myself, when I
realized, that I liked to be with him. His idea, that my feeling of
self-importance was an obstacle, had really made an impact on me. But
all that was apparently only an intellectual exercise on my part; the
moment I was confronted with his odd behavior, I began to experience
apprehension and I wanted to leave. I said, that I believed, we were so
different, that there was no possibility of our getting along.
"One of us has to change," he said, staring at the ground. "And you
know who." He began humming a Mexican folk song, then lifted his head
abruptly and looked at me. His eyes were fierce and burning. I wanted
to look away or close my eyes, but to my utter amazement I could not
break away from his gaze. He asked me to tell him, what I had seen in
his eyes. I said, that I saw nothing, but he insisted, that I had to
voice, what his eyes had made me feel aware of. I struggled to make him
understand, that the only thing, his eyes made me aware of, was my
embarrassment, and that the way, he was looking at me, was very
discomforting. He did not let go. He kept a steady stare. It was not an
outright menacing or mean look; it was rather a mysterious, but
unpleasant gaze. He asked me, if he reminded me of a bird.
"A bird?" I exclaimed. He giggled like a child and moved his eyes away
from me.
"Yes," he said softly. "A bird, a very funny bird!" He locked his gaze
on me again and commanded me to remember. He said with an extraordinary
conviction, that he 'Knew' I had seen that look before. My feelings of
the moment were, that the old man provoked me, against my honest
desire, every time he opened his mouth. I stared back at him in obvious
defiance (challenge). Instead of getting angry, he began to laugh. He
slapped his thigh and yelled, as if he were riding a wild horse.
Then he became serious and told me, that it was of utmost importance,
that I stop fighting him and remember, that funny bird he was talking
about. "Look into my eyes," he said. His eyes were extraordinarily
fierce. There was a feeling about them, that actually reminded me of
something, but I was not sure, what it was. I pondered upon it for a
moment and then, I had a sudden realization; it was not the shape of
his eyes, nor the shape of his head, but some cold fierceness in his
gaze, that had reminded me of the look in the eyes of a falcon. At the
very moment of that realization, he was looking at me askew (crooked, oblique, to one side) and for an instant my mind
experienced a total chaos.
46-47
I thought, I had Seen a falcon's features, instead of don Juan's. The
image was too fleeting and I was too upset, to have paid more attention
to it. In a very excited tone I told him, that I could have sworn, I
had Seen the features of a falcon on his face. He had another attack of
laughter. I have Seen the look in the eyes of falcons. I used to hunt
them when I was a boy, and, in the opinion of my grandfather, I was
good. He had a Leghorn chicken farm and falcons were a menace to his
business. Shooting them was not only functional, but also
"right". I had forgotten until that moment, that the fierceness of
their eyes had haunted me for years, but it was so far in my past, that
I thought, I had lost the memory of it.
"I used to hunt falcons," I said.
"I know it," don Juan replied matter-of-factly. His tone carried such a
certainty, that I began to laugh. I thought, he
was a preposterous (foolish,
absurd) fellow. He had the
gall (impudence, bitterness) to sound, as if he knew, I had hunted
falcons. I felt supremely
contemptuous (scornful, despise) of him. "Why do you get so angry?" he
asked in a tone of genuine concern. I did not know why. He began to
probe me in a very unusual manner. He asked me to look at him again and
tell him about the "very funny bird" he reminded me of. I struggled
against him and out of
contempt (scornful,
despise) said, that there
was nothing to talk about. Then I
felt compelled (forced) to ask him, why he had said, he knew,
I used to hunt falcons. Instead of answering me, he again commented on
my behavior. He said, I was a violent fellow, that was capable of
"frothing at the mouth" at the drop of a hat. I protested, that that
was not true; I had always had the idea, I was rather congenial
(sympathetic) and easygoing. I said, it was his fault, for forcing me
out of control with his unexpected words and actions. "Why the anger?"
he asked. I took stock of my feelings and reactions. I really had no
need to be angry with him. He again insisted, that I should look into
his eyes and tell him about the "strange falcon". He had changed his
wording; he had said before, "a very funny bird," then he substituted
it with "strange falcon". The change in wording summed up a change in
my own mood. I had suddenly become sad. He squinted his eyes, until
they were two slits, and said in an overdramatic voice, that he
was Seeing a very strange falcon. He repeated
his statement three times, as if he were actually Seeing it there in front of him. "Don't you
remember it?" he asked. I did not remember anything of the sort.
"What's strange about the falcon?" I asked.
"You must tell me that," he replied. I insisted, that I had no way of
knowing, what he was referring to, therefore I could not tell him
anything.
"Don't fight me!" he said. "Fight your sluggishness and remember." I
seriously struggled for a moment to figure him out. It did not occur to
me, that I could, just as well, have tried to remember. "There was a
time, when you saw a lot of birds," he said, as though cueing me. I
told him, that when I was a child, I had lived on a farm and had hunted
hundreds of birds. He said, that, if that was the case, I should not
have any difficulty remembering all the funny birds, I had hunted. He
looked at me with a question in his eyes, as if he had just given me
the last clue.
"I have hunted so many birds," I said, "that I can't recall anything
about them."
'This bird is special," he replied almost in a whisper. "This bird is a
falcon."
I became involved again in figuring out, what he was driving at. Was he
teasing me? Was he serious? After a long interval he urged me again to
remember. I felt, that it was useless for me to try to end his play;
the only other thing, I could do, was to join him. "Are you talking
about a falcon that I have hunted?" I asked.
"Yes," he whispered with his eyes closed.
"So this happened, when I was a boy?"
48-49
"Yes."
"But you said you're Seeing a falcon in front of you now."
"I am."
"What are you trying to do to me?"
"I'm trying to make you remember."
"What? For heaven's sakes!"
"A falcon swift, as light," he said, looking at me in the eyes, I felt
my heart had stopped. "Now look at me," he said. But I did not. I heard
his voice, as a faint sound.

Some stupendous recollection had taken me
wholly. The
white falcon! It all began with my grandfather's explosion of
anger, upon taking a count of his young Leghorn chickens. They had been
disappearing in a steady and disconcerting manner. He personally
organized and carried
out a meticulous vigil (watch during sleeping hours), and after days of
steady watching, we finally saw a big white bird flying away with a
young Leghorn chicken in its claws. The bird was fast and apparently
knew its route. It swooped down from behind some trees, grabbed the
chicken and flew away through an opening between two branches. It
happened so fast, that my grandfather had hardly seen it, but I did and
I knew, that it was indeed a falcon.

My grandfather said, that if, that was the case, it had to be an
albino. We started a campaign against the albino falcon and twice I
thought, I had gotten it. It even dropped its prey, but it got away. It
was too fast for me. It was also very intelligent; it never came back
to hunt on my grandfather's farm. I would have forgotten about it, had
my grandfather not needled me to hunt the bird. For two months I chased
the albino falcon all over the valley, where I lived. I learned its
habits and I could almost intuit its route of flight, yet its speed and
the suddenness of its appearance would always baffle (puzzle, bewilder)
me, I could boast, that I had prevented it from taking its prey,
perhaps every time we had met, but I could never bag it. In the two
months, that I carried on the strange war against the albino falcon, I
came close to it only once. I had been chasing it all day and I was
tired. I had sat down to rest and fell asleep under a tall eucalyptus
tree. The sudden cry of a falcon woke me up. I opened my eyes without
making any other movement and I saw a whitish bird perched in the
highest branches of the eucalyptus tree. It was the albino falcon. The
chase was over. It was going to be a difficult shot; I was lying on my
back and the bird had its back turned to me. There was a sudden gust of
wind and I used it to muffle the noise of lifting my 22 long rifle
to take aim. I wanted to wait, until the bird had turned or until it
had begun to fly, so I would not miss it. But the albino bird remained
motionless. In order to take a better shot, I would have needed to
move, and the falcon was too fast for that. I thought, that my best
alternative was to wait. And I did, a long, interminable (endless,
continual) time. Perhaps, what affected me, was the long wait, or
perhaps it was the loneliness of the spot, where the bird and I were; I
suddenly felt a chill up my spine and, in an unprecedented action, I
stood up and left. I did not even look to see, if the bird had flown
away. I never attached any significance to my final act with the albino
falcon. However, it was terribly strange, that I did not shoot it. I
had shot dozens of falcons before. On the farm, where I grew up,
shooting birds or hunting any kind of animal was a matter of course.
Don Juan listened attentively, as I told him the story of the albino
falcon.
"How did you know about the white falcon?" I asked, when I had
finished.
"I saw it," he replied.
"Where?"
"Right here in front of you."
I was not in an argumentative mood any more. "What does all this mean?"
I asked.
He said, that a
white bird like that, was an omen, and that, not shooting it down, was
the only right thing to
do. "Your
death gave you a little warning," he said with a mysterious tone."It
always comes, as a chill."
"What are you talking about?" I said nervously. He really made me
nervous with his spooky talk.
"You know a lot about birds," he said. "You've killed too many of them.
50-51
You know how to wait. You have waited patiently for hours. I
know that. I am Seeing it."
His words caused a great turmoil in me. I thought that, what annoyed me
the most about him, was his certainty. I could not stand his dogmatic
assuredness about issues in my own life, that I was not sure of myself.
I became engulfed in my feelings of dejection and I did not see him
leaning over me, until he actually had whispered something in my ear. I
did not understand at first and he repeated it. He told me to turn
around casually and look at a boulder to my left. He said, that my
death was there staring at me, and if I turned, when he signaled me, I
might be capable of seeing it. He signaled me with his eyes. I turned
and I thought, I saw a nickering movement over the boulder. A chill ran
through my body, the muscles of my abdomen contracted involuntarily and
I experienced a jolt, a spasm. After a moment I regained my composure
and I explained away the sensation of Seeing the flickering shadow, as an optical
illusion, caused by turning my head so abruptly.

"Death is our eternal companion," don Juan said with a most serious
air. "It is always to our left, at an arm's length. It was watching
you, when you were watching the white falcon; it whispered in your ear
and you felt its chill, as you felt it today. It has always been
watching you. It always will, until the day it taps you." He extended
his arm and touched me lightly on the shoulder and at the same time he
made a deep clicking sound with his tongue. The effect was devastating;
I almost got sick to my stomach. "You're the boy, who stalked game and
waited patiently, as death waits; you know very well, that death is to
our left, the same way you were to the left of the white falcon." His
words had the strange power to plunge me into an unwarranted terror; my
only defence was my compulsion to commit to writing, everything he
said. "How can anyone feel so important, when we know, that death is
stalking us?" he asked. I had the feeling, my answer was not really
needed. I could not have said anything anyway, a new mood had possessed
me. "The thing to do, when you're impatient," he proceeded, "is to turn
to your left and ask advice from your death. An immense amount of
pettiness is dropped, if your death makes a gesture to you, or if you
catch a glimpse of it, or if you just have the feeling, that your
companion is there watching you." He leaned over again and whispered in
my ear, that, if I turned to my left suddenly, upon seeing his signal,
I could again see my death on the boulder.

His eyes gave me an almost imperceptible signal, but I did not dare to
look. I told him, that I believed him and that he did not have to press
the issue any further, because I was terrified. He had one of his
roaring belly laughs. He replied, that the issue of our death was never
pressed far enough. And I argued, that it would be meaningless for me
to dwell upon my death, since such a thought would only bring
discomfort and fear. "You're full of crap!" he exclaimed. "Death is the
only wise adviser, that we have. Whenever you feel, as you always do,
that everything is going wrong and you're about to be annihilated, turn
to your death and ask, if that is so. Your death will tell you, that
you're wrong; that nothing really matters outside its touch. Your death
will tell you, "I haven't touched you yet". He shook his head and
seemed to be waiting for my reply. I had none. My thoughts were running
rampant (unrestrained, widespread, extravagant). He had delivered a
staggering blow to my egotism. The pettiness, of being annoyed with
him, was monstrous in the light of my death. I had the feeling, he was
fully aware of my change of mood. He had turned the tide in his favor.
He smiled and began to hum a Mexican tune. "Yes," he said softly after
a long pause. "One of us here has to change, and fast. One of us here
has to learn again, that death is the hunter, and that it is always to
one's left. One of us here has to ask death's advice and drop the
cursed pettiness.
52
That belongs to men, that live their lives, as if death will never tap
them." We remained quiet for more, than an hour, then we started
walking again. We meandered (wander aimlessly,
follow winding course) in the desert chaparral for hours. I
did not ask him, if there was any purpose to it; it did not matter.
Somehow he had made me recapture an old feeling, something I had quite
forgotten, the sheer joy of just moving around without attaching any
intellectual purpose to it. I wanted him to let me catch a glimpse of,
whatever I had seen on the boulder.
"Let me see that shadow again," I said.
"You mean your death, don't you?" he replied with a touch of irony in
his voice. For a moment I felt reluctant to voice it.
"Yes," I finally said. "Let me see my death once again."
"Not now," he said. "You're too solid."
"I beg your pardon?" He began to laugh and for some unknown reason his
laughter was no longer offensive and insidious, as it had been in the
past. I did not think, that it was different, from the point of view of
its pitch, or its loudness, or the spirit of it; the new element was my
mood. In view of my impending death, my fears and annoyance were
nonsense. "Let me talk to plants then," I said. He roared with
laughter.
"You're too good now," he said, still laughing. "You go from one
extreme to the other. Be still. There is no need to talk to plants,
unless you want to know their secrets, and for that, you need the most
Unbending Intent. So save your good wishes. There is no need to see
your death either. It is sufficient, that you feel its presence around
you."
5. Assuming Responsibility
53
Tuesday, 9 April 1961. I arrived
at don Juan's house in the early morning on Sunday, April 9.
"Good morning, don Juan," I said. "Am I glad to see you!"
He looked at me and broke into a soft laughter. He had walked to my
car, as I was parking it and held the door open, while I gathered some
packages of food, that I had brought for him. We walked to the house
and sat down by the door. This was the first time I had been really
aware of, what I was doing there. For three months I had actually
looked forward to going back to the "field". It was, as if a time bomb,
set within myself, had exploded and suddenly I had remembered something
transcendental (mystical) to me. I had remembered, that once in my life
I had been very patient and very efficient. Before don Juan could say
anything, I asked him the question, that had been pressing hard in my
mind. For three months I had been obsessed with the memory of the
albino falcon. How did he know about it, when I myself had forgotten?
He laughed, but did not answer. I pleaded with him to tell me. "It was
nothing," he said with his usual conviction. "Anyone could tell, that
you're strange. You're just numb, that's all." I felt, that he was
again getting me off guard and pushing me into a corner, in which I did
not care to be.
"Is it possible to see our death?" I asked, trying to remain within the
topic.
"Sure," he said, laughing. "It is here with us."

54-55
"'How do you know that?"
"I'm an old man; with age one learns all kinds of things."
"I know lots of old people, but they have never learned this. How come
you did?"
"Well, let's say, that I know all kinds of things, because I don't have
a personal history, and because I don't feel more important, than
anything else, and because my death is sitting with me right here." He
extended his left arm and moved his fingers, as if he were actually
petting something. I laughed. I knew, where he was leading me. The old
devil was going to clobber (maul, strike violently and repeatedly) me
again, probably with my self-importance, but I did not mind this time.
The memory, that once I had had a superb patience, had filled me with a
strange, quiet euphoria, that had
dispelled (dispense, scatter) most of my feelings of nervousness and
intolerance towards don Juan; what I felt instead was a sensation of
wonder about his acts.

"Who are you, really?" I asked. He seemed surprised. He opened his eyes
to an enormous size and blinked like a bird, closing his eyelids, as if
they were a shutters. They came down and went up again and his eyes
remained in focus. His manoeuvre startled me and I recoiled, and he
laughed with childlike abandon.
"For you I am Juan Matus, and I am at your service," he said with
exaggerated politeness. I then asked my other burning question.
"What did you do to me, the first day we met?" I was referring to the
look, he had given me.
"Me? Nothing," he replied with a tone of innocence. I described to him
the way, I had felt, when he had looked at me and how
incongruous (inharmonious,
incompatible with surroundings) it had been for me to be tongue-tied
by it. He laughed, until tears rolled down his cheeks. I again felt a
surge of
animosity (active hostility) towards him. I thought, that I was being
so serious and thoughtful, and he was being so 'Indian' in his coarse
ways. He apparently detected my mood and stopped laughing all of a
sudden. After a long hesitation I told him, that his laughter had
annoyed me, because I was seriously trying to understand, what had
happened to me. "There is nothing to understand," he replied,
undisturbed. I reviewed for him the sequence of unusual events, that
had taken place, since I had met him, starting with the mysterious look
he had given me, to remembering the albino falcon and seeing on the
boulder the shadow, he had said was my death.
"Why are you doing all this to me?" I asked. There was no belligerence
(aggressive behaviour) in my question. I was only curious, as to why it
was me in particular.
"You asked me to tell you, what I know about plants," he said. I
noticed a tinge of sarcasm in his voice. He sounded, as if he were
humoring me.
"But what you have told me, so far, has nothing to do with plants," I
protested. His reply was, that it took time to learn about them. My
feeling was, that it was useless to argue with him. I realized then the
total idiocy of the easy and absurd resolutions, I had made. While I
was at home, I had promised myself, that I was never going to lose my
temper or feel annoyed with don Juan. In the actual situation, however,
the
minute he rebuffed (blunt refusal) me, I had another attack of
peevishness (annoyed, contrary). I felt there was no way for me to
interact with him and that angered me.

"Think of your death now," don Juan said suddenly. "It is at arm's
length. It may tap you any moment, so really you have no time for
crappy thoughts and moods. None of us have time for that. "Do you want
to know, what I did to you, the first day we met? I saw you, and I saw,
that you thought, you were lying to me. But you weren't, not really." I
told him, that his explanation confused me even more. He replied, that
that was the reason, he did not want to explain his acts, and that
explanations were not necessary. He said, that the only thing, that
counted, was action, acting instead of talking. He pulled out a straw
mat and lay down, propping his head up with a bundle.
56-57
He made himself comfortable and then he told me, that there was another
thing, I had to perform, if I really wanted to learn about plants.
"What was wrong with you, when I saw you, and what is wrong with you
now, is that you don't like to take responsibility for what you do," he
said slowly, as if to give me time to understand, what he was saying.
'When you were telling me all those doings in the bus depot, you were
aware, that they were lies. Why were you lying?" I explained, that my
objective (presented factually) had been to find a "key informant" for
my work. Don Juan smiled and began humming a Mexican tune. "When a man
decides to do something, he must go all the way," he said, "but he must
take responsibility for what he does. No matter what he does, he must
know first, why he is doing it, and then he must proceed with his
actions without having doubts or remorse about them." He examined me. I
did not know, what to say.
Finally I ventured an opinion, almost as a protest. "That's an
impossibility!" I said. He asked me why, and I said, that perhaps
ideally, that was, what everybody thought, they should do. In practice,
however, there was no way to avoid doubts and remorse.
"Of course there is a way," he replied with conviction. "Look at me,"
he said. "I have no doubts or remorse. Everything, I do, is my decision
and my responsibility. The simplest thing I do, to take you for a walk
in the desert, for instance, may very well mean my death. Death is
stalking me. Therefore, I have no room for doubts or remorse. If I have
to die as a result of taking you for a walk, then I must die. You, on
the other hand, feel, that you are immortal, and the decisions of an
immortal man can be cancelled or regretted or doubted. In a world,
where death is the hunter, my friend, there is no time for regrets or
doubts. There is only time for decisions."
I argued, in sincerity, that in my opinion, that was an unreal world,
because it was arbitrarily (random) made, by taking an idealized form
of behavior and saying, that that was the way to proceed. I told him
the story of my father, who used to give me endless lectures about the
wonders of a healthy mind in a healthy body, and how young men should
temper their bodies with hardships and with feats of athletic
competition. He was a young man; when I was eight years old, he was
only twenty-seven. During the summertime, as a rule, he would come from
the city, where he taught school, to spend at least a month with me at
my grandparents' farm, where I lived. It was a hellish month for me. I
told don Juan one instance of my father's behavior, that I thought
would apply to the situation at hand. Almost immediately upon arriving
at the farm my father would insist on taking a long walk with me at his
side, so we could talk things over, and while we were talking, he would
make plans for us to go swimming, every day at six A.M. At night he
would set the alarm for five-thirty to have plenty of time, because at
six sharp we had to be in the water. And when the alarm would go off in
the morning, he would jump out of bed, put on his glasses, go to the
window and look out. I had even memorized the ensuing (following)
monologue.
"Uhm ... A bit cloudy today. Listen, I'm going to lie down again for
just five minutes. O.K.? No more, than five! I'm just going to stretch
my muscles and fully wake up."
He would invariably fall asleep again, until ten, sometimes until noon.
I told don Juan, that, what annoyed me, was his refusal to give up his
obviously phoney resolutions. He would repeat this ritual every
morning, until I would finally hurt his feelings by refusing to set the
alarm clock.
"They were not phony resolutions," don Juan said, obviously taking
sides with my father. "He just didn't know, how to get out of bed,
that's all"
"At any rate," I said, "I'm always leery (suspicious) of unreal
resolutions."
"What would be a resolution, that is real then?" don Juan asked with a
coy smile.
"If my father would have said to himself, that he could not go swimming
at six in the morning, but perhaps at three in the afternoon."
"Your resolutions injure the spirit," don Juan said with an air of
great seriousness.
58-59
I thought, I even detected a note of sadness in his tone. We were quiet
for a long time. My peevishness (annoyed, contrary) had vanished. I thought of my father.
"He didn't want to swim at three in the afternoon. Don't you see?" don
Juan said. His words made me jump. I told him, that my father was weak,
and so was his world of ideal acts, that he never performed. I was
almost shouting. Don Juan did not say a word. He shook his head slowly
in a rhythmical way. I felt terribly sad. Thinking of my father always
gave me a consuming feeling. "You think, you were stronger, don't you?"
he asked in a casual tone. I said, I did, and I began to tell him all
the emotional turmoil, that my father had put me through, but he
interrupted me. "Was he mean to you?" he asked.
"No."
"Was he petty with you?"
"No."
"Did he do all he could for you?"
"Yes."
"Then what was wrong with him?"
Again, I began to shout, that he was weak, but I caught myself and
lowered my voice. I felt a bit ludicrous (absurd) being cross-examined
by don Juan.
"What are you doing all this for?" I said. "We were supposed to be
talking about plants." I felt more annoyed and despondent (dishearted,
dejected), than ever. I told him, that he had no business or the
remotest qualifications to pass judgment on my behavior, and he
exploded into a belly laugh.
"When you get angry, you always feel righteous, don't you?" he said and
blinked like a bird. He was right. I had the tendency to feel justified
at being angry.
"Let's not talk about my father," I said,
feigning (pretending, fictitious) a happy mood. "Let's talk about
plants."
"No, let's talk about your father," he insisted. "That is the place to
begin today. If you think, that you were so much stronger, than he, why
didn't you go swimming at six in the morning in his place?" I told him,
that I could not believe, he was seriously asking me that. I had always
thought, that swimming at six in the morning was my father's business
and not mine. "It was also your business, from the moment you accepted
his idea," don Juan snapped at me. I said, that I had never accepted
it, that I had always known my father was not truthful to himself. Don
Juan asked me matter-of-factly, why I had not voiced my opinions at the
time.
"You don't tell your father things like that," I said, as a weak
explanation.
"Why not?"
"That was not done in my house, that's all."
"You have done worse things in your house," he declared like a judge
from the bench. "The only thing, you never did, was to shine your
spirit." There was such a devastating force in his words, that they
echoed in my mind. He brought all my defenses down. I could not argue
with him. I took refuge in writing my notes, I tried a last feeble
explanation and said, that all my life I had encountered people of my
father's kind, who had, like my father, hooked me somehow into their
schemes, and, as a rule, I had always been left dangling.
"You are complaining," he said softly. "You have been complaining all
your life, because you don't assume responsibility for your decisions.
If you would have assumed responsibility for your father's idea of
swimming at six in the morning, you would have swum by yourself, if
necessary, or you would have told him to go to hell, the first time he
opened his mouth, after you knew his devices. But you didn't say
anything. Therefore, you were as weak, as your father. To assume the
responsibility of one's decisions means, that one is ready to die for
them."
"Wait, wait!" I said. "You are twisting this around." He did not let me
finish. I was going to tell him, that I had used my father only as an
example of an unrealistic way of acting.
60-61
And that nobody, in his right mind, would be willing to die for such an
idiotic thing.
"It doesn't matter, what the decision is," he said. "Nothing could be
more or less serious, than anything else. Don't you see? In a world,
where death is the hunter, there are no small or big decisions. There
are only decisions, that we make in the face of our inevitable death."
I could not say anything. Perhaps an hour went by. Don Juan was
perfectly motionless on his mat, although he was not sleeping. "Why do
you tell me all this, don Juan?" I asked. "Why are you doing this to
me?"
"You came to me," he said. "No, that was not the case, you were brought
to me. And I have had a gesture with you."
"I beg your pardon?"
"You could have had a gesture
with your father by swimming for him, but you didn't, perhaps, because
you were too young. I have lived longer, than you. I have nothing
pending (not finished). There is no hurry in my life, therefore I can
properly have a gesture with you."
In the afternoon we went for a hike. I easily kept his pace and
marveled again at his stupendous physical
prowess (outstanding
courage, daring). He walked
so nimbly and with such sure steps, that next to him, I was like a
child. We went in an easterly direction. I noticed then, that he did
not like to talk, while he walked. If I spoke to him, he would stop
walking, in order to answer me. After a couple of hours we came to a
hill; he sat down and signaled me to sit by him. He announced in a
mock-dramatic tone, that he was going to tell me a story. He said, that
once upon a time there was a young man, a destitute (poor) Indian, who
lived among the white men in a city. He had no home, no relatives, no
friends. He had come into the city to find his fortune and had found
only misery and pain. From time to time he made a few cents, working
like a mule, barely enough for a morsel; otherwise he had to beg or
steal food. Don Juan said, that one day the young man went to the
market place. He walked up and down the street in a haze, his eyes wild
upon seeing all the good things, that were gathered there. He was so
frantic, that he did not see, where he was walking, and ended up
tripping over some baskets and falling on top of an old man. The old
man was carrying four enormous gourds and had just sat down to rest and
eat. Don Juan smiled knowingly and said, that the old man found it
quite strange, that the young man had stumbled on him. He was not angry
at being disturbed, but amazed at why this particular young man had
fallen on top of him. The young man, on the other hand, was angry and
told him to get out of his way. He was not concerned at all about the
ultimate reason for their meeting. He had not noticed, that their paths
had actually crossed. Don Juan mimicked the motions of someone, going
after something, that was rolling over. He said, that the old man's
gourds had turned over and were rolling down the street. When the young
man saw the gourds, he thought, he had found his food for the day. He
helped the old man up and insisted on helping him carry the heavy
gourds. The old man told him, that he was on his way to his home in the
mountains and the young man insisted on going with him, at least part
of the way. The old man took the road to the mountains and, as they
walked, he gave the young man part of the food, he had bought at the
market. The young man ate to his heart's content and when he was quite
satisfied, he began to notice how heavy the gourds were, and clutched
them tightly. Don Juan opened his eyes, smiled with a devilish grin and
said, that the young man asked, "What do you carry in these gourds?"
The old man did not answer, but told him, that he was going to show him
a companion or friend, who could alleviate his sorrows, give him advice
and wisdom about the ways of the world. Don Juan made a majestic
gesture with both hands and said, that the old man summoned the most
beautiful deer, that the young man had ever seen. The deer was so tame, that it came to
him and walked around him. It
glittered and shone.

62-63
The young man was spellbound and knew right away, that it was a "spirit
deer". The old man told him then, that if he wished to have that friend
and its wisdom, all he had to do, was to let go of the gourds. Don
Juan's grin (forced smile) portrayed ambition; he said, that the young
man's petty desires were pricked (punctured), upon hearing such a
request. Don Juan's eyes became small and devilish, as he voiced the
young man's question: "What do you have in these four enormous gourds?"
Don Juan said, that the old man very serenely (calmly) replied, that he
was carrying food: "pinole" and water. He stopped narrating the story
and walked around in a circle a couple of times. I did not know, what
he was doing. But apparently, it was part of the story. The circle
seemed to portray the deliberations of the young man. Don Juan said,
that, of course, the young man had not believed a word. He calculated,
that if the old man, who was obviously a wizard, was willing to give a
"spirit deer" for his gourds, then the gourds must have been filled
with power beyond belief. Don Juan contorted his face again into a
devilish grin and said, that the young man declared, that he wanted to
have the gourds. There was a long pause, that seemed to mark the end of
the story. Don Juan remained quiet, yet I was sure, he wanted me to ask
about it, and I did. "What happened to the young man?"
"He took the gourds," he replied with a smile of satisfaction. There
was another long pause. I laughed. I thought, that this had been a real
"Indian story". Don Juan's eyes were shining, as he smiled at me. There
was an air of innocence about him. He began to laugh in soft
spurts (short burst of energy or activity) and asked me, "Don't
you want to know about the gourds?"
"Of course I want to know. I thought, that was the end of the story."
"Oh no," he said with a mischievous light in his eyes. "The young man
took his gourds and ran away to an isolated place and opened them."
"What did he find?" I asked. Don Juan glanced at me and I had the
feeling, he was aware of my mental gymnastics. He shook his head and
chuckled (laugh quietly or to oneself).
"Well," I urged him. "Were the gourds empty?"
"There was only food and water inside the gourds," he said. "And the
young man, in a fit of anger, smashed them against the rocks."
I said, that his reaction was only natural - anyone in his position
would have done the same. Don Juan's reply was, that the young man was
a fool, who did not know, what he was looking for. He did not know,
what a power was, so he could not tell, whether or not he had found it.
He had not taken responsibility for his decision, therefore he was
angered by his blunder (mistake). He expected to gain something and got
nothing instead. Don Juan speculated, that if I were the young man and
if I had followed my inclinations, I would have ended up angry and
remorseful, and would, no doubt, have spent the rest of my life feeling
sorry for myself, for what I had lost. Then he explained the behavior
of the old man. He had cleverly fed the young man, so as to give him
the "daring of a satisfied stomach", thus the young man, upon finding
only food in the gourds, smashed them in a fit of anger.
"Had he been aware of his decision and assumed responsibility for it,"
don Juan said, "he would have taken the food and would've been more,
than satisfied with it. And perhaps, he might even have realized, that
that food was power too."
6. Becoming a Hunter
64-65
Friday, 23 June
1961. As soon, as I sat down, I bombarded don Juan with questions. He
did nor answer me and made an impatient gesture with his hand to be
quiet. He seemed to be in a serious mood. "I was thinking, that you
haven't changed at all in the time you've been trying to learn about
plants," he said in an accusing tone. He began reviewing in a loud
voice all the changes of personality, he had recommended, I should
undertake. I told him, that I had considered the matter very seriously
and found, that I could not possibly fulfill them, because each of them
ran contrary to my core. He replied, that to merely consider them was
not enough, and, that whatever, he had said to me, was not said just
for fun. I again insisted that, although I had done very little in
matters of adjusting my personal life to his ideas, I really wanted to
learn the uses of plants. After a long, uneasy silence I boldly asked
him, "Would you teach me about peyote, don Juan?"
He said, that my intentions alone were not enough, and that to know
about peyote - he called it "Mescalito" for the first time - was a
serious matter. It seemed, that there was nothing else to say. In the
early evening, however, he set up a test for me; he put forth a
problem, without giving me any clues to its solution: to find a
beneficial place or spot in the area right in front of his door, where
we always sat to talk, a spot, where I could allegedly feel perfectly
happy and invigorated. During the course of the night, while I
attempted to find the "spot" by rolling on the ground, I twice detected
a change of coloration on the uniformly dark dirt floor of the
designated area. The problem exhausted me and I fell asleep on one of
the places, where I had detected the change in colour. In the morning
don Juan woke me up and announced, that I had had a very successful
experience. Not only had I found the beneficial spot, I was looking
for, but I had also found its opposite, an enemy or negative spot and
the colours associated with both.
Saturday, 24 June 1961. We went into the desert chaparral in the early
morning. As we walked, don Juan explained to me, that finding a
"beneficial" or an " enemy" spot was an important need for a man in the
wilderness. I wanted to steer the conversation to the topic of peyote,
but he flatly refused to talk about it. He warned me, that there should
be no mention of it, unless he himself brought up the subject. We sat
down to rest in the shade of some tall bushes in an area of thick
vegetation. The desert chaparral around us was not quite dry yet; it
was a warm day and the flies kept on pestering me, but they did not
seem to bother don Juan. I wondered, whether he was just ignoring them,
but then I noticed, they were not landing on his face at all.
"Sometimes it is necessary to find a beneficial spot quickly, out in
the open," don Juan went on. "Or maybe it is necessary to determine
quickly, whether or not the spot, where one is about to rest, is a bad
one. One time, we sat to rest by some hill and you got very angry and
upset. That spot was your enemy.

A little crow gave you a warning, remember?" I remembered, that he had
made a point of, telling me to avoid that area in the future. I also
remembered, that I had become angry, because he had not let me laugh.
"I thought, that the crow, that flew overhead, was an omen for me
alone," he said. "I would never have suspected, that the crows were
friendly towards you too."
"What are you talking about?"
"The crow was an omen,"
he went on. "If you knew about crows, you would have avoided the place
like the plague.
66-67
Crows are not always available to give warning though, and you must
learn to find, by yourself, a proper place to camp or to rest." After a
long pause don Juan suddenly turned to me and said, that in order to
find the proper place to rest, all, I had to do, was to cross my eyes.
He gave me a knowing look and in a confidential tone told me, that I
had done precisely that, when I was rolling on his porch, and thus I
had been capable of finding two spots and their colours. He let me
know, that he was impressed by my accomplishment.
"I really don't know, what I did," I said.
"You crossed your
eyes," he said
emphatically (positive,
striking, definite). "That's the
technique; you must have done that, although you don't remember it."
Don Juan then
described the technique, which he said took years to perfect, and which
consisted of gradually forcing the eyes to see separately the same
image. The lack of image conversion entailed a double perception of the
world; this double perception, according to don Juan, allowed one the
opportunity of judging changes in the surroundings, which the eyes were
ordinarily incapable of perceiving.
Don Juan coaxed (persuade) me to try it. He assured me, that it
was not injurious to the sight. He said, that I should begin by looking
in short glances, almost with the corners of my eyes. He pointed
to a large bush and showed me how. I had a strange feeling, seeing don
Juan's eyes taking incredibly fast glances at the bush. His eyes
reminded me of those of a shifty animal, that cannot look straight. We
walked for perhaps an hour, while I tried not to focus my sight on
anything. Then don Juan asked me to start separating the images,
perceived by each of my eyes. After another hour or so I got a terrible
headache and had to stop.
"Do you think, you could find, by yourself, a proper place for us to
rest?" he asked. I had no idea, what the criterion for a "proper place"
was. He patiently explained, that looking in short glances allowed the
eyes to pick out unusual sights.
"Such as what?" I asked.
"They are not sights proper," he said. 'They are more like feelings. If
you look at a bush or a tree or a rock, where you may like to rest,
your eyes can make you feel whether or not, that's the best resting
place." I again urged him to describe, what those feelings were, but he
either could not describe them or he simply did not want to. He said,
that I should practice by picking out a place and then he would tell
me, whether or not my eyes were working. At one moment I caught sight
of, what I thought was, a pebble, which reflected light. I could not
see it, if I focused my eyes on it, but if I swept the area with fast
glances, I could detect a sort of faint glitter. I pointed out the
place to don Juan. It was in the middle of an open unshaded flat area,
devoid of thick bushes. He laughed uproariously and then asked me, why
I had picked that specific spot. I explained, that I was seeing a
glitter. "I don't care, what you see," he said. "You could be seeing an
elephant. How you feel is the important issue." I did not feel anything
at all. He gave me a mysterious look and said, that he wished, he could
oblige me and sit down to rest with me there, but he was going to sit
somewhere else, while I tested my choice. I sat down, while he looked
at me curiously from a distance of thirty or forty feet away. After a
few minutes he began to laugh loudly. Somehow his laughter made me
nervous. It put me on edge. I felt, he was making fun of me and I got
angry. I began to question my motives for being there. There was
definitely something wrong, in the way my total endeavor with don Juan
was proceeding. I felt, that I was just a pawn in his clutches.
Suddenly, don Juan charged at me, at full speed, and pulled me by the
arm, dragging me bodily for ten or twelve feet. He helped me to stand
up and wiped some perspiration from his forehead. I noticed then, that
he had exerted himself to his limit. He patted me on the back and said,
that I had picked the wrong place and that he had had to rescue me in a
real hurry, because he saw, that the spot, where I was sitting, was
about to take over my entire feelings. I laughed. The image of don
Juan, charging at me, was very funny. He had actually run like a young
man.
68-69
His feet moved, as if he were grabbing the soft reddish dirt of the
desert, in order to catapult himself over me. I had seen him laughing
at me and then, in a matter of seconds, he was dragging me by the arm.
After a while he urged me to continue looking for a proper place to
rest. We kept on walking, but I did not detect or "feel" anything at
all. Perhaps, if I had been more relaxed, I would have noticed or felt
something. I had ceased, however, to be angry with him. Finally he
pointed to some rocks and we came to a halt. "Don't feel disappointed,"
don Juan said. "It takes a long time to train the eyes properly." I did
not say anything. I was not going to be disappointed about something, I
did not understand at all. Yet, I had to admit, that three times
already, since I had begun to visit don Juan, I had become very angry
and had been agitated to the point of being nearly ill, while sitting
on places, that he called bad. "The trick is to feel with your eyes."
he said. "Your problem now is, that you don't know, what to feel. It'll
come to you, though, with practice."
"Perhaps you should tell me, don Juan, what I am supposed to feel."
"That's impossible."
"Why?"
"Noone can tell
you, what you are supposed to feel. It is not heat, or light, or glare,
or colour. It is something else."
"Can't
you describe it?"
"No. All I can do
is give you the technique. Once you learn to separate the images and
see two of everything, you must focus your attention in the area
between the two images. Any change, worthy of notice, would take place
there, in that area."
"What
kind of changes are they?"
"That is not
important. The feeling, that you get, is what counts.
Every man is different. You saw glitter today, but that did not mean
anything, because the feeling was missing. I can't tell you how to
feel. You must learn that yourself."
We rested in silence for some time. Don Juan covered his face with his
hat and remained motionless, as if he were asleep. I became absorbed in
writing my notes, until he made a sudden movement, that made me jolt.
He sat up abruptly and faced me, frowning.
"You have a knack (talant) for hunting," he said. "And that's, what you
should learn, hunting. We are not going to talk about plants any more."
He puffed out his jaws for an instant, then candidly (frank, without
prejudice) added, "I don't think we ever have, anyway, have we?" and
laughed.

We spent the rest of the day walking in every direction, while he gave
me an unbelievably detailed explanation about rattlesnakes. The way
they nest, the way they move around, their seasonal habits, their
quirks (oddity) of behavior. Then he proceeded to corroborate (confirm)
each of the points, he had made, and finally he caught and killed a
large snake;
he cut its head off, cleaned its viscera, skinned it, and roasted the
meat. His movements had such a grace and skill, that it was a sheer
pleasure just to be around him. I had listened to him and watched him,
spellbound. My concentration had been so complete, that the rest of the
world had practically vanished for me. Eating the snake was a hard
re-entry into the world of ordinary affairs. I felt nauseated, when I
began to chew a bite of snake meat. It was an ill-founded queasiness
(causing nausea), as the meat was delicious, but my stomach seemed to
be rather an independent unit. I could hardly swallow at all. I
thought, don Juan would have a heart attack from laughing so hard.
Afterwards we sat down for a leisurely rest in the shade of some rocks.
I began to work on my notes, and the quantity of them made me realize,
that he had given me an astonishing amount of information about
rattlesnakes.
"Your hunter's spirit has returned to you," don Juan said suddenly and
with a serious face. "Now you're hooked."
"I beg your pardon?" I wanted him to elaborate on his statement, that I
was hooked, but he only laughed and repeated it. "How am I hooked?" I
insisted.
"Hunters will always hunt," he said. "I am a hunter myself."
"Do you mean you hunt for a living?"
"I hunt, in order to live. I can live off the land, anywhere."
70-71
He indicated the total surroundings with his hand. "To be a hunter means,
that one knows a great deal," he went on. "It means, that one can see
the world in different ways. In order to be a hunter, one must be in
perfect balance with everything else, otherwise hunting would become a
meaningless chore. For instance, today
we took a little snake. I had to apologize to her for cutting her life
off so suddenly and so definitely; I did, what I did, knowing, that my
own life will also be cut off someday in very much the same fashion,
suddenly and definitely. So, all in all, we and the snakes are on a
par. One of them fed us today."
"I had never conceived (think, consider, formulated, become posessed) a
balance of that kind, when I used to hunt," I said.
"That's not true. You didn't just kill animals. You and your family all
ate the game." His statements carried the conviction of someone, who
had been there. He was, of course, right. There had been times, when I
had provided the incidental wild meat for my family.
After a moment's hesitation I asked, "How did you know that?"
"There are certain things, that I just know," he said. "I can't tell
you how though." I told him, that my aunts and uncles would very
seriously call all the birds, I would bag, "pheasants". Don Juan said,
he could easily imagine them calling a sparrow a "tiny pheasant" and
added a comical rendition (interpretation)
of how they would chew it.
The
extraordinary movements of his jaw gave me the feeling, that he was
actually chewing a whole bird, bones and all.
"I really think, that you have a touch for hunting," he said, staring
at me. "And we have been barking up the wrong tree. Perhaps, you will
be willing to change your way of life, in order to become a hunter."

He reminded me, that I had found out, with just a little exertion
(effort) on my part, that in the world there were good and bad spots
for me; he added, that I had also found out the specific colours,
associated with them. "That means, that you have a knack for hunting,"
he declared. "Not everyone, who tries, would find their colours and
their spots at the same time." To be a hunter sounded very nice and
romantic, but it was an absurdity to me, since I did not particularly
care to hunt. "You don't have to care to hunt or to like it," he
replied to my complaint. "You have a natural inclination. I think the
best hunters never like hunting; they do it well, that's all."
I had the feeling, don Juan was capable of arguing his way out of
anything, and yet he maintained, that he did not like to talk at all.
"It is like, what I have told you about hunters," he said. "I don't
necessarily like to talk. I just have a knack for it and I do it well,
that's all." I found his mental agility truly funny. "Hunters must be
exceptionally tight individuals," he continued. "A hunter leaves very
little to chance. I have been trying all along to convince you, that
you must learn to live in a different way. So far I have not succeeded.
There was nothing you could've grabbed on to. Now it's different. I
have brought back your old hunter's spirit, perhaps through it, you
will change." I protested, that I did not want to become a hunter. I
reminded him, that in the beginning, I had just wanted him to tell me
about medicinal plants, but he had made me stray (deviate from the
course) so far away from my original purpose, that I could not clearly
recall any more, whether or not I had really wanted to learn about
plants. "Good," he said. "Really good. If you don't have such a clear
picture of what you want, you may become more humble. Let's put it this
way. For your purposes it doesn't really matter, whether you learn
about plants or about hunting. You've told me that yourself. You are
interested in anything, that anyone can tell you.
True?" I had said that to him, in trying to define the scope of
anthropology and, in order to draft him, as my informant. Don Juan
chuckled (laugh quietly or to oneself), obviously aware of his control
over the situation. "I am a hunter," he said, as if he were reading my
thoughts. "I leave very little to chance. Perhaps I should explain to
you, that I learned to be a hunter.

72-73
I have not always lived the way I do now. At one point in my life I had
to change. Now I'm pointing the direction to you. I'm guiding you. I
know, what I'm talking about; someone taught me all this. I didn't
figure it out for myself."
"Do you mean, that you had a teacher, don Juan?"
"Let's say, that someone taught me to hunt, the way I want to teach you
now," he said and quickly changed the topic. "I think, that once upon a
time, hunting was one of the greatest acts a man could perform," he
said. "All hunters were powerful men. In fact, a hunter had to be
powerful to begin with, in order to withstand the rigors of that life."
Suddenly I became curious. Was he referring to a time perhaps prior to
the Conquest? I began to probe him.
"When was the time you are talking about?"
"Once upon a time."
"When? What does "once upon a time" mean?"
"It means once upon a time, or maybe it means now, today. It doesn't
matter. At one time everybody knew, that a hunter was the best of men.
Now not everyone knows that, but there are a sufficient number of
people, who do. I know it, someday you will. See what I mean?"
"Do the Yaqui Indians feel that way about hunters? That's what I want
to know."
"Not necessarily."
"Do the Pima Indians?"
"Not all of them. But some."
I named various neighboring groups. I wanted to commit him to a
statement, that hunting was a shared belief and practice of some
specific people. But he avoided answering me directly, so I changed the
subject. "Why are you doing all this for me, don Juan?" I asked. He
took off his hat and scratched his temples
in feigned (pretending, fictitious) bafflement (puzzlement, bewilder).
"I'm having a gesture with you," he said softly. "Other people have had
a similar gesture with you; someday you yourself will have the same
gesture with others. Let's say, that it is my turn. One day I
found out, that, if I wanted to be a hunter worthy of self-respect, I
had to change my way of life. I used to whine and complain a great
deal. I had good reasons to feel short-changed. I am an Indian and
Indians are treated like dogs. There was nothing, I could do to remedy
that, so all, I was left with, was my sorrow. But then my good fortune
spared me and someone taught me to hunt. And I realized, that the way I
lived, was not worth living, so I changed it."
"But I am happy with my life, don Juan. Why should I have to change it?"
He began to sing a Mexican song, very softly, and then hummed the tune.
His head bobbed up and down, as he followed the beat of the song.
"Do you think, that you and I are equal?" he asked in a sharp voice.
His question caught me off guard. I experienced a peculiar buzzing in
my ears, as though he had actually shouted his words, which he had not
done; however, there had been a metallic sound in his voice, that was
reverberating in my ears. I scratched the inside of my left ear with
the small finger of my left hand. My ears itched all the time and I had
developed a rhythmical nervous way of rubbing the inside of them with
the small finger of either hand. The movement was more properly a shake
of my whole arm. Don Juan watched my movements with apparent
fascination.
"Well... are we equals?" he asked.
"Of course we're equals," I said. I was, naturally, being condescending
(showing an air of superiority, patronising). I felt very warm towards
him, even though at times I did not know, what to do with him; yet I
still held in the back of my mind, although I would never voice it, the
belief, that I, being a university student, a man of the sophisticated
Western world, was superior to an Indian.
"No," he said calmly, "we are not."
"Why, certainly we are," I protested.
"No," he said in a soft voice. "We are not equals. I am a hunter and a
warrior, and you are a pimp." My mouth fell open. I could not believe,
that don Juan had actually said that.

74
I dropped my notebook and stared at him dumbfoundedly and then, of
course, I became furious. He looked at me with calm and collected eyes.
I avoided his gaze. And then he began to talk. He enunciated his words
clearly. They poured out smoothly and deadly. He said, that I was
pimping for someone else. That I was not fighting my own battles, but
the battles of some unknown people. That I did not want to learn about
plants or about hunting or about anything. And that his world of
precise acts, feelings and decisions was infinitely more effective,
than the blundering (foolish) idiocy I called "my life". After he
finished talking, I was numb. He had spoken without belligerence
(aggressive behaviour) or conceit (high opinion about himself, vain),
but with such power, and yet such calmness, that I was not even angry
any more. We remained silent. I felt embarrassed and could not think of
anything appropriate to say. I waited for him to break the silence.
Hours went by. Don Juan became motionless by degrees, until his body
had acquired a strange, almost frightening rigidity; his silhouette
became difficult to make out, as it got dark, and finally, when it was
pitch black around us, he seemed to have merged into the blackness of
the stones.

His state of motionlessness was so total, that it was, as if he did not
exist any longer. It was midnight, when I finally realized, that he
could and would stay motionless there in that wilderness, in those
rocks, perhaps forever, if he had to. His world of precise acts,
feelings and decisions was indeed superior. I quietly touched his arm
and tears flooded me.
7. Being Inaccessible.
75
Thursday, 29 June 1961. Again don Juan, as he had done every day for
nearly a week, held me spellbound with his knowledge of specific
details about the behavior of game. He first explained
and then corroborated (confirm) a number of hunting tactics, based on
what he called "the quirks (oddity)of quails". I became so utterly
involved in his explanations, that a whole day went by and I had not
noticed the passage of time. I even forgot to eat lunch. Don Juan made
joking remarks, that it was quite unusual for me to miss a meal. By the
end of the day he had caught five quails in a most ingenious trap,
which he had taught me to assemble and set up.
"Two are enough for us," he said and let three of them loose. He then
taught me how to roast quail. I had wanted to cut some shrubs and make
a barbecue pit, the way my grandfather used to make it, lined with
green branches and leaves and sealed with dirt, but don Juan said, that
there was no need to injure the shrubs, since we had already injured
the quail. After we finished eating we walked very leisurely towards a
rocky area. We sat on a sandstone hillside and I said jokingly, that if
he would have left the matter up to me, I would have cooked all five of
the quail, and that my barbecue would have tasted much better, than his
roast.
"No doubt," he said. "But if you would have done all that, we might
have never left this place in one piece."
"What do you mean?" I asked. "What would have prevented us?"
"The shrubs, the quail, everything around would have pitched (thrown
in) in."
76-77
"I never know when you are talking seriously," I said. He made a
gesture of feigned (pretending, fictitious)
impatience and smacked his
lips.
"You have a weird notion of what it means to talk seriously," he said.
"I laugh a great deal, because I like to laugh, yet everything, I say,
is deadly serious, even, if you don't understand it. Why should the
world be only, as you think it is? Who gave you the authority to say
so?"
"There is no proof, that the world is otherwise," I said. It was
getting dark. I was wondering, if it was time to go back to his house,
but he did not seem to be in a hurry and I was enjoying myself. The
wind was cold. Suddenly he stood up and told me, that we had to climb
to the hilltop and stand up on an area clear of shrubs.

"Don't be afraid," he said. "I'm your friend and I'll see, that nothing
bad happens to you."
"What do you mean?" I asked, alarmed. Don Juan had the most insidious
facility to shift me from sheer enjoyment to sheer fright.
"The world is very strange at this time of the day," he said. "That's,
what I mean. No matter what you see, don't be afraid."
"What am I going to see?"
"I don't know yet," he said, peering into the distance towards the
south. He did not seem to be worried. I also kept on looking in the
same direction. Suddenly he perked (cheered) up and pointed with his
left hand towards a dark area in the desert shrubbery.
"There it is," he said, as if he had been waiting for something, which
had suddenly appeared.
"What is it?" I asked.
"There it is," he repeated. "Look! Look!" I did not see anything, just
the shrubs. "It is here now," he said with great urgency in his voice.
"It is here." A sudden gust of wind hit me at that instant and made my
eyes burn. I stared towards the area in question. There was absolutely
nothing out of the ordinary.
"I can't see a thing," I said.
"You just felt it," he replied. "Right now. It got into your eyes and
kept you from seeing."
"What are you talking about?"
"I have deliberately brought you to a hilltop," he said. "We are very
noticeable here and something is coming to us."
"What? The wind?"
"Not just the wind," he said sternly. "It may seem to be wind to you,
because wind is all you know."
I strained my eyes staring into the desert shrubs. Don Juan stood
silently by me for a moment, then walked into the near-by chaparral and
began to tear some big branches from the surrounding shrubs; he
gathered eight of them and made a bundle. He ordered me to do the same
and to apologize to the plants in a loud voice for mutilating them.
When we had two bundles he made me run with them to the hilltop and lie
down on my back between two large rocks. With tremendous speed he
arranged the branches of my bundle to cover my entire body, then he
covered himself in the same manner and whispered through the leaves,
that I should watch how, the so-called, wind would cease to blow, once
we had become unnoticeable. At one moment, to my utter amazement, the
wind actually ceased to blow, as don Juan had predicted. It happened so
gradually, that I would have missed the change, had I not been
deliberately waiting for it. For a while the wind had hissed through
the leaves over my face and then, gradually, it became quiet all around
us. I whispered to don Juan, that the wind had stopped and he whispered
back, that I should not make any overt noise or movement, because, what
I was calling the wind, was not wind at all, but something, that had a
volition of its own and could actually recognize us. I laughed out of
nervousness. In a muffled voice don Juan called my attention to the
quietness around us.
78-79
He whispered, that he was going to stand up and I should follow him,
putting the branches aside very gently with my left hand. We stood up
at the same time. Don Juan stared for a moment into the distance
towards the south, then turned around abruptly and faced the west.
"Sneaky. Really sneaky," he muttered, pointing to an area towards the
southwest. "Look! Look!" he urged me. I stared with all the intensity,
I was capable of. I wanted to see, whatever he was referring to, but I
did not notice anything at all. Or rather I did not notice anything, I
had not seen before; there were just shrubs, which seemed to be
agitated by a soft wind; they rippled.
"It's here," don Juan said. At that moment I felt a blast of air in my
face. It seemed, that the wind had actually begun to blow, after we
stood up. I could not believe it; there had to be a logical explanation
for it. Don Juan chuckled (laugh quietly or to oneself) softly and told
me not to tax (strain) my brain, trying to reason it out.
"Let's go gather the shrubs once more," he said. "I hate to do this to
these little plants, but we must stop you." He picked up the branches,
we had used to cover ourselves, piled small rocks and dirt over them.
Then, repeating the same movements, we had made before, each of us
gathered eight new branches. In the meantime the wind kept on blowing
ceaselessly. I could feel it ruffling the hair around my ears. Don Juan
whispered, that once he had covered me, I should not make the slightest
movement or sound. He very quickly put the branches over my body and
then he lay down and covered himself. We stayed in that position for
about twenty minutes and during that time a most extraordinary
phenomenon occurred; the wind again changed from a hard continuous gust
to a mild vibration. I held my breath, waiting for don Juan's signal.
At a given moment he gently shoved off the branches. I did the same and
we stood up. The hilltop was very quiet. There was only a slight, soft
vibration of leaves in the surrounding chaparral. Don Juan's eyes were
fixedly staring at an area in the shrubs south of us. "There it is
again!" he exclaimed in a loud voice. I involuntarily jumped,
nearly losing my balance, and he ordered me in a loud imperative voice
to look.
"What am I supposed to see?" I asked desperately. He said, that it, the
wind or whatever, was like a cloud or a whorl (curl, coil,
convolution), that was
quite a way above the shrubs, twirling its way to the hilltop, where we
were. I saw a ripple forming on the bushes in the distance.
"There it comes," don Juan said in my ear. "Look how it is searching
for us." Right then a strong steady gust of wind hit my face, as it had
hit it before. This time, however, my reaction was different. I was
terrified. I had not seen, what don Juan had described, but I had seen
a most eerie wave rippling the shrubs. I did not want to succumb (gave in, gave up) to my fear and deliberately sought
any kind of suitable explanation. I said to myself, that there must be
continuous air currents in the area, and don Juan, being thoroughly
acquainted with the whole region, was not only aware of that, but was
capable of mentally plotting their occurrence. All he had to do was to
lie down, count, and wait for the wind to taper off (diminish,
decrease); and once he stood up, he had only to wait again for its
reoccurrence. Don Juan's voice shook me out of my mental deliberations.
He was telling me, that it was time to leave. I
stalled (employing
delaying tactics); I wanted
to stay to make sure, that the wind would taper off (diminish,
decrease).
"I didn't see anything, don Juan," I said.
"You noticed something unusual though."
"Perhaps you should tell me again, what I was supposed to See."
"I've already told you," he said. "Something, that hides in the
wind and looks like a whorl (curl, coil, convolution), a cloud, a mist, a face, that
twirls around." Don Juan made a gesture with his hands to depict a
horizontal and a vertical motion.
80-81
"It moves in a specific direction," he went on. "It either tumbles or
it twirls. A hunter must know all that, in order to move correctly." I
wanted to humour him, but he seemed to be trying so hard to make his
point, that I did not dare. He looked at me for a moment and I moved my
eyes away. "To believe, that the world is only, as you think it is, is
stupid," he said. "'The world is a mysterious place. Especially in the
twilight." He pointed towards the wind with a movement of his chin.
"This can follow us," he said. "It can make us tired or it might even
kill us."
"That wind?"
"At this time of
the day, in the twilight, there is no wind. At this time there is only
power." We sat on the hilltop for an hour. The wind blew
hard and constantly all that time.
Friday, 30 June 1961. In the late afternoon, after eating, don Juan and
I moved to the area in front of his door. I sat on my "spot" and began
working on my notes. He lay down on his back with his hands folded over
his stomach. We had stayed around the house all day on account of the
"wind". Don Juan explained that we had disturbed the wind deliberately
and that it was better not to fool around with it. I had even had to
sleep covered with branches. A sudden gust of wind made don Juan get up
in one incredibly agile jump.
"Damn it," he said. "The wind is looking for you."
"I can't buy that, don Juan," I said, laughing. "I really can't."
I was not being stubborn, I just found it impossible to endorse the
idea that the wind had its own volition and was looking for me, or that
it had actually spotted us and rushed to us on top of the hill. I said
that the idea of a "willful wind" was a view of the world that was
rather simplistic.
"What is the wind then?" he asked in a challenging tone. I patiently
explained to him, that masses of hot and cold air produced different
pressures and, that the pressure made the masses of air move vertically
and horizontally. It took me a long while to explain all the details of
basic meteorology.
"You mean, that all, there is to the wind, is hot and cold air?" he
asked in a tone of bafflement (puzzlement, bewilder).
"I'm afraid so," I said and silently enjoyed my triumph. Don Juan
seemed to be dumbfounded. But then he looked at me and began to laugh
uproariously.
"Your opinions are final opinions," he said with a note of sarcasm.
"They are the last word, aren't they? For a hunter, however, your
opinions are pure crap. It makes no difference whether the pressure is
one or two or ten; if you would live out here in the wilderness, you
would know, that during the twilight the wind becomes power. A hunter,
that is worth his salt, knows that, and acts accordingly."
"How does he act?"
"He uses the twilight and that power, hidden in the wind."
"How?"
"If it is convenient to him, the hunter hides from the power by
covering himself and remaining motionless, until the twilight is gone
and the power has sealed him into its protection." Don Juan made a
gesture of enveloping something with his hands. "Its protection is like
a..." He paused in search of a word and I suggested "cocoon". "That is
right," he said.
"The protection of the power seals you like a cocoon. A hunter can stay
out in the open and no puma or coyote or slimy bug could bother him. A
mountain lion could come up to the hunter's nose and sniff him, and if
the hunter does not move, the lion would leave. I can guarantee you
that. If the hunter, on the other hand, wants to be noticed, all he has
to do is to stand on a hilltop at the time of the twilight and the
power will nag (bother) him and seek him all night.
Therefore, if a hunter wants to travel at night or if he wants to be
kept awake, he must make himself available to the wind. Therein lies
the secret of great hunters. To be available and unavailable at the
precise turn of the road."
82-83
I felt a bit confused and asked him to recapitulate his point. Don Juan
very patiently explained, that he had used the twilight and the wind to
point out the crucial importance of the interplay between hiding and
showing oneself.
"You must learn to become deliberately available and unavailable," he
said. "As your life goes now, you are unwittingly (unaware, not knowing) available at all times." I protested.
My feeling was, that my life was becoming increasingly more and more
secretive. He said, I had not understood his point, and that to be
unavailable did not mean to hide or to be secretive, but to be
inaccessible. "Let me put it in another way," he proceeded patiently.
"It makes no difference to hide, if everyone knows, that you are
hiding. Your problems right now stem from that. When you are hiding,
everyone knows, that you are hiding, and when you are not, you
are available for everyone to take a poke at you." I was beginning to
feel threatened and hurriedly tried to defend myself. "Don't explain
yourself," don Juan said dryly. "There is no need. We are fools, all of
us, and you cannot be different. At one time in my life, I, like you,
made myself available over and over again, until there was nothing of
me left for anything, except perhaps, crying. And that I did, just like
yourself."
Don Juan sized me up for a moment and then sighed loudly. "I was
younger, than you, though," he went on, "but one day I had enough and I
changed. Let's say, that one day, when I was becoming a hunter, I
learned the secret of being available and unavailable." I told him,
that his point was bypassing me. I truly could not understand, what he
meant by being available. He had used the Spanish idioms "ponerse al
alcance" and "ponerse en el medio del camino", "to put oneself within
reach", and "to put oneself in the middle of a trafficked way". "You
must take yourself away," he explained. "You must retrieve yourself
from the middle of a trafficked way. Your whole being is there, thus it
is of no use to hide; you would only imagine, that you are hidden.
Being in the middle of the road means, that everyone, passing by,
watches your comings and goings." His metaphor was interesting, but at
the same time it was also obscure.
"You are talking in riddles," I said. He stared at me fixedly for a
long moment and then began to hum a tune. I straightened my back and
sat attentively. I knew, that when don Juan hummed a Mexican tune, he
was about to clobber (maul, strike violently
and repeatedly) me.
"Hey," he said, smiling, and peered at me. "Whatever happened to your
blonde friend? That girl, that you used to really like." I must have
looked at him like a confounded idiot. He laughed with great delight. I
did not know, what to say. "You told me about her," he said
reassuringly. But I did not remember, ever telling him about anybody,
much less about a blonde girl.
"I've never mentioned anything like that to you," I said.
"Of course you have," he said, as if dismissing the argument. I wanted
to protest, but he stopped me, saying, that it did not matter how he
knew about her, that the important issue was, that I had liked her. I
sensed a surge of animosity (active hostility) towards him, building up
within myself.
"Don't stall (employing delaying tactics)," don Juan said dryly. "This
is a time, when you should cut off your feelings of importance. You
once had a woman, a very dear woman, and then one day you lost her."
I began to wonder, if I had ever talked about her to don Juan. I
concluded, that there had never been an opportunity. Yet I might have.
Every time he drove with me we had always talked incessantly about
everything. I did not remember everything, we had talked about, because
I could not take notes while driving. I felt somehow appeased
(pacified) by my conclusions. I told him, that he was right. There had
been a very important blonde girl in my life.
"Why isn't she with you?" he asked.
84-85
"She left."
"Why?"
"There were many reasons."
"There were not so many reasons. There was only one. You made yourself
too available." I earnestly wanted to know, what he meant. He again had
touched me. He seemed to be cognizant (conscious, aware) of the effect
of his touch and puckered up his lips to hide a mischievous smile.
"Everyone knew about you two," he said with unshaken conviction.
"Was it wrong?"
"It was deadly wrong. She was a fine person." I expressed the sincere
feeling, that his fishing in the dark was odious (hateful) to me,
especially the fact, that he always made his statements with the
assurance of someone, who had been at the scene and had seen it all.
"But that's true," he said with a disarming candor. "I have seen it
all. She was a fine person." I knew, that it was meaningless to argue,
but I was angry with him for touching that sore spot in my life and I
said, that the girl in question was not such a fine person after all,
that in my opinion, she was rather weak. "So are you," he said calmly.
"But that is not important. What counts is, that you have looked for
her everywhere; that makes her a special person in your world, and, for
a special person, one should have only fine words." I felt embarrassed;
a great sadness had begun to engulf me.
"What are you doing to me, don Juan?" I asked. "You always succeed in
making me sad. Why?"
"You are now indulging in sentimentality," he said accusingly.
"What is the point of all this, don Juan?"
"Being inaccessible is the point," he
declared. "I brought up the memory of this person only as a means to
show you directly, what I couldn't show you with the wind.
"You lost her, because you were accessible; you were always within her
reach and your life was a routine one."
"No!" I said. "You're wrong. My life was never a routine."
"It was and it is a routine," he said dogmatically. "It is an unusual
routine and that gives you the impression, that it is not a routine,
but I assure you, it is." I wanted to sulk (bad-tempered, withdrawn)
and get lost in moroseness (gloom), but somehow his eyes made me feel
restless; they seemed to push me on and on. "The art of a hunter is to
become inaccessible," he said. "In the case of that blonde girl, it
would've meant, that you had to become a hunter and meet her sparingly.
Not the way you did. You stayed with her day after day, until the only
feeling, that remained, was boredom. True?" I did not answer. I felt, I
did not have to. He was right. "To be inaccessible means, that you
touch the world, around you, sparingly. You don't eat five quails; you
eat one. You don't damage the plants just to make a barbecue pit. You
don't expose yourself to the power of the wind, unless it is mandatory.
You don't use and squeeze people, until they have shriveled to nothing,
especially the people you love."
"I have never used anyone," I said sincerely. But don Juan maintained,
that I had, and thus I could bluntly state, that I became tired and
bored with people. "To be unavailable means, that you deliberately
avoid exhausting yourself and others," he continued. "It means, that
you are not hungry and desperate, like the poor bastard, that feels, he
will never eat again, and devours all the food, he can, all five quails
!" Don Juan was definitely hitting me below the belt. I laughed and
that seemed to please him. He touched my back lightly. "A hunter knows,
he will lure game into his traps over and over again, so he doesn't
worry. To worry is to become accessible, unwittingly (unaware, not
knowing) accessible. And once you worry you cling to anything out of
desperation; and once you cling, you are bound to get exhausted or to
exhaust whoever or whatever you are clinging to." I told him, that in
my day-to-day life it was
inconceivable (unbelievable) to be inaccessible. My point was,
that in order to function, I had to be within reach of everyone, that
had something to do with me. "I've told you already, that to be
inaccessible does not mean to hide or to be secretive," he said calmly.
86
"It doesn't mean, that you cannot deal with people either. A hunter
uses his world sparingly and with tenderness, regardless of whether the
world might be things, or plants, or animals, or people, or power. A
hunter deals intimately with his world and yet he is inaccessible to
that same world."
"That's a contradiction," I said. "He cannot be inaccessible, if he is
there in his world, hour after hour, day after day."
"You did not understand," don Juan said patiently. "He is inaccessible,
because he's not squeezing his world out of shape. He taps it lightly,
stays for as long, as
he needs to, and then swiftly moves away leaving hardly a mark."
8. Disrupting the Routines of Life

87
Sunday, 16 July 1961.
We spent all morning watching some rodents, that looked like fat
squirrels; don Juan called them water rats. He pointed out, that they
were very fast in getting out of danger, but after they had outrun any
predator, they had the terrible habit of stopping, or even climbing a
rock, to stand on their hind legs to look around and groom
themselves.
"They have very good eyes," don Juan said. "You must move only when
they are on the run, therefore, you must learn to predict, when and
where they will stop, so you would also stop at the same time."
I became engrossed in observing them and I had, what would have been a
field day for hunters, as I spotted so many of them. And finally I
could predict their movements almost every time. Don Juan then showed
me how to make traps to catch them. He explained, that a hunter had to
take time to observe their eating or their nesting places, in order to
determine, where to locate his traps; he would then set them during the
night and all, he had to do the next day, was to scare them off, so
they would scatter away into his catching devices. We gathered some
sticks and proceeded to build the hunting contraptions. I had mine
almost finished and was excitedly wondering, whether or not it would
work, when suddenly don Juan stopped and looked at his left wrist, as
if he were checking a watch, which he had never had, and said, that
according to his timepiece, it was lunchtime.
88-89
I was holding a long stick, which I was trying to make into a hoop by
bending it in a circle, I automatically put it down with the rest of my
hunting paraphernalia. Don Juan looked at me with an expression of
curiosity. Then he made the wailing sound of a factory siren at
lunchtime. I laughed. His siren sound was perfect. I walked towards him
and noticed, that he was staring at me. He shook his head from side to
side.
"I'll be damned," he said.
"What's wrong?" I asked. He again made the long wailing sound of a
factory whistle.
"Lunch is over," he said." Go back to work." I felt confused for an
instant, but then I thought, that he was joking, perhaps because we
really had nothing to make lunch with. I had been so engrossed with the
rodents, that I had forgotten, we had no provisions. I picked up the
stick again and tried to bend it. After a moment don Juan again blew
his "whistle". "Time to go home," he said. He examined his imaginary
watch and then looked at me and winked. "It's five o'clock," he said
with an air of someone, revealing a secret. I thought, that he had
suddenly become fed up with hunting and was calling the whole thing
off. I simply put everything down and began to get ready to leave. I
did not look at him. I presumed, that he also was preparing his gear.
When I was through, I looked up and saw him sitting cross-legged a few
feet away.
"I'm through," I said." We can go anytime." He got up and climbed a
rock. He stood there, five or six feet above the ground, looking at me.
He put his hands on either side of his mouth and made a very prolonged
and piercing sound. It was like a magnified factory siren. He turned
around in a complete circle, making the wailing sound. "What are you
doing, don Juan?" I asked. He said, that he was giving the signal for
the whole world to go home. I was completely baffled (bewildered, puzzled). I could not figure out, whether he
was joking or whether he had simply flipped his lid. I watched him
intently and tried to relate, what he was doing to something, he may
have said before. We had hardly talked at all during the morning and I
could not remember anything of importance. Don Juan was still standing
on top of the rock. He looked at me, smiled and winked again. I
suddenly became alarmed. Don Juan put his hands on both sides of his
mouth and let out another long whistle-like sound. He said, that it was
eight o'clock in the morning and, that I had to set up my gear again,
because we had a whole day ahead of us. I was completely confused by
then. In a matter of minutes my fear mounted to an irresistible desire
to run away from the scene. I thought don Juan was crazy. I was about
to flee, when he slid down from the rock and came to me, smiling.
"You think I'm crazy, don't you?" he asked. I told him, that he was
frightening me out of my wits with his unexpected behavior. He said,
that we were even. I did not understand, what he meant. I was deeply
preoccupied with the thought, that his acts seemed thoroughly insane.
He explained, that he had deliberately tried to scare me out of my wits
with the heaviness of his unexpected behavior, because I myself was
driving him up the walls with the heaviness of my expected behavior. He
added, that my routines were as insane, as his blowing his whistle. I
was shocked and asserte) (affirm,
state positevely), that I
did not really have any routines. I told him, that I believed my life
was in fact a mess, because of my lack of healthy routines. Don Juan
laughed and signaled me to sit down by him. The whole situation had
mysteriously changed again. My fear had vanished as soon, as he had
begun to talk.
"What are my routines?" I asked.
"Everything you do is a routine."
"Aren't we all that way?"
"Not all of us. I don't do things out of routine."
"What prompted all this, don Juan? What did I do or what did I say,
that made you act, the way you did?"
90-91
"You were worrying about lunch."
"I did not say anything to you; how did you know, that I was worrying
about lunch?"
"You worry about eating every day around noontime, and around six in
the evening, and around eight in the morning," he said with a malicious
grin. "You worry about eating at those times, even if you're not
hungry. All, I had to do to show your routine spirit, was to blow my
whistle. Your spirit is trained to work with a signal."
He stared at me with a question in his eyes. I could not defend myself.
"Now you're getting ready to make hunting into a routine," he went on.
"You have already set your pace in hunting; you talk at a certain time,
eat at a certain time, and fall asleep at a certain time." I had
nothing to say. The way, don Juan had described my eating habits, was
the pattern, I used, for everything in my life. Yet I strongly felt,
that my life was less routine, than that of most of my friends and
acquaintances.
"You know a great deal about hunting now," don Juan continued. "It'll
be easy for you to realize, that a good hunter knows one thing above
all - he knows the routines of his prey. That's what makes him a good
hunter. If you would remember the way, I have proceeded, in teaching
you hunting, you would perhaps understand, what I mean. First I taught
you how to make and set up your traps, then I taught you the routines
of the game you were after, and then we tested the traps against their
routines. Those parts are the outside forms of hunting. Now I have to
teach you the final, and by far the most difficult, part. Perhaps years
will pass, before you can say, that you understand it and that you're a
hunter."
Don Juan paused, as if to give me time. He took off his hat and
imitated the grooming movements of the rodents, we had been observing.
It was very funny to me. His round head made him look like one of those
rodents. "To be a hunter is not just to trap game," he went on. "A
hunter, that is worth his salt, does not catch game, because he sets
his traps, or because he knows the routines of his prey, but because
he, himself, has no routines. This is his advantage. He is not at all
like the animals, he is after, fixed by heavy routines and predictable
quirks (oddity); he is free, fluid, unpredictable."
What don Juan was saying, sounded to me like an
arbitrary (random) and irrational idealization. I could not conceive
(think, imagine, consider, formulated, become posessed) of life without
routines. I wanted to be very honest with him and not just agree or
disagree with him. I felt, that what he had in mind was not possible to
accomplish by me or by anyone.
"I don't care how you feel," he said." In order to be a hunter you must
disrupt the routines of your life. You have done well in hunting. You
have learned quickly and now you can see that you are like your prey,
easy to predict."
I asked him to be specific and give me concrete examples.
"I am talking about hunting," he said calmly. "Therefore I am concerned
with the things animals do; the places they eat; the place, the manner,
the time they sleep; where they nest; how they walk. These are the
routines I am pointing out to you so you can become aware of them in
your own being.
"You have observed the habits of animals in the desert. They eat or
drink at certain places, they nest at specific spots, they leave their
tracks in specific ways; in fact, everything they do can be foreseen or
reconstructed by a good hunter.
"As I told you before, in my eyes you behave like your prey. Once in my
life someone pointed out the same thing to me, so you're not unique in
that. All of us behave like the prey, we are after. That, of course,
also makes us prey for something or someone else. Now, the concern of a
hunter, who knows all this, is to stop being a prey himself. Do you
see, what I mean?" I again expressed the opinion, that his proposition
was unattainable. "It takes time," don Juan said. "You could begin by
not eating lunch every single day at twelve o'clock." He looked at me
and smiled benevolently. His expression was very funny and made me
laugh. "There are certain animals, however, that are impossible to
track," he went on.
92-93
"There are certain types of deer, for instance, which a fortunate
hunter might be able to come across, by sheer luck, once in his
lifetime." Don Juan paused dramatically and looked at me piercingly. He
seemed to be waiting for a question, but I did not have any.
"What do you think makes them so difficult to find and so
unique?" he asked. I shrugged my shoulders, because I did not know,
what to say. "They have no routines," he said in a tone of revelation.
"That's what makes them magical."
"A deer has to sleep at night," I said."Isn't that a routine?"
"Certainly, if the deer sleeps every night at a specific time and in
one specific place. But those magical beings do not behave like that.
In fact, someday you may verify this for yourself. Perhaps, it'll be
your fate to chase one of them for the rest of your life."
"What do you mean by that?"
"You like hunting; perhaps someday, in some place in the world, your
path may cross the path of a magical being and you might go after it. A
magical being is a sight to behold (gaze at, look upon). I was
fortunate enough to cross paths with one. Our encounter took place,
after I had learned and practiced a great deal of hunting. Once I was
in a forest of thick trees in the mountains of central Mexico, when
suddenly, I heard a sweet whistle. It was unknown to me; never, in all
my years of roaming in the wilderness, had I heard such a sound. I
could not place it in the terrain; it seemed to come from different
places. I thought, that perhaps I was surrounded by a herd or a pack of
some unknown animals. I heard the tantalizing (tease, torment) whistle
once more; it seemed to come from everywhere. I realized then my good
fortune. I knew, it was a magical being, a deer. I also knew, that a
magical deer is aware of the routines of ordinary men and the routines
of hunters. It is very easy to figure out, what an average man would do
in a situation like that. First of all, his fear would immediately turn
him into a prey. Once he becomes a prey, he has two courses of action
left. He either flees or he makes his stand. If he is not armed, he
would ordinarily flee into the open field to run for his life. If he is
armed, he could get his weapon ready and would then make his stand
either by freezing on the spot or by dropping to the ground.
A hunter, on the other hand, when he stalks in the wilderness, would
never walk into any place without figuring out his points of
protection, therefore he would immediately take cover. He might drop
his poncho on the ground or he might hang it from a branch as a decoy
(mislead, enclosed place) and then he would hide and wait, until the
game makes its next move. So, in the presence of the magical deer, I
didn't behave like either. I quickly stood on my head and began to wail
softly; I actually wept tears and sobbed for such a long time, that I
was about to faint. Suddenly I felt a soft breeze; something was
sniffing my hair behind my right ear. I tried to turn my head to see,
what
it was, and I
tumbled down and sat up in time to see a radiant creature staring at
me. The deer looked at me and I told him I would not harm him. And the
deer talked to me." Don Juan stopped and looked at me.
I smiled involuntarily. The idea of a talking deer was quite
incredible, to put it mildly. "He talked to me," don Juan said with a
grin.
"The deer talked?"
"He did." Don Juan stood and picked up his bundle of hunting
paraphernalia.
"Did it really talk?" I asked in a tone of perplexity (bewilderment,
puzzlement). Don Juan roared with laughter. "What did it say?" I asked
half in jest. I thought he was pulling my leg.
Don Juan was quiet for a moment, as if he were trying to remember, then
his eyes brightened, as he told me, what the deer had said.
"The magical deer said, "Hello friend”,” don Juan went on. "And I
answered, "Hello." Then he asked me, "Why are you crying?" and I said,
"Because I'm sad."
Then the magical creature came to my ear and said as clearly, as I am
speaking now, "Don't be sad"."
94
Don Juan stared into my eyes. He had a glint of sheer mischievousness.
He began to laugh uproariously. I said, that his dialogue with the deer
had been sort of dumb. "What did you expect?" he asked, still laughing.
"I'm an Indian." His sense of humour was so outlandish, that all, I
could do, was laugh with him. "You don't believe, that a magical deer
talks, do you?"
"I'm sorry, but I just can't believe, things like that can happen," I
said.
"I don't blame you," he said reassuringly. "It's one of the darndest
(damned) things."
9. The Last
Battle on Earth
95
Monday, 24 July 1961
Around mid-afternoon, after we had roamed for hours in the desert, don
Juan chose a place to rest in a shaded area. As soon, as we sat down,
he began talking.
He said, that I had learned a great deal about hunting, but I had not
changed as much, as he had wished. "It's not enough to know, how to
make and set up traps," he said.
"A hunter must live as a hunter, in order to draw the most out of his
life. Unfortunately, changes are difficult and happen very slowly;
sometimes it takes years for a man to become convinced of the need to
change. It took me years, but maybe I didn't have a knack for hunting.
I think for me the most difficult thing was to really want to change."
I assured him, that I understood his point. In fact, since he had begun
to teach me how to hunt, I also had begun to reassess my actions.
Perhaps the most dramatic discovery for me was, that I liked don Juan's
ways. I liked don Juan as a person. There was something solid about his
behavior; the way, he conducted himself, left no doubts about his
mastery, and yet he had never exercised his advantage to demand
anything from me. His interest in changing my way of life, I felt, was
akin to an impersonal suggestion, or perhaps it was akin to an
authoritative commentary on my failures. He had made me very aware of
my failings, yet I could not see, how his ways would remedy anything in
me. I sincerely believed that, in light of, what I wanted to do in my
life, his ways would have only brought me misery and hardship, hence
the impasse (dead end).
96-97
However, I had learned to respect his mastery, which had always been
expressed in terms of beauty and precision. "I have decided to shift my
tactics," he said. I asked him to explain; his statement was vague and
I was not sure, whether or not he was referring to me.
"A good hunter changes his ways as often, as he needs," he replied.
"You know that yourself."
"What do you have in mind, don Juan?"
"A hunter must not only know about the habits of his prey, he also must
know, that there are powers on this Earth, that guide men, animals and
everything, that is living." He stopped talking. I waited, but he
seemed to have come to the end of, what he wanted to say.
"What kind of powers are you talking about?" I asked after a long
pause.
"Powers, that guide our lives and our deaths." Don Juan stopped talking
and seemed to be having tremendous difficulty, in deciding what to say.
He rubbed his hands and shook his head, puffing out his jaws. Twice he
signaled me to be quiet, as I started to ask him to explain his cryptic
statements. "You won't be able to stop yourself easily," he finally
said.
"I know, that you're stubborn, but that doesn't matter. The more
stubborn you are the better it'll be, when you finally succeed in
changing yourself."
"I am trying my best," I said.
"No. I disagree. You're not trying your best. You just said that,
because it sounds good to you; in fact, you've been saying the same
thing about everything, you do. You've been trying your best for years
to no avail. Something must be done to remedy that." I felt
compelled (forced), as usual, to defend myself. Don
Juan seemed to aim, as a rule, at my very weakest points. I remembered
then, that every time I had attempted to defend myself against his
criticisms, I had ended up feeling like a fool, and I stopped myself in
the midst of a long explanatory speech. Don Juan examined me with
curiosity and laughed. He said in a very kind tone, that he had already
told me, that all of us were fools. I was not an exception. "You always
feel compelled (forced) to explain your acts, as if you were the only
man on Earth who's wrong," he said. "It's your old feeling of
importance. You have too much of it; you also have too much personal
history. On the other hand, you don't assume responsibility for your
acts; you're not using your death, as an adviser, and above all, you
are too accessible. In other words, your life is as messy, as it was,
before I met you." Again I had a genuine surge of pride and wanted to
argue, that he was wrong. He gestured me to be quiet. "One must assume
responsibility for being in a weird world," he said. "We are in a weird
world, you know." I nodded my head affirmatively. "We're not talking
about the same thing," he said. "For you, the world is
weird, because if you're not bored with it, you're at odds with it. For
me the world is weird, because it is stupendous, awesome, mysterious,
unfathomable; my interest has been to convince you, that you must
assume responsibility for being here, in this marvelous world, in this
marvelous desert, in this marvelous time.
I wanted to convince you, that you must learn to make every act count,
since you are going to be here for only a short while, in fact, too
short for witnessing all the marvels of it." I insisted, that to be
bored with the world or to be at odds with it, was the human condition.
"So, change it," he replied dryly. "If you do not respond to that
challenge, you are as good, as dead." He dared me to name an issue, an
item in my life, that had engaged all my thoughts. I said art. I had
always wanted to be an artist and, for years, I had tried my hand at
that. I still had the painful memory of my failure. "You have never
taken the responsibility for being in this unfathomable world," he said
in an indicting (charging) tone. "Therefore, you were never an artist,
and perhaps you'll never be a hunter."
"This is my best, don Juan."
"No. You don't know, what your best is."
"I am doing, all I can."
98-99
"You're wrong again. You can do better. There is one simple thing wrong
with you - you think, you have plenty of time." He paused and looked at
me, as if waiting for my reaction. "You think you have plenty of time,"
he repeated.
"Plenty of time for what, don Juan?"
"You think, your life is going to last forever."
"No. I don't."
"Then, if you don't think, your life is going to last forever, what are
you waiting for? Why the hesitation to change?"
"Has it ever occurred to you, don Juan, that I may not want to change?"
"Yes, it has occurred to me. I did not want to change either, just like
you. However, I didn't like my life; I was tired of it, just like you.
Now I don't have enough of it."
I vehemently (strong with emotion) asserted (affirm, state positively),
that his insistence, about changing my way of life, was frightening and
arbitrary (random).
I said, that I really agreed with him, at a certain level, but the mere
fact, that he was always the master, that called the shots, made the
situation untenable (be defended/vindicated) for me. "You don't have
time for this display, you fool," he said in a severe tone. "This,
whatever you're doing now, may be your last act on Earth. It may very
well be your last battle. There is no power, which could guarantee,
that you are going to live one more minute."
"I know that," I said with contained anger.
"No. You don't. If you knew that, you would be a hunter." I
contended (discuss, dispute, fight), that I was aware of my impending
death, but it was useless to talk or think about it, since I could not
do anything to avoid it. Don Juan laughed and said, I was like a
comedian, going mechanically through a routine. "If this were your last
battle on Earth, I would say, that you are an idiot," he said calmly.
"You are wasting your last act on Earth in some stupid mood." We were
quiet for a moment. My thoughts ran rampant (unrestrained, widespread,
extravagant). He was right, of course. "You have no time, my friend, no
time. None of us have time," he said.
"I agree, don Juan, but..."
"Don't just agree with me," he snapped. "You must, instead of agreeing
so easily, act upon it. Take the challenge. Change."
"Just like that?"
"That's right. The change, I'm talking about, never takes place by
degrees; it happens suddenly. And you are not preparing yourself for
that sudden act, that will bring a total change." I believed, he was
expressing a contradiction. I explained to him, that if I were
preparing myself to change, I was certainly changing by degrees.
"You haven't changed at all," he said. "That is why you believe, you're
changing little by little. Yet, perhaps, you will surprise yourself
someday by changing suddenly and without a single warning. I know this
is so, and thus I don't lose sight of my interest in convincing you." I
could not persist in my arguing. I was not sure of what I really wanted
to say.
After a moment's pause don Juan went on explaining his point. "Perhaps
I should put it in a different way," he said. "What I recommend you to
do is to notice, that we do not have any assurance, that our lives will
go on indefinitely. I have just said, that change comes suddenly and
unexpectedly, and so does death. What do you think, we can do about
it?"
I thought, he was asking a rhetorical (showy, insincere) question, but he made a gesture with
his eyebrows, urging me to answer.
"To live as happily, as possible," I said.
"Right! But do you know anyone, who lives happily?" My first impulse
was to say yes; I thought, I could use a number of people, I knew as
examples.
On second thought, however, I knew my effort would only be an empty
attempt at exonerating (exempt, free from charge) myself. "No," I said.
"I really don't."
"I do," don Juan said. "There are some people, who are very careful
about the nature of their acts. Their happiness is to act with the full
knowledge, that they don't have time; therefore, their acts have a
peculiar power; their acts have a sense of..." Don Juan seemed to be at
a loss for words. He scratched his temples and smiled. Then suddenly,
he stood up, as if he were through with our conversation.
100-101
I beseeched (beg for) him to finish, what he was telling me. He sat
down and puckered up his lips. "Acts have power," he said. "Especially
when the person, acting, knows, that those acts are his last battle.
There is a strange consuming happiness in acting with the full
knowledge, that whatever, one is doing, may very well be one's last act
on Earth. I recommend, that you reconsider your life and bring your
acts into that light." I disagreed with him. Happiness for me was to
assume, that there was an inherent continuity to my acts and, that I
would be able to continue doing, at will, whatever I was doing at the
moment, especially if I was enjoying it. I told him, that my
disagreement was not a banal one, but stemmed from the conviction, that
the world and myself had a determinable (capable of being fixed)
continuity. Don Juan seemed to be amused by my efforts to make sense.
He laughed, shook his head, scratched his hair, and finally, when I
talked about a "determinable continuity", threw his hat to the ground
and stamped on it. I ended up laughing at his clowning. "You don't have
time, my friend," he said. "That is the misfortune of human beings.
None of us have sufficient time, and your continuity has no meaning in
this awesome, mysterious world. Your continuity only makes you timid,"
he said. "Your acts cannot possibly have the flair, the power, the
compelling force of the acts, performed by a man, who knows, that he is
fighting his last battle on Earth. In other words, your continuity does
not make you happy or powerful." I admitted, that I was afraid of
thinking, I was going to die, and accused him of causing great
apprehension in me with his constant talk and concern about death. "But
we are all going to die," he said. He pointed towards some hills in the
distance. "There is something out there, waiting for me, for sure; and
I will join it, also for sure. But perhaps, you're different and death
is not waiting for you at all." He laughed at my gesture of
despair.
"I don't want to think about it, don Juan."
"Why not?"
"It is meaningless. If it is out there, waiting for me, why should I
worry about it?"
"I didn't say, that you have to worry about it."
"What am I supposed to do then?"

"Use it. Focus your attention on the link between you and your death,
without remorse or sadness or worrying. Focus your attention on the
fact, you don't have time, and let your acts flow accordingly. Let each
of your acts be your last battle on Earth. Only under those conditions
will your acts have their rightful power. Otherwise, they will be, for
as long, as you live, the acts of a timid man."
"Is it so terrible to be a timid man?"
"No. It isn't, if you are going to be immortal, but if you are going to
die, there is no time for timidity, simply because timidity makes you
cling to something, that exists only in your thoughts. It soothes you,
while everything is at a lull (cause to sleep, soothe), but then the
awesome, mysterious world will open its mouth for you, as it will open
for every one of us, and then you will realize, that your sure ways
were not sure at all. Being timid prevents us from examining and
exploiting our lot as men."
"It is not natural to live with the constant idea of our death, don
Juan."
"Our death is waiting and this very act, we're performing now, may well
be our last battle on Earth," he replied in a solemn voice. "I call it
a battle, because it is a struggle. Most people move from act to act
without any struggle or thought. A hunter, on the contrary, assesses
every act; and since he has an intimate knowledge of his death, he
proceeds judiciously (exhibiting sound judgment), as if every act were
his last battle. Only a fool would fail to notice the advantage, a
hunter has over his fellow men, a hunter gives his last battle its due
respect. It's only natural, that his last act on Earth should be the
best of himself. It's pleasurable that way. It dulls the edge of his
fright."
"You are right," I conceded. "It's just hard to accept."
"It'll take years for you to convince yourself and then it'll take
years for you to act accordingly. I only hope, you have time left."
102-103
"I get scared, when you say that," I said. Don Juan examined me with a
serious expression on his face. "I've told you, this is a weird world,"
he said. "The forces, that guide men, are unpredictable, awesome, yet
their splendor is something to witness." He stopped talking and looked
at me again. He seemed to be on the verge of revealing something to me,
but he checked himself and smiled.
"Is there something, that guides us?" I asked.
"Certainly. There are powers, that guide us."
"Can you describe them?"
"Not really, except to call them forces, spirits, airs, winds, or
anything like that."
I wanted to probe him further, but, before I could ask anything else,
he stood up. I stared at him, flabbergasted (surprise, astound). He had
stood up in one single movement; his body simply jerked up and he was
on his feet. I was still pondering upon the unusual skill, that would
be needed, in order to move with such speed, when he told me in a dry
tone of command to stalk a rabbit, catch it, kill it, skin it, and
roast the meat before the twilight. He looked up at the sky and said,
that I might have enough time. I automatically started off, proceeding
the way I had done scores of times. Don Juan walked beside me and
followed my movements with a scrutinizing look. I was very calm and
moved carefully and I had no trouble at all in catching a male rabbit.
"Now kill it," don Juan said dryly. I reached into the trap to grab
hold of the rabbit. I had it by the ears and was pulling it out, when a
sudden sensation of terror invaded me. For the first time, since don
Juan had begun to teach me to hunt, it occurred to me, that he had
never taught me how to kill game. In the scores of times we had roamed
in the desert, he himself had only killed one rabbit, two quails and
one rattlesnake. I dropped the rabbit and looked at don Juan.
"I can't kill it," I said.
"Why not?"
"I've never done that."
"But you've killed hundreds of birds and other animals."
"With a gun, not with my bare hands."
"What difference does it make? This rabbit's time is up." Don Juan's
tone shocked me; it was so authoritative, so knowledgeable, it left no
doubts in my mind, that
he knew, that the rabbit's time was up. "Kill it!" he commanded with a
ferocious look in his eyes.
"I can't." He yelled at me, that the rabbit had to die. He said, that
its roaming in that beautiful desert had come to an end. I had no
business stalling (employing delaying
tactics), because the power
or the spirit, that guides rabbits, had led that particular one into my
trap, right at the edge of the twilight. A series of confusing thoughts
and feelings overtook me, as if the feelings had been out there waiting
for me. I felt with agonizing clarity the rabbit's tragedy, to have
fallen into my trap. In a matter of seconds my mind swept across the
most crucial moments of my own life, the many times I had been the
rabbit myself. I looked at it, and it looked at me. The rabbit had
backed up against the side of the cage; it was almost curled up, very
quiet and motionless. We exchanged a sombre (gloomy, melancholy, dim,
dismal) glance, and that glance, which I fancied (visualise, imagine,
picture) to be of silent despair, cemented a complete identification on
my part.
"The hell with it," I said loudly. "I won't kill anything. That rabbit
goes free." A profound emotion made me shiver. My arms trembled, as I
tried to grab the rabbit by the ears; it moved fast and I missed. I
again tried and fumbled (touch/handle nervously) once more. I became
desperate. I had the sensation of nausea and quickly kicked the trap,
in order to smash it and let the rabbit go free. The cage was
unsuspectedly strong and did not break, as I thought it would. My
despair mounted to an unbearable feeling of anguish (torment, torture).
Using all my strength, I stamped on the edge of the cage with my right
foot. The sticks cracked loudly. I pulled the rabbit out. I had a
moment of relief, which was shattered to bits in the next instant. The
rabbit hung limp in my hand. It was dead.
104
I did not know what to do. I became preoccupied with finding out, how
it had died. I turned to don Juan. He was staring at me. A feeling of
terror sent a chill through my body. I sat down by some rocks. I had a
terrible headache. Don Juan put his hand on my head and whispered in my
ear, that I had to skin the rabbit and roast it, before the
twilight was over. I felt nauseated. He very patiently talked to me, as
if he were talking to a child. He said, that the powers, that guided
men or animals, had led that particular rabbit to me, in the same way
they will lead me to my own death. He said, the rabbit's death had been
a gift for me in exactly the same way my own death will be a gift for
something or someone else. I was dizzy. The simple events of that day
had crushed me. I tried to think, that it was only a rabbit; I could
not, however, shake off the uncanny identification I had had with it.
Don Juan said, that I needed to eat some of its meat, if only a morsel
(small bite of food), in order to validate my finding. "I can't do
that," I protested meekly (weakly).
"We are dregs (sediment of liquid) in the hands of those forces," he
snapped at me. "So stop your self-importance and use this gift
properly." I picked up the rabbit; it was warm. Don Juan leaned over
and whispered in my ear, "Your trap was his last battle on Earth. I
told you, he had no more time to roam in this marvelous desert."
10. Becoming Accessible to Power
105
Thursday, 17 August 1961. As soon, as I got out of my car, I
complained to don Juan, that I was not feeling well. "Sit down, sit
down," he said softly and almost led me by the hand to his porch. He
smiled and patted me on the back. Two weeks before, on 4 August, don
Juan, as he had said, changed his tactics with me and allowed me to
ingest some peyote buttons. During the height of my hallucinatory
experience, I played with a dog, that lived in the house, where the
peyote session took place. Don Juan interpreted my interaction with the
dog, as a very special event. He
contended (discuss,
dispute, fight), that
at moments of power, such as the one I had been living then, the world
of ordinary affairs did not exist and nothing could be taken for
granted, that the dog was not really a dog, but the incarnation of
Mescalito, the power or deity contained in peyote. The post-effects of
that experience were a general sense of fatigue and melancholy, plus
the incidence of exceptionally vivid dreams and nightmares.
"Where's your writing gear?" don Juan asked, as I sat down on the
porch. I had left my notebooks in my car. Don Juan walked back to the
car and carefully pulled out my briefcase and brought it to my side. He
asked, if I usually carried my briefcase, when I walked. I said, I did.
"That's madness," he said. "I've told you never to carry anything in
your hands, when you walk. Get a knapsack."
106-107
I laughed. The idea of carrying my notes in a knapsack was ludicrous (absurd). I told him, that ordinarily, I wore
a suit and a knapsack, over a three-piece suit, would be a
preposterous (foolish,
absurd) sight. "Put
your coat on over the knapsack," he said. "It is better, that people
think, you're a hunchback, than to ruin your body, carrying all this
around." He urged me to get out my notebook and write. He seemed to be
making a deliberate effort to put me at ease. I complained again about
the feeling of physical discomfort and the strange sense of
unhappiness, I was experiencing. Don Juan laughed and said, "You're
beginning to learn." We then had a long conversation. He said, that
Mescalito, by allowing me to play with him, had pointed me out, as a
"chosen man" and that,
although he was baffled (puzzled, bewilder) by the omen, because I was not an
Indian, he was going to pass on to me some secret knowledge. He said,
that he had had a "benefactor" himself, who taught him how to become a
"Man of Knowledge". I sensed, that something dreadful was about to
happen. The revelation, that I was his chosen man, plus the
unquestionable strangeness of his ways and the devastating effect, that
peyote had had on me, created a state of unbearable apprehension and
indecision. But don Juan disregarded my feelings and recommended, that
I should only think of the wonder of Mescalito, playing with me. "Think
about nothing else," he said. "The rest will come to you of itself." He
stood up and patted me gently on the head and said in a very soft
voice, "I am going to teach you, how to become a warrior in the same
manner, I have taught you how to hunt. I must warn you, though,
learning how to hunt has not made you into a hunter, nor would learning
how to become a warrior make you one." I experienced a sense of
frustration, a physical discomfort, that bordered on anguish. I
complained about the vivid dreams and nightmares, I was having. He
seemed to deliberate for a moment and sat down again.
"They're weird dreams," I said.
"You've always had weird dreams," he retorted (return, pay back,
reply, answer).
"I'm telling you, this time they are truly more weird, than anything
I've ever had."
"Don't concern yourself. They are only dreams. Like the dreams of any
ordinary dreamer, they don't have power. So what's the use of worrying
about them or talking about them?"
"They bother me, don Juan. Isn't there something, I can do to stop
them?"
"Nothing. Let them pass," he said. "Now it's time for you to become
accessible to power, and you are going to begin by tackling (wrestle
with problem) Dreaming."
The tone of voice he used, when he said "Dreaming", made me think, that
he was using the word in a very particular fashion. I was pondering
about a proper question to ask, when he began to talk again. "I've
never told you about Dreaming, because until now I was only concerned
with teaching you how to be a hunter," he said. "A hunter is not
concerned with the manipulation of power, therefore his dreams are only
dreams. They might be poignant (touching, affecting), but they are not
Dreaming. "A warrior, on the other hand, seeks power, and one of the
avenues to power is Dreaming. You may say, that the difference between
a hunter and a warrior is, that a warrior is on his way to power, while
a hunter knows nothing or very little about it. "The decision as to,
who can be a warrior and who can only be a hunter, is not up to us.
That decision is in the realm of the powers, that guide men. That's why
your playing with Mescalito was such an important omen. Those forces
guided you to me; they took you to that bus depot, remember? Some clown
brought you to me. A perfect omen, a clown pointing you out. So, I
taught you, how to be a hunter. And then the other perfect omen,
Mescalito himself playing with you. See what I mean?" His weird logic
was overwhelming. His words created visions of myself
succumbing (gave
in, gave up) to
something awesome and unknown, something, which I had not bargained
for, and which I had not conceived (think, consider, formulated, become
posessed) existed, even in my wildest fantasies.
"What do you propose, I should do?" I asked.
108-109
"Become accessible to power; tackle your Dreams," he replied, "You call
them dreams, because you have no power. A warrior, being a man, who
seeks power, doesn't call them dreams, he calls them real."
"You mean, he takes his dreams, as being reality?"
"He doesn't take anything, as being anything else. What you call Dreams
are real for a warrior. You must understand, that a warrior is not a
fool. A warrior is an immaculate hunter, who hunts power; he's not
drunk, or crazed, and he has neither the time, nor the disposition to
bluff (cliff, river bank,
mislead, deceive, hoodwink, impress, intimidate), or to lie to himself, or to make a
wrong move. The stakes are too high for that. The stakes are his
trimmed, orderly life, which he has taken so long to tighten and
perfect. He is not going to throw that away, by making some stupid
miscalculation, by taking something for being something else. Dreaming
is real for a warrior, because in it he can act deliberately, he can
choose and reject, he can select from a variety of items, those, which
lead to power, and then he can manipulate them and use them, while in
an ordinary dream, he cannot act deliberately."
"Do you mean then, don Juan, that Dreaming is real?"
"Of course it is real."
"As real, as what we are doing now?"
"If you want to compare things, I can say, that it is, perhaps, more
real. In Dreaming you have power, you can change things; you may find
out countless concealed facts; you can control, whatever you want."
Don Juan's premises (subject, belief) >always had appealed to me at
a certain level. I could easily understand his liking the idea, that
one could do anything in Dreams, but I could not take him seriously.
The jump was too great. We looked at each other for a moment. His
statements were insane and yet he was, to the best of my knowledge, one
of the most level-headed men, I had ever met. I told him, that I could
not believe, he took his Dreams to be reality. He chuckled (laugh
quietly or to oneself), as if he knew the magnitude of my
untenable (be defended/vindicated) position, then he stood up without
saying a word and walked inside his house. I sat for a long time in a
state of stupor, until he called me to the back of his house. He had
made some corn gruel and handed me a bowl. I asked him about the time,
when one was awake. I wanted to know, if he called it anything in
particular. But he did not understand or did not want to answer.
"What do you call this, what we're doing now?" I asked, meaning, that
what we were doing, was reality, as opposed to dreams.
"I call it eating," he said and contained his laughter.
"I call it reality," I said. "Because our eating is actually taking
place."
"'Dreaming also takes place," he replied, giggling. "And so does
hunting, walking, laughing." I did not persist in arguing. I could not,
however, even if I stretched myself beyond my
limits, accept his premise (subject, belief). He seemed to be delighted
with my despair. As soon, as we had finished eating, he casually
stated, that we were going to go for a hike, but we were not going to
roam in the desert in the manner, we had done before. "It's
different this time," he said. "From now on we're going to places of
power; you're going to learn, how to make yourself accessible to
power." I again expressed my turmoil. I said, I was not qualified for
that endeavor. "Come on, you're indulging in silly fears," he said in a
low voice, patting me on the back and smiling benevolently. "I've been
catering to your hunter's spirit. You like to roam with me in this
beautiful desert. It's too late for you to quit." He began to walk into
the desert chaparral. He signaled me with his head to follow him. I
could have walked to my car and left, except, that I liked to roam in
that beautiful desert with him. I liked the sensation, which I
experienced only in his company, that this was indeed an awesome,
mysterious, yet beautiful world. As he said, I was hooked. Don Juan led
me to the hills towards the east. It was a long hike. It was a hot day;
the heat, however, which ordinarily would have been unbearable to me,
was somehow unnoticeable.
110-111
We walked for quite a distance into a canyon, until don Juan came to a
halt and sat down in the shade of some boulders. I took some crackers
out of my knapsack, but he told me not to bother with them. He said,
that I should sit in a prominent place. He pointed to a single, almost
round boulder ten or fifteen feet away and helped me climb to the top.
I thought he was also going to sit there, but instead, he just climbed
part of the way, in order to hand me some pieces of dry meat. He told
me with a deadly serious expression, that it was power meat and should
be chewed very slowly and should not be mixed with any other food. He
then walked back to the shaded area and sat down with his back against
a rock. He seemed relaxed, almost sleepy. He remained in the same
position, until I had finished eating. Then he sat up straight and
tilted his head to the right. He seemed to be listening attentively. He
glanced at me two or three times, stood up abruptly, and began to scan
the surroundings with his eyes, the way a hunter would do. I
automatically froze on the spot and only moved my eyes, in order to
follow his movements. Very carefully he stepped behind some rocks, as
if he were expecting game to come into the area, where we were. I
realized then, that we were in a round, covelike bend in the dry water
canyon, surrounded by sandstone boulders. Don Juan suddenly came out
from behind the rocks and smiled at me. He stretched his arms, yawned,
and walked towards the boulder, where I was. I relaxed my tense
position and sat down. "What happened?" I asked in a whisper. He
answered me, yelling, that there was nothing around there to worry
about. I felt an immediate jolt in my stomach. His answer was
inappropriate and
it was inconceivable (unbelievable) to
me, that he would yell, unless he had a specific reason for it. I began
to slide down from the boulder, but he yelled, that I should stay there
a while longer. "What are you doing?" I asked. He sat down and
concealed himself between two rocks at the base of the boulder, where I
was, and then he said in a very loud voice, that he had only been
looking around, because he thought, he had heard something. I asked, if
he had heard a large animal. He put his hand to his ear and yelled,
that he was unable to hear me and, that I should shout my words. I felt
ill at ease yelling, but he urged me in a loud voice to speak up. I
shouted, that I wanted to know, what was going on, and he shouted back,
that there was really nothing around there. He yelled, asking if I
could see anything unusual from the top of the boulder. I said no, and
he asked me to describe to him the terrain towards the south. We
shouted back and forth for a while, and then he signaled me to come
down. I joined him and he whispered in my ear, that the yelling was
necessary to make our presence known, because I had to make myself
accessible to the power of that specific water hole. I looked around,
but could not see the water hole. He pointed, that we were standing on
it.
"There's water here," he said in a whisper, "and also power. There's a
spirit here and we have to lure it out; perhaps it will come after
you." I wanted to know more about the alleged (claimed to exist)
spirit, but he insisted on total silence. He advised me to stay
perfectly still and not let out a whisper or make the slightest
movement to betray our presence. Apparently it was easy for him to
remain in complete immobility for hours; for me, however, it was sheer
torture. My legs fell asleep, my back ached, and tension built up
around my neck and shoulders. My entire body became numb and cold. I
was in great discomfort, when don Juan finally stood up. He just sprang
to his feet and extended his hand to me to help me stand up. As I was
trying to stretch my legs, I realized the inconceivable (unbelievable) easiness,
with which don Juan had jumped up after hours of immobility. It took
quite some time for my muscles to regain the elasticity, needed for
walking. Don Juan headed back for the house. He walked extremely
slowly. He set up a length of three paces, as the distance I should
observe in following him.
112-113
He meandered (wander aimlessly, follow winding course) around
the regular route and crossed it four or five times in different
directions. When he finally arrived at his house, it was late
afternoon. I tried to question him about the events of the day. He
explained, that talking was unnecessary. For the time being, I had to
refrain from asking questions, until we were in a place of power. I was
dying to know, what he meant by that, and tried to whisper a question,
but he reminded me, with a cold severe look, that he meant business. We
sat on his porch for hours. I worked on my notes. From time to time he
handed me a piece of dry meat; finally it was too dark to write. I
tried to think about the new developments, but some part of myself
refused to and I fell asleep.

Saturday, 19 August 1961
Yesterday morning don Juan and I drove to town and ate breakfast at a
restaurant. He advised me not to change my eating habits too
drastically. "Your body is not used to power meat," he said. "You'd get
sick, if you didn't eat your food." He himself ate heartily. When I
joked about it, he simply said, "My body likes everything."

Around noon we hiked back to the water canyon. We proceeded to make
ourselves noticeable to the spirit by "noisy talk" and by a forced
silence, which lasted hours. When we left the place, instead of heading
back to the house, don Juan took off in the direction of the mountains.
We reached some mild slopes first and then we climbed to the top of
some high hills. There don Juan picked out a spot to rest in the open
unshaded area. He told me, that we had to wait, until dusk and, that I
should conduct myself in the most natural fashion, which included
asking all the questions, I wanted. "I know, that the spirit is out
there lurking," he said in a very low voice.
"Where?"
"Out there, in the bushes."
"What kind of spirit is it?"
He looked at me with a quizzical (teasing, mocking) expression
and retorted (return,
pay back, reply, answer),
"How many kinds are there?" We both laughed. I was asking questions out
of nervousness. "It'll come out at dusk," he said. "We just have to
wait." I remained quiet. I had run out of questions. "This is the time,
when we must keep on talking," he said. "The human voice attracts
spirits. There's one, lurking out there now. We are making ourselves
available to it, so keep on talking." I experienced an idiotic sense of
vacuity (vacuum). I could not think , of anything to say. He laughed
and patted me on the back. "You're truly a pill," he said. "When you
have to talk, you lose your tongue. Come on, beat your gums." He made a
hilarious gesture of beating his gums together, opening and closing his
mouth with great speed. "There are certain things, we will talk about
from now on only at places of power," he went on. "I have brought you
here, because this is your first trial. This is a place of power, and
here we can talk only about power."
"I really don't know, what power is," I said.
"Power is something a warrior deals with," he said. "At first it's an
incredible, far-fetched affair; it is hard to even think about it. This
is what's happening to you now. Then power becomes a serious matter;
one may not have it, or one may not even fully realize, that it exists,
yet one knows, that something is there, something, which was not
noticeable before. Next power is manifested as something
uncontrollable, that comes to oneself. It is not possible for me to
say, how it comes or what it really is. It is nothing and yet it makes
marvels appear before your very eyes. And finally power is something in
oneself, something, that controls one's acts and yet obeys one's
command." There was a short pause. Don Juan asked me, if I had
understood. I felt
ludicrous (absurd), saying I did. He seemed to have
noticed my dismay and chuckled (laugh quietly or to oneself).
"I am going to teach you right here the first step to power," he said,
as if he were dictating a letter to me. "I am going to teach you, how
to set up Dreaming."
114-115
He looked at me and again asked me, if I knew, what he meant. I did
not. I was hardly following him at all. He explained, that to "set up
Dreaming " meant, to have a concise (expressing much in few words) and
pragmatic control over the general situation of a dream, comparable to
the control one has over any choice in the desert, such as climbing up
a hill or remaining in the shade of a water canyon. "You must start by
doing something very
simple," he said. "Tonight
in your dreams you must look at your hands."
I laughed out loud. His tone was so factual, that it was, as if he were
telling me to do something commonplace. "Why do you laugh? " he asked
with surprise.
"How can I look at my hands in my dreams?"
"Very simple, focus your eyes on them just like this." He bent his head
forward and stared at his hands with his mouth open. His gesture was so
comical, that I had to laugh.
"Seriously, how can you expect me to do that?" I asked.
"The way I've told you," he snapped. "You can, of course, look at
whatever you goddamn please - your toes, or your belly, or your pecker,
for that matter. I said your hands, because that was the easiest thing
for me to look at. Don't think it's a
joke. Dreaming is as serious, as Seeing,
dying or any other thing in this awesome, mysterious world. Think about
it, as something entertaining. Imagine all the
inconceivable (unbelievable) things,
you could accomplish. A man, hunting for power, has almost no limits in
his Dreaming." I asked him to give me some pointers. "There aren't any
pointers," he said. "Just look at your hands."
"There must be more, that you could tell me," I insisted. He shook his
head and squinted his eyes, staring at me in short glances.
"Every one of us is different," he finally said. "What you call
pointers, would only be, what I myself did, when I was learning. We are
not the same; we aren't even vaguely alike."
"Maybe anything you'd say would help me."
"It would be
simpler for you just to start looking at your hands." He seemed to be
organizing his thoughts and bobbed his head up and down. "Every time
you look at anything in your dreams, it changes shape," he said after a
long silence. "The trick, in learning to set up Dreaming, is obviously
not just to look at things, but to sustain the sight of them. Dreaming
is real, when one has succeeded in bringing everything into focus. Then
there is no difference between, what you do, when you sleep, and what
you do, when you are not sleeping. Do you see, what I mean?" I
confessed, that although I understood, what he had said, I was
incapable of accepting his premise (subject, belief). I brought up the
point, that in a civilized world there were scores of people, who had
delusions and could not distinguish, what took place in the real world
from, what took place in their fantasies. I said, that such persons
were undoubtedly mentally ill, and my uneasiness increased every time,
he would recommend, I should act like a crazy man. After my long
explanation don Juan made a comical gesture of despair by putting his
hands to his cheeks and sighing loudly. "Leave your civilized world
alone," he said. "Let it be! Nobody is asking you to behave like a
madman. I've already told you, a warrior has to be perfect, in order to
deal with the powers he hunts; how can you conceive (think, consider,
formulated, become posessed), that a warrior would not be able to tell
things apart? On the other hand, you, my friend, who knows, what the
real world is, would fumble (touch/handle nervously) and die in no time
at all, if you would have to depend on your ability for telling, what
is real and what is not." I obviously had not expressed, what I really
had in mind. Every time I protested, I was simply voicing the
unbearable frustration of being in an
untenable (be defended/vindicated) position. "I am not trying to make
you into a sick, crazy man," don Juan went on. "You can do that
yourself without my help. But the forces, that guide us, brought you to
me, and I have been endeavoring to teach you to change your stupid ways
and live the strong clean life of a hunter. Then the forces guided you
again and told me, that you should learn to live the impeccable life of
a warrior. Apparently you can't. But who can tell? We are as mysterious
and as awesome, as this unfathomable world, so who can tell, what
you're capable of?"
116-117
There was an underlying tone of sadness in don Juan's voice. I wanted
to apologize, but he began to talk again. "You don't have to look at
your hands," he said. "Like I've said, pick anything at all. But pick
one thing in advance and find it in
your dreams. I
said your hands, because they'll always be there. When they begin to
change shape, you must move your sight away from them and pick
something else, and then look at your hands again. It takes a long time
to perfect this technique."
I had become so involved in writing, that I had not noticed, that it
was getting dark. The sun had already disappeared over the horizon. The
sky was cloudy and the twilight was imminent. Don Juan stood up and
gave furtive (secret, shifty) glances towards the south. "Let's go," he
said. "We must walk south, until the spirit of the water hole shows
itself." We walked for perhaps half an hour. The terrain changed
abruptly and we came to a barren area. There was a large round hill,
where the chaparral had burnt. It looked like a bald head. We walked
towards it. I thought, that don Juan was going to climb the mild slope,
but he stopped instead and remained in a very attentive position. His
body seemed to have tensed as a single unit and shivered for an
instant. Then he relaxed again and stood limply. I could not figure
out, how his body could remain erect, while his muscles were so
relaxed. At that moment a very strong gust of wind jolted me. Don
Juan's body turned in the direction of the wind, towards the west. He
did not use his muscles to turn, or at least he did not use them the
way, I would use mine to turn. Don Juan's body seemed rather to have
been pulled from the outside. It was, as if someone else had arranged
his body to face a new direction. I kept on staring at him. He looked
at me from the corner of his eye. The expression on his face was one of
determination, purpose. All of his being was attentive, and I stared at
him in wonder. I had never been in any situation, that called for such
a strange concentration. Suddenly his body shivered, as though he had
been splashed by a sudden shower of cold water. He had another jolt and
then he started to walk, as if nothing had happened. I followed him. We
flanked the naked hills on the east side, until we were at the middle
part of it; he stopped there, turning to face the west. From where we
stood, the top of the hill was not so round and smooth, as it had
seemed to be from the distance. There was a cave, or a hole, near the
top. I looked at it fixedly, because don Juan was doing the same.
Another strong gust of wind sent a chill up my spine. Don Juan turned
towards the south and scanned the area with his eyes. "There!" he said
in a whisper and pointed to an object on the ground. I strained my eyes
to see. There was something on the ground, perhaps twenty feet away. It
was light brown and, as I looked at it, it shivered. I focused all my
attention on it. The object was almost round and seemed to be curled;
in fact, it looked like a curled-up dog.
"What is it?" I whispered to don Juan.
"I don't know," he whispered back, as he peered at the object. "What
does it look like to you?" I told him, that it seemed to be a dog. "Too
large for a dog," he said matter-of-factly. I took a couple of steps
towards it, but don Juan stopped me gently. I stared at it again. It
was definitely some animal, that was either asleep or dead. I could
almost see its head; its ears protruded like the ears of a wolf. By
then I was definitely sure, that it was a curled-up animal. I thought,
that it could have been a brown calf. I whispered that to don Juan. He
answered, that it was too compact to be a calf, besides its ears were
pointed. The animal shivered again and then I noticed, that it was
alive. I could actually see, that it was breathing, yet it did not seem
to breathe rhythmically. The breaths, that it took were more like
irregular shivers. I had a sudden realization at that moment.
"It's an animal, that is dying," I whispered to don Juan.
"You're right," he whispered back. "But what kind of an animal?"
118-119
I could not make out its
specific features. Don Juan took a couple of cautious steps towards it.
I followed him. It was
quite dark by then and we had to take two more steps, in order to keep
the animal in view. "Watch out," don Juan whispered in my ear. "If it
is a dying animal, it may leap on us with its last strength." The
animal, whatever it was, seemed to be on its last legs; its breathing
was irregular, its body shook spasmodically, but it did not change its
curled-up position. At a given moment, however, a tremendous spasm
actually lifted the animal off the ground. I heard an inhuman shriek
and the animal stretched its legs; its claws were more, than
frightening, they were nauseating. The animal tumbled on its side after
stretching its legs and then rolled on its back. I heard a formidable
growl and don Juan's voice shouting, "Run for your life!" And that was
exactly, what I did. I scrambled towards the top of the hill with
unbelievable speed and agility. When I was halfway to the top, I looked
back and saw don Juan standing in the same place. He signaled me to
come down. I ran down the hill.
"What happened?" I asked, completely out of breath.
"I think the animal is dead," he said. We advanced cautiously towards
the animal. It was sprawled on its back. As I came closer to it, I
nearly yelled with fright. I realized, that it was not quite dead yet.
Its body was still trembling. Its legs, which were sticking up in the
air, shook wildly. The animal was definitely in its last gasps. I
walked in front of don Juan. A new jolt moved the animal's body and I
could see its head. I turned to don Juan, horrified. Judging by its
body the animal was obviously a mammal, yet it had a beak, like a bird.
I stared at it in complete and absolute horror. My mind refused to
believe it. I was dumbfounded. I could not even articulate a word.
Never, in my whole existence, had I witnessed anything of that nature.
Something
inconceivable (unbelievable) was
there in front of my very eyes. I wanted don Juan to explain that
incredible animal, but I could only mumble to him. He was staring at
me. I glanced at him and glanced at the animal, and then something in
me arranged the world and I knew at once, what the animal was. I walked
over to it and picked it up. It was a large branch of a bush. It had
been burnt, and possibly the wind had blown some burnt debris, which
got caught in the dry branch and thus gave the appearance of a large
bulging round animal. The colour of the burnt debris made it look light
brown in contrast with the green vegetation. I laughed at my idiocy and
excitedly explained to don Juan, that the wind blowing through it, had
made it look like a live animal. I thought, he would be pleased with
the way, I had resolved the mystery, but he turned around and began
walking to the top of the hill. I followed him. He crawled inside the
depression, that looked like a cave. It was not a hole, but a shallow
dent in the sandstone. Don Juan took some small branches and used them
to scoop up the dirt, that had accumulated in the bottom of the
depression. "We have to get rid of the ticks," he said.
He signaled me to sit down and told me to make myself comfortable,
because we were going to spend the night there. I began to talk about
the branch, but
he hushed me up. "What you've done is no triumph," he said. "You've
wasted a beautiful power, a power, that blew life into that dry twig."
He said, that a real triumph would have been for me, to let go and
follow the power, until the world had ceased to exist. He did not seem
to be angry with me or disappointed with my performance. He repeatedly
stated, that this was only the beginning, that it took time to handle
power. He patted me on the shoulder and joked, that earlier that day I
was the person, who knew, what was real and what was not. I felt
embarrassed. I began to apologize for my tendency of always being so
sure of my ways.
"It doesn't matter," he said."That branch was a real animal and it was
alive, at the moment the power touched it. Since what kept it alive was
power, the trick was, like in Dreaming, to sustain the sight of it. See
what I mean?" I wanted to ask something else, but he hushed me up and
said, that I should remain completely silent, but awake all night and,
that he alone was going to talk for a while. He said, that the spirit,
which knew his voice, might become subdued with the sound of it and
leave us alone.
120
He explained, that the idea of, making oneself accessible to power, had
serious overtones. Power was a devastating force, that could easily
lead to one's death and had to be treated with great care. Becoming
available to power had to be done systematically, but always with great
caution. It involved: making one's presence obvious by a contained
display of loud talk or any other type of noisy activity, and then it
was mandatory to observe a prolonged and total silence. A controlled
outburst and a controlled quietness were the mark of a warrior. He
said, that properly I should have sustained the sight of the live
monster for a while longer. In a controlled fashion, without losing my
mind or becoming deranged with excitation or fear, I should have
striven (exert, struggle) to "Stop the World". He pointed out, that
after I had run up the hill for dear life, I was in a perfect state for
"Stopping the World". Combined in that state were fear, awe, power and
death; he said, that such a state would be pretty hard to repeat.
I whispered in his ear, "What do you mean by "Stopping the World"?" He
gave me a ferocious look, before he answered, that it was a technique,
practiced by those, who were hunting for power, a technique, by virtue
of which the world, as we know it, was made to collapse.
11. The Mood of a Warrior

121
I drove up to don Juan's house on Thursday, 31 August 1961, and, before
I even had a chance to greet him, he stuck his head through the window
of my car, smiled at me, and said, "We must drive quite a distance to a
place of power and it's almost noon." He opened the door of my car, sat
down next to me in the front seat, and directed me to drive south for
about seventy miles; we then turned east on to a dirt road and followed
it, until we had reached the slopes of the mountains. I parked my car
off the road in a depression don Juan picked, because it was deep
enough to hide the car from view. From there we went directly to the
top of the low hills, crossing a vast flat desolate area. When it got
dark don Juan selected a place to sleep. He demanded complete silence.
The next day we ate frugally (sparing, not plantiful) and continued our
journey in an easterly direction. The vegetation was no longer desert
shrubbery, but thick green mountain bushes and trees. Around
mid-afternoon we climbed to the top of a gigantic bluff (cliff,
river bank, mislead, deceive, hoodwink, impress, intimidate) of
conglomerate rock, which looked like a wall. Don Juan sat down and
signaled me to sit down also. "This is a place of power," he said after
a moment's pause. "This is the place, where warriors were buried a long
time ago." At that instant a crow flew right above us, cawing. Don Juan
followed its flight with a fixed gaze. I examined the rock and was
wondering, how and where the warriors had been buried, when he tapped
me on the shoulder.
122-123
"Not here, you fool," he said, smiling. "Down there." He pointed to the
field right below us at the bottom of the bluff (cliff, river bank,
mislead, deceive, hoodwink, impress, intimidate), towards the east; he
explained, that the field in question was surrounded by a natural
corral of boulders. From where I was sitting, I saw an area, which was
perhaps a hundred yards in diameter and, which looked like a perfect
circle. Thick bushes covered its surface, camouflaging the boulders. I
would not have noticed its perfect roundness, if don Juan had not
pointed it out to me. He said, that there were scores of such places
scattered in the old world of the Indians. They were not exactly places
of power, like certain hills or land formations, which were the abode
of spirits, but rather places of enlightenment, where one could be
taught, where one could find solutions to dilemmas.
"All you have to do is come here," he said. "Or spend the night on this
rock, in order to rearrange your feelings."
"Are we going to spend the night here?"
"I thought so, but a little crow just told me not to do that." I tried
to find out more about the crow, but he hushed me up with an impatient
movement of his hand.
"Look at that circle of boulders," he said. "Fix it in your memory and
then someday a crow will lead you to another one of these places. The
more perfect its roundness is, the greater its power."
"Are the warriors' bones still buried here?"
Don Juan made a comical gesture of puzzlement and then smiled
broadly.
"This is not a cemetery," he said. "Nobody is buried here. I said
warriors were once buried here. I meant, they used to come here to bury
themselves for a night, or for two days, or for whatever length of time
they needed to. I did not mean dead people's bones are buried here. I'm
not concerned with cemeteries. There is no power in them. There is
power in the bones of a warrior, though, but they are never in
cemeteries. And there is even more power in the bones of a Man of
Knowledge, yet it would be practically impossible to find them."
"Who is a Man of Knowledge, don Juan?"
"Any warrior could become a Man of Knowledge. As I told you, a warrior
is an impeccable hunter, that hunts power. If he succeeds in his
hunting, he can be a Man of Knowledge."
"What do you..."
He stopped my question with a movement of his hand. He stood up,
signaled me to follow, and began descending on the steep
east side of the bluff (cliff, river bank, mislead, deceive, hoodwink,
impress, intimidate). There was a definite trail in the almost
perpendicular face, leading to the round area. We slowly worked our way
down the perilous path, and when we reached the bottom floor don Juan,
without stopping at all, led me through the thick chaparral to the
middle of the circle. There he used some thick dry branches to sweep a
clean spot for us to sit. The spot was also perfectly round. "I
intended to bury you here all night," he said. "But I know now, that it
is not time yet. You don't have power. I'm going to bury you only for a
short while."
I became very nervous with the idea of being enclosed and asked, how he
was planning to bury me. He giggled like a child and began collecting
dry branches. He did not let me help him and said I should sit down and
wait. He threw the branches he was collecting inside the clean circle.
Then he made me lie down with my head towards the east, put my jacket
under my head, and made a cage around my body. He constructed it by
sticking pieces of branches about two and a half feet in length in the
soft dirt; the branches, which ended in forks, served as supports for
some long sticks, that gave the cage a frame and the appearance of an
open coffin. He closed the boxlike cage by placing small branches and
leaves over the long sticks, encasing me from the shoulders down. He
let my head stick out with my jacket as a pillow. He then took a thick
piece of dry wood and, using it as a digging stick, he loosened the
dirt around me and covered the cage with it. The frame was so solid and
the leaves were so well placed, that no dirt came inside. I could move
my legs freely and could actually slide in and out. Don Juan said, that
ordinarily a warrior would construct the cage and then slip into it and
seal it from the inside.
124-125
"How about the animals?" I asked. "Can they scratch the surface dirt
and sneak into the cage and hurt the man?"
"No, that's not a worry for a warrior. It's a worry for you, because
you have no power. A warrior, on the other hand, is guided by his
unbending purpose and can fend off (manage alone, turn aside, defend,
deflect, parry) anything. No rat, or snake, or mountain lion could
bother him."
"What do they bury themselves for, don Juan?"
"For enlightenment and for power." I experienced an extremely pleasant
feeling of peace and satisfaction; the world at that moment seemed at
ease. The quietness was exquisite and at the same time unnerving. I was
not accustomed to that kind of silence. I tried to talk, but he hushed
me. After a while the tranquility of the place affected my mood. I
began to think of my life and my personal history, and experienced a
familiar sensation of sadness and remorse. I told him, that I did not
deserve to be there, that his world was strong and fair and I was weak,
and that my spirit had been distorted by the circumstances of my life.
He laughed and threatened to cover my head with dirt, if I kept on
talking in that vein. He said, that I was a man. And like any man I
deserved everything, that was a man's lot - joy, pain, sadness and
struggle - and, that the nature of one's acts was unimportant as long,
as one acted, as a warrior. Lowering his voice to almost a whisper, he
said, that if I really felt, that my spirit was distorted, I should
simply fix it - purge it, make it perfect - because there was no other
task in our entire lives, which was more worthwhile.
Not to fix the spirit was to seek death, and that was the same, as to
seek nothing, since death was going to overtake us, regardless of
anything. He paused for a long time and then he said with a tone of
profound conviction, "To seek the perfection of the warrior's spirit is
the only task worthy of our manhood." His words acted, as a catalyst. I
felt the weight of my past actions, as an unbearable and hindering
load. I admitted, that there was no hope for me. I began to weep,
talking about my life. I said, that I had been roaming for such a long
time, that I had become callous (hardened, insensitive) to pain and
sadness, except on certain occasions, when I would realize my aloneness
and my helplessness. He did not say anything. He grabbed me by the
armpits and pulled me out of the cage. I sat up, when he let go of me.
He also sat down. An uneasy silence set in between us. I thought he was
giving me time to compose myself. I took my notebook and scribbled out
of nervousness.
"You feel like a leaf at the mercy of the wind, don't you?" he finally
said, staring at me. That was exactly the way I felt. He seemed to
empathize with me. He said, that my mood reminded him of a song and
began to sing in a low tone; his singing voice was very pleasing and
the lyrics carried me away:
"I'm so far away from the sky, where I was born. Immense nostalgia
invades my thoughts. Now, that I am so alone and sad like a leaf in the
wind, sometimes I want to weep, sometimes I want to laugh with
longing." We did not speak for a long while. He finally broke the
silence. "Since the day you were born, one way or another, someone has
been doing something to you," he said.
"That's correct," I said.
"And they have been doing something to you against your will."
"True."
"And by now you're helpless, like a leaf in the wind."
"That's correct. That's the way it is." I said, that the circumstances
of my life had sometimes been devastating. He listened attentively, but
I could not figure out, whether he was just being agreeable or
genuinely concerned, until I noticed, that he was trying to hide a
smile.
"No matter how much you like to feel sorry for yourself, you have to
change that," he said in a soft tone. "It doesn't jibe (agree, harmonise) with the life of a warrior." He
laughed and sang the song again, but contorted the intonation of
certain words; the result was a ludicrous lament (grief, mourn, wail, complain). He pointed out, that the reason, I
had liked the song, was because in my own life I had done nothing else,
but find flaws with everything and lament. I could not argue with him. He was
correct.
126-127
Yet I believed, I had sufficient reason to justify my feeling of being
like a leaf in the wind. "The hardest thing in the world is to assume
the mood of a warrior," he said. "It is of no use to be sad and
complain and feel justified in doing so, believing, that someone is
always doing something to us. Nobody is doing anything to anybody, much
less to a warrior. You are here, with me, because you want to be here.
You should have assumed full responsibility by now, so the idea, that
you are at the mercy of the wind, would be inadmissible." He stood up
and begin to disassemble the cage. He scooped the dirt back, to where
he had gotten it from, and carefully scattered all the sticks in the
chaparral. Then he covered the clean circle with debris, leaving the
area, as if nothing had ever touched it. I commented on his
proficiency. He said, that a good hunter would know, that we had been
there, no matter how careful he had been, because the tracks of men
could not be completely erased. He sat cross-legged and told me to sit
down as comfortably, as possible, facing the spot, where he had buried
me, and stay put, until my mood of sadness had dissipated. "A warrior
buries himself, in order to find power, not to weep with self-pity," he
said. I attempted to explain, but he made me stop with an impatient
movement of his head. He said, that he had to pull me out of the cage
in a hurry, because my mood was intolerable and he was afraid, that the
place would resent my softness and injure me. "Self-pity doesn't jibe
with power," he said. "The mood of a warrior calls for control over
himself and at the same time it calls for abandoning himself."
"How can that be?" I asked. "How can he control and abandon himself at
the same time?"
"It is a difficult technique," he said. He seemed to deliberate,
whether or not to continue talking. Twice he was on the verge of saying
something, but he checked himself and smiled. "You're not over your
sadness yet," he said. "You still feel weak and there is no point in
talking about the mood of a warrior now." Almost an hour went by in
complete silence. Then he abruptly asked me, if I had succeeded in
learning the Dreaming techniques, he had taught me. I had been
practicing assiduously (busy, diligent, devoted) and had been able,
after a monumental effort, to obtain a degree of control over my
dreams. Don Juan was very right in saying, that one could interpret the
exercises, as being entertainment. For the first time in my life I had
been looking forward to going to sleep. I gave him a detailed
report of my progress. It had been relatively
easy for me to learn to sustain the image of my hands, after I had
learned to command myself to look at them. My
visions, although not always of my own hands, would last a seemingly
long time, until I would finally lose control and would become immersed
in ordinary unpredictable dreams. I had no volition whatsoever, over
when I would give myself the command to look at my hands, or to look at
other items of the dreams. It would just
happen. At a
given moment, I would remember, that
I had to look at my hands and then at the surroundings. There were
nights, however, when I could not recall having done it at all.
He seemed to be satisfied and wanted to know, what were the usual
items, I had been finding in my visions. I could not think of anything
in particular and started elaborating on a nightmarish dream, I had had
the night before. "Don't get so fancy," he said dryly. I told him, that
I had been recording all the details of my dreams. Since I had begun to
practice, looking at my hands, my dreams had become very
compelling (forceful)
and my sense of recall had
increased to the point, that I could remember minute details. He said,
that to follow them was a waste of time, because details and vividness
were in no way important. "Ordinary dreams get very vivid as soon, as
you begin to set up Dreaming," he said. "That vividness and clarity is
a formidable barrier, and you are worse off, than anyone, I have ever
met in my life. You have the worst mania. You write down everything you
can."
128-129
In all fairness, I believed, what I was doing, was appropriate. Keeping
a meticulous record of my dreams was giving me a degree of clarity
about the nature of the visions, I had while sleeping. "Drop it!" he
said imperatively. "It's not helping anything. All you're doing is
distracting yourself from the purpose of Dreaming, which is control and
power." He lay down and covered his eyes with his hat and talked
without looking at me. "I'm going to remind you of all the techniques,
you must practice," he said.
"First you must
focus your gaze on your hands, as the starting point. Then shift your
gaze to other items and look at them in brief glances. Focus your gaze
on as many things, as you can. Remember, that if you only glance
briefly, the images do not shift. Then go back to your hands. Every
time you look at your hands you renew the power, needed for Dreaming,
so in the beginning don't look at too many things. Four items will
suffice every time. Later on, you may enlarge the scope, until you can
cover all you want, but as soon, as the images begin to shift, and you
feel you are losing control, go back to your
hands. When you feel, you can gaze at things
indefinitely, you will be ready for a new technique.
I'm going to teach you this new technique now, but I expect you to put
it to use only when you are ready." He was quiet for about fifteen
minutes. Finally he sat up and looked at me. "The next step in
setting up Dreaming is to learn to travel," he said. "The same way you
have learned to look at your hands, you can will yourself to move, to
go places. First, you have to establish a place, you want to go to.
Pick a well-known spot - perhaps your school, or a park, or a friend's
house - then, will yourself to go there. This technique is very
difficult. You must perform two tasks: you must will yourself to go to
the specific locale; and then, when you have mastered that technique,
you have to learn to control the exact time of your traveling."
As I wrote down his statements, I had the feeling, that I was really
nuts. I was actually taking down insane instructions, knocking myself
out, in order to follow them. I experienced a surge of remorse and
embarrassment. "What are you doing to me, don Juan?" I asked, not
really meaning it. He seemed surprised. He stared at me for an instant
and then smiled. "You've been asking me the same question over and
over. I'm not doing anything to you. You are making yourself accessible
to power; you're hunting it and I'm just guiding you." He tilted his
head to the side and studied me. He held my chin with one hand and the
back of my head with the other and then moved my head back and forth.
The muscles of my neck were very tense and moving my head reduced the
tension. Don Juan looked up to the sky for a moment and seemed to
examine something in it. "It's time to leave," he said dryly and stood
up. We walked in an easterly direction, until we came upon a patch of
small trees in a valley between two large hills. It was almost five
P.M. by then. He casually said, that we might have to spend the night
in that place. He pointed to the trees and said, that there was water
around there. He tensed his body and began sniffing the air like an
animal. I could see the muscles of his stomach contracting in very fast
short spasms, as he blew and inhaled through his nose in rapid
succession. He urged me to do the same and find out by myself, where
the water was. I reluctantly tried to imitate him. After five or six
minutes of fast breathing I was dizzy, but my nostrils had cleared out
in an extraordinary way and I could actually detect the smell of river
willows. I could not tell, where they were, however. Don Juan told me
to rest for a few minutes and then he started me, sniffing again. The
second round was more intense. I could actually distinguish a whiff
(air gust, brief odour) of river willow, coming from my right. We
headed in that direction and found, a good quarter of a mile away, a
swamp-like spot with stagnant water. We walked around it to a slightly
higher flat mesa. Above and around the mesa the chaparral was very
thick.

130-131
"This place is crawling with mountain lions and other smaller cats,"
don Juan said casually, as if it were a commonplace observation. I ran
to his side and he broke out laughing. "Usually I wouldn't come here at
all," he said. "But the crow pointed out this direction. There must be
something special about it."
"Do we really have to be here, don Juan?"
"We do. Otherwise, I would avoid this place." I had become extremely
nervous. He told me to listen attentively to, what he had to say. "The
only thing one can do in this place is hunt lions," he said. "So I'm
going to teach you how to do that. There is a special way of
constructing a trap for water rats, that live around water holes. They
serve as bait. The sides of the cage are made to collapse and very
sharp spikes are put along the sides. The spikes are hidden, when the
trap is up and they do not affect anything, unless something falls on
the cage, in which case the sides collapse and the spikes pierce,
whatever hits the trap." I could not understand, what he meant, but he
made a diagram on the ground and showed me, that if the side sticks of
the cage were placed on pivot-like hollow spots on the frame, the cage
would collapse on to either side, if something pushed its top. The
spikes were pointed sharp slivers (splinter) of hard wood, which
were placed all around the frame and fixed to it. Don Juan said, that
usually a heavy load of rocks was placed over a net of sticks, which
were connected to the cage and hung way above it. When the mountain
lion came upon the trap, baited with the water rats, it would usually
try to break it by pawing it with all its might; then the slivers
(splinter) would go through its paws and the cat, in a frenzy, would
jump up, unleashing an avalanche of rocks on top of him.
"Someday you might need to catch a mountain lion," he said. "They have
special powers. They are terribly smart and the only way to catch them
is by fooling them with pain and with the smell of river willows." With
astounding speed and skill he assembled a trap and, after a long wait,
he caught three chubby squirrel-like rodents. He told me to pick a
handful of willows from the edge of the swamp and made me rub my
clothes with them. He did the same. Then, quickly and skillfully, he
wove two simple carrying nets out of reeds, scooped up a large clump of
green plants and mud from the swamp, and carried it back to the mesa,
where he concealed himself. In the meantime the squirrel-like rodents
had begun to squeak very loudly. Don Juan spoke to me from his hiding
place and told me to use the other carrying net, gather a good chunk of
mud and plants, and climb to the lower branches of a tree near the
trap, where the rodents were. Don Juan said, that he did not want to
hurt the cat or the rodents, so he was going to hurl the mud at the
lion, if it came to the trap. He told me to be on the alert and hit the
cat with my bundle after he had, in order to scare it away. He
recommended, I should be extremely careful not to fall out of the tree.
His final instructions were to be so still, that I would merge with the
branches. I could not see, where don Juan was. The squealing of the
rodents became extremely loud and, finally, it was so dark, that I
could hardly distinguish the general features of the terrain. I heard a
sudden and close sound of soft steps and a muffled catlike exhalation,
then a very soft growl and the squirrel-like rodents ceased to squeak.
It was right then, that I saw the dark mass of an animal right under
the tree, where I was. Before I could even be sure, that it was a
mountain lion, it charged against the trap, but before it reached it,
something hit it and made it recoil, I hurled my bundle, as don Juan
had told me to do. I missed, yet it made a very loud noise. At that
instant don Juan let out a series of penetrating yells, that sent
chills through my spine, and the cat, with extraordinary agility,
leaped to the mesa and disappeared. Don Juan kept on making the
penetrating noises a while longer.
134-135
Then he told me to come down from the tree, pick up the cage with the
squirrels, run up to the mesa, and get to where he was as fast, as I
could. In an incredibly short period of time I was standing next to don
Juan. He told me to imitate his yelling as close, as possible, in order
to keep the lion off, while he dismantled the cage and let the rodents
free. I began to yell, but could not produce the same effect. My voice
was raspy, because of the excitation. He said, I had to abandon myself
and yell with real feeling, because the lion was still around. Suddenly
I fully realized the situation. The lion was real. I let out a
magnificent series of piercing yells. Don Juan roared with laughter. He
let me yell for a moment and then he said, we had to leave the place as
quietly, as possible, because the lion was no fool and was probably
retracing its steps back, to where we were. "He'll follow us for sure,"
he said. "No matter how careful we are, we'll leave a trail as wide, as
the Pan American highway." I walked very close to don Juan. From time
to time he would stop for an instant and listen. At one moment he began
to run in the dark and I followed him with my hands extended in front
of my eyes, to protect myself from the branches. We finally got to the
base of the bluff (cliff, river bank, mislead, deceive, hoodwink,
impress, intimidate), where we had been earlier. Don Juan said, that if
we succeeded in climbing to the top without being mauled by the lion,
we were safe. He went up first, to show me the way. We started to climb
in the dark. I did not know how, but I followed him with dead sure
steps. When we were near the top, I heard a peculiar animal cry. It was
almost like the mooing (мычание) of a cow, except that it was a bit
longer and coarser. "Up! Up!" don Juan yelled. I scrambled to the top
in total darkness ahead of don Juan. When he reached the flat top of
the bluff (cliff, river bank, mislead, deceive, hoodwink, impress,
intimidate), I was already sitting, catching my breath.
He rolled on the ground. I thought for a second, that the exertion had
been too great for him, but he was laughing at my speedy climb. We sat
in complete silence for a couple of hours and then we started back to
my car.
Sunday, 3 September 1961. Don Juan was not in the house, when I woke
up. I worked over my notes and had time to get some firewood from the
surrounding chaparral, before he returned. I was eating, when he walked
into the house. He began to laugh at, what he called my routine of
eating at noon, but he helped himself to my sandwiches. I told him,
that what had happened with the mountain lion, was baffling to me. In
retrospect, it all seemed unreal. It was, as if everything had been
staged for my benefit. The succession of events had been so rapid, that
I really had not had time to be afraid. I had had enough time to act,
but not to deliberate upon my circumstances. In writing my notes the
question, of whether I had really seen the mountain lion, came to mind.
The dry branch was still fresh in my memory.
"It was a mountain lion," don Juan said imperatively.
"Was it a real flesh and blood animal?"

"Of course." I told him, that my suspicions had been roused because, of
the easiness of the total event. It was, as if the lion had been
waiting out there and had been trained to do exactly, what don Juan had
planned. He was unruffled by my barrage (overwhelming outpouring) of
skeptical remarks. He laughed at me. "You're a funny fellow," he said.
"You saw and heard the cat. It was right under the tree, where you
were. He didn't smell you and jump at you, because of the river
willows. They kill any other smell, even for cats. You had a batch of
them in your lap." I said, that it was not, that I doubted him, but
that everything, that had happened that night, was extremely foreign to
the events of my everyday life. For a while, as I was writing my notes,
I even had had the feeling, that don Juan may have been playing the
role of the lion. However, I had to discard the idea, because I had
really seen the dark shape of a four-legged animal, charging at the
cage and then leaping to the mesa. "Why do you make such a fuss?" he
said. "It was just a big cat. There must be thousands of cats in those
mountains. Big deal. As usual, you are focusing your attention on the
wrong item. It makes no difference whatsoever, whether it was a lion or
my pants. Your feelings at that moment were, what counted." In my
entire life I had never seen or heard a big wildcat on the prowl
(roaming through). When I thought of it, I could not get over the fact,
that I had been only a few feet away from one. Don Juan listened
patiently, while I went over the entire experience. "Why the awe for
the big cat?" he asked with an inquisitive expression. "You've been
close to most of the animals, that live around here and you've never
been so awed by them. Do you like cats?"
"No, I don't."
"Well, forget about it then. The lesson was not on how to hunt lions,
anyway."
"What was it about?"
"The little crow pointed out that specific spot to me, and at that spot
I saw the opportunity of making you understand, how one acts, while one
is in the mood of a warrior. Everything, you did last night, was done
within a proper mood. You were controlled and at the same time
abandoned, when you jumped down from the tree to pick up the cage and
run up to me. You were not paralyzed with fear. And then, near the top
of the bluff (cliff, river bank, mislead, deceive, hoodwink, impress,
intimidate), when the lion let out a scream, you moved very well. I'm
sure you wouldn't believe, what you did, if you looked at the bluff
(cliff, river bank, mislead, deceive, hoodwink, impress, intimidate)
during the daytime. You had a degree of abandon, and at the same time
you had a degree of control over yourself. You did not let go and wet
your pants, and yet you let go and climbed that wall in complete
darkness. You could have missed the trail and killed yourself. To climb
that wall in darkness required, that you had to hold on to yourself and
let go of yourself at the same time. That's what I call the mood of a
warrior." I said, that whatever, I had done that night, was the product
of my fear and not the result of any mood of control and abandon. "I
know that," he said, smiling. "And I wanted to show you, that you can
spur (stimulate, promt, incite) yourself beyond your limits, if you are
in the proper mood. A warrior makes his own mood. You didn't know that.
Fear got you into the mood of a warrior, but now, that you know about
it, anything can serve to get you into it." I wanted to argue with him,
but my reasons were not clear. I felt an inexplicable sense of
annoyance. "It's convenient to always act in such a mood," he
continued. "It cuts through the crap and leaves one purified. It was a
great feeling, when you reached the top of the bluff (cliff, river
bank, mislead, deceive, hoodwink, impress, intimidate). Wasn't it?" I
told him, that I understood, what he meant, yet I felt it would be
idiotic to try to apply, what he was teaching me, to my everyday life.
"One needs the mood of a warrior for every single act," he said.
"Otherwise one becomes distorted and ugly. There is no power in a life,
that lacks this mood. Look at yourself. Everything offends and upsets
you. You whine, complain and feel, that everyone is making you dance to
their tune. You are a leaf at the mercy of the wind. There is no power
in your fife. What an ugly feeling that must be! A warrior, on the
other hand, is a hunter. He calculates everything. That's control. But
once his calculations are over, he acts. He lets go. That's abandon. A
warrior is not a leaf at the mercy of the wind. Noone can push him;
noone can make him do things against himself or against his better
judgment. A warrior is tuned to survive, and he survives in the best of
all possible fashions." I liked his stance, although I thought, it was
unrealistic. It seemed too simplistic for the complex world, in which I
lived. He laughed at my arguments and I insisted, that the mood of a
warrior could not possibly help me overcome the feeling of being
offended or actually being injured by the actions of my fellow men. As
in the hypothetical case of being physically harassed by a cruel and
malicious person, placed in a position of authority. He roared with
laughter and admitted the example was apropos (appropriate, pertinent). "A warrior could be injured, but
not offended," he said.
136
"For a warrior there is nothing offensive about the acts of his fellow
men as long, as he himself is acting within the proper mood. "The other
night you were not offended by the lion. The fact, that it chased us,
did not anger you. I did not hear you cursing it, nor did I hear you
say, that he had no right to follow us. It could have been a cruel and
malicious lion for all you know. But that was not a consideration,
while you struggled to avoid it. The only thing, that was pertinent
(appropriate) was to survive. And that you did very well. If you would
have been alone and the lion had caught up with you and mauled you to
death, you would have never even considered complaining or feeling
offended by its acts. The mood of a warrior is not so far-fetched for
yours or anybody's world. You need it, in order to cut through all the
guff (nonsense, foolish talk)." I explained my way of reasoning. The
lion and my fellow men were not on a par, because I knew the intimate
quirks (oddity) of men, while I knew nothing about the lion. What
offended me, about my fellow men, was, that they acted maliciously and
knowingly. "I know, I know," don Juan said
patiently.
"To achieve the mood of a warrior is not a simple matter. It is a
revolution. To regard the lion, the water rats and our fellow men as
equals is a magnificent act of the warrior's spirit. It takes power to
do that."
12. A Battle
of Power
137
Thursday, 28 December 1961. We started on a journey very early in the
morning. We drove south and then east to the mountains. Don Juan had
brought gourds with food and water. We ate in my car before we started
walking. "Stick close to me," he said. "This is an unknown region to
you and there is no need to take chances. You are going in search
of power and everything you do, counts. Watch the wind, especially
towards the end of the day. Watch when it changes directions, and shift
your position, so that I always shield you from it."
"What are we going to do in these mountains, don Juan?"
"You're hunting power."
"I mean, what are we going to do in particular?"
"There's no plan, when it comes to hunting power. Hunting power or
hunting game is the same. A hunter hunts, whatever presents itself to
him. Thus he must always be in a state of readiness. You know about the
wind, and now you may hunt power in the wind by yourself. But there are
other things, you don't know about, which are, like the wind, the
centre of power at certain times and at certain places. Power is a very
peculiar affair," he said. "It is impossible to pin it down and say,
what it really is. It is a feeling, that one has about certain things.
Power is personal. It belongs to oneself alone. My benefactor, for
instance, could make a person mortally ill by merely looking at him.
Women would wane away (decrease intensity, decline), after he had set
eyes on them.
138-139
Yet he did not make people sick all the time, but only when his
personal power was involved."
"How did he choose, who to make sick?"
"I don't know that. He didn't know it himself. Power is like that. It
commands you and yet, it obeys you. A hunter of power entraps it and
then stores it away, as his personal finding. Thus, personal power
grows, and you may have the case of a warrior, who has so much personal
power, that he becomes a Man of Knowledge."
"How does one store power, don Juan?"
"That again is another feeling. It depends on, what kind of a person
the warrior is. My benefactor was a man of violent nature. He stored
power through that feeling. Everything he did was strong and direct. He
left me a memory of something, crushing through things. And everything,
that happened to him, took place in that manner." I told him, I could
not understand how power was stored through a feeling. "There's no way
to explain it," he said after a long pause. "You have to do it
yourself." He picked up the gourds with food and fastened them to his
back. He handed me a string with eight pieces of dry meat strung on it
and made me hang it from my neck. "This is power food," he said.
"What makes it power food, don Juan?"
"It is the meat of an animal, that had power. A deer, a unique deer. My
personal power brought it to me. This meat will sustain us for weeks,
months, if need be. Chew little bits of it at a time, and chew it
thoroughly. Let the power sink slowly into your body." We began to
walk. It was almost eleven A.M. Don Juan reminded me once more of the
procedure to follow. "Watch the wind," he said. "Don't let it trip you.
And don't let it make you tired. Chew your power food and hide from the
wind behind my body. The wind won't hurt me; we know each other very
well."

He led me to a trail, that went straight to the high mountains. The day
was cloudy and it was about to rain. I could see low rain clouds and
fog up above in the mountains, descending into the area, where we were.
We hiked in complete silence, until about three o'clock in the
afternoon. Chewing the dry meat was indeed invigorating. And watching
for sudden changes in the direction of the wind, became a mysterious
affair, to the point that my entire body seemed to sense changes,
before they actually happened. I had the feeling, that I could detect
waves of wind, as a sort of pressure on my upper chest, on my bronchial
tubes. Every time I was about to feel a gust of wind, my chest and
throat would itch. Don Juan stopped for a moment and looked around. He
appeared to be orienting himself and then he turned to the right. I
noticed, that he was also chewing dry meat. I felt very fresh and was
not tired at all. The task of, being aware of shifts in the wind, had
been so consuming, that I had not been aware of time. We walked into a
deep ravine and then up one side, to a small plateau on the sheer side
of an enormous mountain. We were quite high, almost to the top of the
mountain. Don Juan climbed a huge rock at the end of the plateau and
helped me up to it. The rock was placed in such a way, as to look like
a dome on top of precipitous walls. We slowly walked around it.
Finally, I had to move around the rock on my seat, holding on to the
surface with my heels and hands. I was soaked in perspiration and had
to dry my hands repeatedly. From the other side I could see a very
large shallow cave near the top of the mountain. It looked like a hall,
that had been carved out of the rock. It was sandstone, which had been
weathered into a sort of balcony with two pillars. Don Juan said,
that we were going to camp there, that it was a very safe place,
because it was too shallow to be a den for lions or any other
predators, too open to be a nest for rats, and too windy for
insects. He
laughed and said, that it was an ideal place for men, since no other
living creatures could stand it. He climbed up to it like a
mountain goat. I marveled at his stupendous agility. I slowly dragged
myself down the rock on my seat and then tried to run up the side of
the mountain, in order to reach the ledge. The last few yards
completely exhausted me.
140-141
I kiddingly asked don Juan, how old he really was. I thought, that in
order to reach the ledge, the way he had done it, one had to be
extremely fit and young.
"I'm as young, as I want to be," he said. "This again is a matter of
personal power. If you store power, your body can perform unbelievable
feats. On the other hand, if you dissipate power, you'll be a fat old
man in no time at all." The length of the ledge was oriented along an
east-west line. The open side of the balcony-like formation was to the
south. I walked to the west end. The view was superb. The rain had
circumvented (avoid, surround and entrap, outwit) us. It looked like a
sheet of transparent material, hung over the low land.
Don Juan said, that we had enough time to build a shelter. He told me
to make a pile of as many rocks, as I could carry on to the ledge,
while he gathered some branches for a roof. In an hour he had built a
wall about a foot thick on the east end of the ledge. It was about two
feet long and three feet high. He wove and tied some bundles of
branches, he had collected, and made a roof, securing it on to two long
poles, that ended in forks. There was another pole of the same length,
that was affixed (secure) to the roof itself and, which supported it on
the opposite side of the wall. The structure looked like a high table
with three legs. Don Juan sat cross-legged under it, on the very edge
of the balcony. He told me to sit next to him, to his right. We
remained quiet for a while. Don Juan broke the silence. He said in a
whisper, that we had to act, as if nothing was out of the ordinary. I
asked, if there was something in particular, that I should do. He said,
that I should get busy writing and do it in such a way, that it would
be, as if I were at my desk with no worries in the world, except
writing. At a given moment he was going to nudge me and then, I should
look, where he was pointing with his eyes. He warned me, that no
matter, what I saw, I should not utter a single word. Only he could
talk with impunity (exemption from punishment, immunity from
retribution), because he was known to all the powers in those
mountains. I followed his instructions and wrote for over an hour. I
became immersed in my task. Suddenly, I felt a soft tap on my arm and
saw don Juan's eyes and head move, to point out a bank of fog about two
hundred yards away, which was descending from the top of the mountain.
Don Juan whispered in my ear with a tone, barely audible even at that
close range.

"Move your eyes back and forth along the bank of fog," he said. "But
don't look at it directly. Blink your eyes and don't focus them on the
fog. When you see a green spot on the bank of fog, point it out to me
with your eyes." I moved my eyes from left to right along the bank of
fog, that was slowly coming down to us. Perhaps half an hour went by.
It was getting dark. The fog moved extremely slowly. At one moment I
had the sudden feeling, that I had detected a faint glow to my right.
At first I thought, that I had seen a patch of green shrubbery through
the fog. When I looked at it directly, I did not notice anything, but
when I looked without focusing, I could detect a vague greenish area. I
pointed it out to don Juan. He squinted his eyes and stared at it.
"Focus your eyes on that spot," he whispered in my ear. "Look
without blinking, until you See." I wanted to ask, what I was supposed
to See, but he glared at me, as if to remind me, that I should not
talk. I stared again. The bit of fog, that had come down from above,
hung, as if it were a piece of solid matter. It was lined up right at
the spot, where I had noticed the green tint. As my eyes became tired
again and I squinted, I saw at first the bit of fog, superimposed on
the fog bank, and then I saw a thin strip of fog in between, that
looked like a thin unsupported structure, a bridge, joining the
mountain above me and the bank of fog in front of me. For a moment I
thought, I could see the transparent fog, which was being blown down
from the top of the mountain, going by the bridge without disturbing
it. It was, as if the bridge were actually solid. At one instant the
mirage became so complete, that I could actually distinguish the
darkness of the part under the bridge proper, as opposed to the light
sandstone colour of its side. I stared at the bridge, dumbfounded. And
then I either lifted myself to its level, or the bridge lowered itself
to mine.
142-143
Suddenly I was looking at a straight beam in front of me. It was an
immensely long, solid beam, narrow and without railings, but wide
enough to walk on. Don Juan shook me by the arm vigorously. I felt my
head bobbing up and down and, then I noticed, that my eyes itched
terribly. I rubbed them quite unconsciously. Don Juan kept on shaking
me, until I opened my eyes again. He poured some water from his gourd
into the hollow of his hand and sprinkled my face with it. The
sensation was very unpleasant. The coldness of the water was so
extreme, that the drops felt like sores on my skin. I noticed then,
that my body was very warm. I was feverish. Don Juan hurriedly gave me
some water to drink and then splashed water on my ears and neck. I
heard a very loud, eerie and prolonged bird cry. Don Juan listened
attentively for an instant and then pushed the rocks of the wall with
his foot and collapsed the roof. He threw the roof into the shrubs and
tossed all the rocks, one by one, over the side. He whispered in my
ear, "Drink some water and chew your dry meat.
We cannot stay here. That cry was not a bird." We climbed down the
ledge and began to walk in an easterly direction. In no time at all it
was so dark, that it was, as if there were a curtain in front of my
eyes. The fog was like an impenetrable barrier. I had never realized
how crippling the fog was at night. I could not conceive (think,
consider, formulated, become posessed), how don Juan walked. I held on
to his arm, as if I were blind. Somehow I had the feeling, I was
walking on the edge of a precipice. My legs refused to move on. My
reason trusted don Juan, and I was rationally willing to go on, but my
body was not, and don Juan had to drag me in total darkness. He must
have known the terrain to ultimate perfection. He stopped at a certain
point and made me sit down. I did not dare let go of his arm. My body
felt, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that I was sitting on a barren
domelike mountain and, if I moved an inch to my right, I would fall
beyond the tolerance point into an abyss. I was absolutely sure, I was
sitting on a curved mountainside, because my body moved unconsciously
to the right. I thought it did so, in order to keep its verticality, so
I tried to compensate by leaning to the left against don Juan, as far,
as I could. Don Juan suddenly moved away from me and, without the
support of his body, I fell on the ground. Touching the ground restored
my sense of equilibrium. I was lying on a flat area. I began to
reconnoitre (make preliminary inspection) my immediate surroundings by
touch. I recognized dry leaves and twigs. There was a sudden flash of
lightning, that illuminated the whole area and tremendous thunder. I
saw don Juan standing to my left. I saw huge trees and a cave a few
feet behind him. Don Juan told me to get into the hole. I crawled into
it and sat down with my back against the rock. I felt don Juan leaning
over to whisper, that I had to be totally silent. There were three
flashes of lightning, one after the other. In a glance I saw don Juan
sitting cross-legged to my left. The cave was a concave formation, big
enough for two or three persons to sit in. The hole seemed to have been
carved at the bottom of a boulder. I felt, that it had indeed been wise
of me to have crawled into it, because, if I had been walking, I would
have knocked my head against the rock. The brilliancy of the lightning
gave me an idea of how thick the bank of fog was. I noticed the trunks
of enormous trees, as dark silhouettes against the opaque light grey
mass of the fog. Don Juan whispered, that the fog and the lightning
were in cahoots with each other and, I had to keep an
exhausting vigil (watch during sleeping hours), because I was engaged
in a battle of power. At that moment a stupendous flash of lightning
rendered (represent, presented for consideration, give in return) the
whole scenery phantasmagorical (fantastic sequence of images as in
dreams). The fog was like a white filter, that frosted the light of the
electrical discharge and diffused it uniformly; the fog was like a
dense whitish substance, hanging between the tall trees, but right in
front of me at the ground level, the fog was thinning out. I plainly
distinguished the features of the terrain. We were in a pine forest.
Very tall trees surrounded us. They were so extremely big, that I could
have sworn, we were in the redwoods, if I had not previously known our
whereabouts. There was a barrage (overwhelming outpouring) of
lightning, that lasted several minutes.
144-145
Each flash made the features, I had already observed more discernible.
Right in front of me I saw a definite trail. There was no vegetation on
it. It seemed to end in an area clear of trees. There were so many
flashes of lightning, that I could not keep track of, where they were
coming from. The scenery, however, had been so profusely illuminated,
that I felt much more at ease. My fears and uncertainties had vanished
as soon, as there had been enough light to lift the heavy curtain of
darkness. So, when there was a long pause between the flashes of
lightning, I was no longer disoriented by the blackness around me. Don
Juan whispered, that I had probably done enough watching, and that I
had to focus my attention on the sound of thunder. I realized to my
amazement, that I had not paid any attention to thunder at all, in
spite of the fact, that it had really been tremendous. Don Juan added,
that I should follow the sound and look in the direction, where I
thought, it came from. There were no longer barrages (overwhelming
outpouring) of lightning and thunder, but only sporadic (occasional)
flashes of intense light and sound. The thunder seemed to always come
from my right. The fog was lifting and I, already being accustomed to
the pitch black, could distinguish masses of vegetation. The lightning
and thunder continued and, suddenly, the whole right side opened up and
I could see the sky. The electrical storm seemed to be moving towards
my right. There was another flash of lightning and I saw a distant
mountain to my extreme right. The light illuminated the background,
silhouetting the bulky mass of the mountain. I saw trees on top of it;
they looked like neat black cutouts, superimposed on the brilliantly
white sky. I ever saw cumulus clouds over the mountains. The fog had
cleared completely around us. There was a steady wind and I could hear
the rustling of leaves in the big trees to my left. The electrical
storm was too distant to illuminate the trees, but their dark masses
remained discernible. The light of the storm allowed me to establish,
however, that there was a range of distant mountains to my right and,
that the forest was limited to the left side. It seemed, that I was
looking down into a dark valley, which I could not see at all. The
range, over which the electrical storm was taking place, was on the
opposite side of the valley. Then it began to rain. I pressed back
against the rock as far, as I could. My hat served as a good
protection. I was sitting with my knees to my chest and only my calves
and shoes got wet. It rained for a long time. The rain was lukewarm. I
felt it on my feet. And then I fell asleep. The noises of birds woke me
up. I looked around for don Juan. He was not there; ordinarily I would
have wondered, whether he had left me there alone, but the shock of,
seeing the surroundings, nearly paralyzed me. I stood up. My legs were
soaking wet, the brim of my hat was soggy and there was still some
water in it, that spilled over me. I was not in a cave at all, but
under some thick bushes. I experienced a moment of unparalleled
confusion. I was standing on a flat piece of land between two small
dirt hills, covered with bushes. There were no trees to my left and no
valley to my right. Right in front of me, where I had seen the path in
the forest, there was a gigantic bush. I refused to believe, what I was
witnessing. The incongruency (no harmony, incompatible) of my two
versions of reality made me grapple (attempt to overcome) for any kind
of explanation. It occurred to me, that it was perfectly possible, that
I had slept so soundly, that don Juan might have carried me on his back
to another place, without waking me. I examined the spot, where I
had been sleeping. The ground there was dry, and so was the ground on
the spot next to it, where don Juan had been. I called him a couple of
times and then had an attack of anxiety and bellowed (utter in loud
voice) his name as loud, as I could. He came out from behind some
bushes. I immediately became aware, that he knew, what was going on.
His smile was so mischievous, that I ended up smiling myself. I did not
want to waste any time in playing games with him. I blurted out, what
was the matter with me. I explained as carefully, as possible every
detail of my night-long hallucinations. He listened without
interrupting.
146-147
He could not, however, keep a serious face and started to laugh a
couple of times, but he regained his composure right away. I asked for
his comments three or four times; he only shook his head, as if the
whole affair was also incomprehensible to him. When I ended my account,
he looked at me and said, "You look awful. Maybe you need to go to the
bushes."
He cackled (shrill, brittle laughter like hen) for a moment and then
added, that I should take off my clothes and wring (twist, squeeze)
them out, so they would dry. The sunlight was brilliant. There were
very few clouds. It was a windy brisk day. Don Juan walked away,
telling me, that he was going to look for some plants and, that I
should compose myself and eat something and not call him, until I was
calm and strong. My clothes were really wet. I sat down in the sun to
dry. I felt, that the only way for me to relax, was to get out my
notebook and write. I ate, while I worked on my notes. After a couple
of hours I was more relaxed and I called don Juan. He answered from a
place near the top of the mountain. He told me to gather the gourds and
climb up, to where he was. When I reached the spot, I found him sitting
on a smooth rock. He opened the gourds and served himself some food. He
handed me two big pieces of meat. I did not know, where to begin. There
were so many things, I wanted to ask. He seemed to be aware of my mood
and laughed with sheer delight. "How do you feel?" he asked in a
facetious (elegant) tone. I did not want to say anything. I was still
upset. Don Juan urged me to sit down on the flat slab. He said, that
the stone was a power object and, that I would be renewed after being
there for a while. "Sit down," he commanded me dryly. He did not smile.
His eyes were piercing. I automatically sat down. He said, that I was
being careless with power by acting morosely, and that I had to put an
end to it or power would turn against both of us, and we would never
leave those desolate hills alive. After a moment's pause he casually
asked, "How is your Dreaming?" I explained to him, how difficult it had
become for me to give myself the command: to look at my hands. At
first, it had been relatively easy, perhaps because of the newness of
the concept. I had had no trouble at all in reminding myself, that I
had to look at my hands. But the excitation had worn off and some
nights I could
not do it at all.
"You must wear a headband to sleep," he said. "Getting a headband is a
tricky maneuver. I cannot give you one, because you yourself have to
make it from scratch. But you cannot make one, until you have had a
vision of it in Dreaming. See what I mean? The headband has to be made
according to the specific vision. And it must have a strip across it,
that fits tightly on top of the head. Or it may very well be like a
tight cap. Dreaming is easier when one wears a power object on top of
the head. You could wear your hat or put on a cowl (hooded robe for
monks), like a friar, and go to sleep, but those items would only cause
intense dreams, not Dreaming." He was silent for a moment and then
proceeded to tell me in a
fast barrage (overwhelming
outpouring) of words, that the
vision of the headband did not have to occur only in Dreaming, but
could happen in states of wakefulness and, as a result of any
far-fetched and totally unrelated event, such as watching the flight of
birds, the movement of water, the clouds, and so on. A
hunter of power watches everything,"
he went on. "And everything tells him some secret."
"But how can one be sure, that things are telling secrets?" I asked. I
thought, he may have had a specific formula, that allowed him to make
"correct" interpretations.
"The only way, to be sure, is by following all the instructions, I have
been giving you, starting from the first day you came to see me," he
said. "In order to have power, one must live with power." He smiled
benevolently. He seemed to have lost his fierceness; he even nudged me
lightly on the arm. "Eat your power food," he urged me.
148-149
I began to chew some dry meat and at that moment I had the sudden
realization, that perhaps the dry meat contained a psychotropic
substance, hence the hallucinations. For a moment I felt almost
relieved. If he had put something in the meat, my mirages were
perfectly understandable. I asked him to tell me, if there was anything
at all in the "power meat". He laughed, but did not answer me directly.
I insisted, assuring him, that I was not angry or even annoyed, but
that I had to know, so I could explain the events of the previous night
to my own satisfaction. I urged him, coaxed (persuade) him, and finally
begged him to tell me the truth. "You are quite cracked," he said,
shaking his head in a gesture of disbelief. "You have an insidious
(spreading harmfully in subtle manner) tendency. You persist in trying
to explain everything to your satisfaction. There is nothing in
the meat, except power. The power was not put there by me or by any
other man, but by power itself. It is the dry meat of a deer and that
deer was a gift to me in the same way a certain rabbit was a gift to
you not too long ago. Neither you, nor I put anything in the rabbit. I
didn't ask you to dry the rabbit's meat, because that act required more
power, than you had. However, I did tell you to eat the meat. You
didn't eat much of it, because of your own stupidity. What happened to you
last night was neither a joke, nor a prank. You had an encounter with
power. The fog, the darkness, the lightning, the thunder and the rain
were all part of a great battle of power. You had the luck of a fool. A
warrior would give anything to have such a battle." My argument
was, that the whole event could not be a battle of power, because it
had not been real. "And what is real?" don Juan asked me very
calmly.
"This, what we're looking at, is real," I said, pointing to the
surroundings.
"But so was the bridge, you saw last night, and so was the forest and
everything else."
"But if they were real, where are they now?"
"They are here. If you had enough power, you could call them back.
Right now you cannot do that, because you think, it is very helpful to
keep on doubting and nagging (bothering).
It isn't, my friend. It isn't. There are worlds upon
worlds, right here in front of us. And they are nothing to laugh
at. Last night, if I hadn't grabbed your arm, you would
have walked on that bridge, whether you wanted to or not. And earlier I
had to protect you from the wind, that was seeking you out."
"What would have happened, if you hadn't protected me?"
"Since you don't have enough power, the wind would have made you lose
your way and perhaps even killed you, by pushing you into a ravine. But
the fog was the real thing last night. Two things could have happened
to you in the fog. You could have walked across the bridge to the other
side, or you could have fallen to your death. Either would have
depended on power. One thing, however, would have been for sure. If I
had not protected you, you would have had to walk on that bridge
regardless of anything. That is the nature of power. As I told you
before, it commands you and yet it is at your command. Last night, for
instance, the power would have forced you to walk across the bridge and
then it would have been at your command to sustain (support
spirit/vitality, prolong, keep in existence) you, while you were
walking. I stopped you, because I know, you don't have the means to use
power, and without power the bridge would have collapsed."
"Did you see the bridge yourself, don Juan?"
"No. I just saw power. It may have been anything. Power for you, this
time, was a bridge. I don't know why a bridge. We are most mysterious
creatures."
"Have you ever seen a bridge in the fog, don Juan?"
"Never. But that's, because I'm not like you. I saw other things. My
battles of power are very different from yours."
'What did you see, don Juan ? Can you tell me?"
"I saw my enemies during my first battle of power in the fog. You have
no enemies. You don't hate people. I did at that time. I indulged in
hating people. I don't do that any more.
I have
vanquished (conquer
in battle) my hate, but at
that time my hate nearly destroyed me. "Your battle of power, on the
other hand, was neat. It didn't consume you. You are consuming yourself
now with your own crappy thoughts and doubts. That's your way of
indulging yourself.
150-151
"The fog was impeccable with you. You have an affinity (likeness,
liking, personal attraction) with it. It gave you a stupendous bridge,
and that bridge will be there in the fog from now on. It will reveal
itself to you over and over, until someday you will have to cross it. I
strongly recommend, that, from this day on, you don't walk into foggy
areas by yourself, until you know, what you're doing. Power is a very
weird affair. In order to have it and command it, one must have power
to begin with. It's possible, however, to store it, little by little,
until one has enough to sustain oneself in a battle of power."
"What is a battle of power?"
"What happened to you last night was the beginning of a battle of
power. The scenes, that you beheld (gaze at, look upon, see), were the
seat of power. Someday they will make sense to you; those scenes are
most meaningful."
"Can you tell me their meaning yourself, don Juan?"
"No. Those scenes are your own personal conquest, which you cannot
share with anyone. But what happened last night was only the beginning,
a skirmish (minor conflict, dispute). The real battle will take place,
when you cross that bridge. What's on the other side? Only you will
know that. And only you will know, what's at the end of that trail
through the forest. But all that is something, that may or may not
happen to you. In order to journey through those unknown trails and
bridges, one must have enough power of one's own."
"What happens, if one doesn't have enough power?"

"Death is always waiting, and when the warrior's power wanes (decrease
intensity, decline), death simply taps (knock) him. Thus, to venture
into the Unknown without any power is stupid. One will only find
death." I was not really listening. I kept on playing with the idea,
that the dry meat may have been the agent, that had caused the
hallucinations. It appeased (pacified) me to indulge in that thought.
"Don't tax (strain) yourself trying to figure it out," he said, as if
he were reading my thoughts. "The world is a mystery. This, what you're
looking at, is not all there is to it. There is much more to the world,
so much more, in fact, that it is endless. So, when you're trying to
figure it out, all, you're really doing, is trying to make the world
familiar. You and I are right here, in the world, that you call real,
simply because we both know it. You don't know the world of power,
therefore you cannot make it into a familiar scene."
"You know, that I really can't argue your point," I said. "But my mind
can't accept it either." He laughed and touched my head lightly.
"You're really crazy," he said. "But that's all right. I know how
difficult it is to live like a warrior. If you would have followed my
instructions and performed all the acts I have taught you, you would by
now have enough power to cross that bridge. Enough power to see and to
Stop the World."
"But why should I want power, don Juan?"
"You can't think of a reason now. However, if you would store enough
power, the power, itself, will find you a good reason. Sounds crazy,
doesn't it?"
"Why did you want power yourself, don Juan?"
"I'm like you. I didn't want it. I couldn't find a reason to have it. I
had all the doubts, that you have, and never followed the instructions
I was given, or I never thought, I did; yet, in spite of my stupidity,
I stored enough power, and one day my personal power made the World
Collapse."
"But why would anyone wish to Stop the World?"
"Nobody does, that's the point. It just happens. And once you know,
what it is like: to Stop the World, you realize, there is a reason for
it. You see, one of the arts of the warrior is to Collapse the World
for a specific reason and then restore it again in order to keep on
living." I told him, that perhaps, the surest way, to help me, would be
to give me an example of a specific reason for Collapsing the World. He
remained silent for some time. He seemed to be thinking, what to say.
"I can't tell you that," he said. "It takes too much power to know
that. Someday you will live like a warrior, in spite of yourself; then
perhaps, you will have stored enough personal power to answer that
question yourself. "I have taught you nearly everything a warrior needs
to know, in order to start off in the world, storing power by
himself.
152-153
Yet I know, that you can't do that and I have to be patient with you. I
know for a fact, that it takes a lifelong struggle to be by oneself in
the world of power."
Don Juan looked at the sky and the mountains. The sun was already on
its descent towards the west and rain clouds were rapidly forming on
the mountains. I did not know the time; I had forgotten to wind my
watch. I asked, if he could tell the time of the day and he had such an
attack of laughter, that he rolled off the slab into the bushes. He
stood up and stretched his arms, yawning. "It is early," he said. "We
must wait, until the fog gathers on top of the mountain and then you
must stand alone on this slab and thank the fog for its favors. Let it
come and envelop you. I'll be nearby to assist, if need be." Somehow
the prospect of staying alone in the fog terrified me. I felt idiotic
for reacting in such an irrational
manner. "You
cannot leave these desolate (devoid of inhabitants, deserted) mountains
without saying your thanks," he said in a
firm tone. "A warrior never turns
his back to power, without atoning (reconcile, harmonise) for the
favors received."
He lay down on his back with his hands behind his head and covered his
face with his hat.
"How should I wait for the fog?" I asked. "What should I do?"
"Write!" he said through his hat. "But don't close your eyes or turn
your back to it." I tried to write, but I could not concentrate. I
stood up and moved around restlessly. Don Juan lifted his hat and
looked at me with an air of annoyance. "Sit down!" he ordered me. He
said, that the battle of power had not yet ended, and that I had to
teach my spirit to be impassive (apathetic, emotionless). Nothing, of
what I did, should betray my feelings, unless I wanted to remain
trapped in those mountains. He sat up and moved his hand in a gesture
of urgency. He
said, that I had to act, as if nothing was out of the ordinary, because
places of power, such as the one, in which we were, had the potential
of draining people, who were disturbed. And thus one could develop
strange and injurious ties with a locale. "Those ties anchor a man to a
place of power, sometimes for a lifetime," he said. "And this is
not the place for you. You did not find it yourself. So tighten your
belt and don't lose your pants." His admonitions (warnings) worked like
a spell on me. I wrote for hours without interruption. Don Juan went
back to sleep and did not wake up, until the fog was perhaps a hundred
yards away, descending from the top of the mountain. He stood up and
examined the surroundings. I looked around without turning my back. The
fog had already invaded the lowlands, descending from the mountains to
my right. On my left side the scenery was clear; the wind, however,
seemed to be coming from my right and was pushing the fog into the
lowlands, as if to surround us. Don Juan whispered, that I should
remain impassive (apathetic, emotionless), standing where I was,
without closing my eyes, and that I should not turn around, until I was
completely surrounded by the fog; only then was it possible to start
our descent. He took cover at the foot of some rocks a few feet behind
me. The silence in those mountains was something magnificent and at the
same time awesome. The soft wind, that was carrying the fog, gave me
the sensation, that the fog was hissing in my ears. Big chunks of fog
came downhill like solid clumps of whitish matter, rolling down on me.
I smelled the fog. It was a peculiar mixture of a pungent (caustic,
acid smell or taste) and fragrant smell. And then I was enveloped in
it. I had the impression: the fog was working on my eyelids. They felt
heavy and I wanted to close my eyes. I was cold. My throat itched and I
wanted to cough, but I did not dare. I lifted my chin up and stretched
my neck to ease the cough, and as I looked up, I had the sensation, I
could actually See the thickness of the fog bank. It was, as if my eyes
could assess the thickness by going through it. My eyes began to close
and I could not fight off the desire to fall asleep. I felt, I was
going to collapse on the ground any moment. At that instant don Juan
jumped up, grabbed me by the arms and shook me. The jolt was enough to
restore my lucidity (clear, sane, rational, easily understood). He
whispered in my ear, that I had to run downhill as fast, as I could.
154
He was going to follow behind, because he did not want to get smashed
by the rocks, that I might turn over in my path. He said, that I was
the leader, since it was my battle of power, and that I had to be
clear-headed and abandoned, in order to guide us safely out of there.
"This is it," he said in a loud voice. "If you don't have the mood of a
warrior, we may never leave the fog." I hesitated for a moment. I was
not sure, I could find my way down from those mountains. "Run, rabbit,
run!" don Juan yelled and shoved me gently down the slope.
13. A Warrior's Last Stand
155
Sunday, 28 January 1962. Around ten A.M. don Juan walked into his
house. He had left at the crack of dawn. I greeted him. He chuckled
(laugh quietly or to oneself) and, in a clowning mood, he shook hands
with me and greeted me ceremoniously. "We're going to go on a little
trip," he said. "You're going to drive us to a very special place in
search of power." He unfolded two carrying nets and placed two gourds,
filled with food in each of them, tied them with a thin rope, and
handed me a net. We leisurely drove north some four hundred miles, then
we left the Pan American highway and took a gravel road towards the
west. My car seemed to have been the only car on the road for hours. As
we kept on driving, I noticed, that I could not see through my
windshield. I strained desperately to look at the surroundings, but it
was too dark and my windshield was overlaid with crushed insects and
dust. I told don Juan, that I had to stop to clean my windshield. He
ordered me to go on driving, even if I had to crawl at two miles an
hour, sticking my head out of the window to see ahead. He said, that we
could not stop, until we had reached our destination. At a certain
place he told me to turn to the right. It was so dark and dusty, that
even the headlights did not help much. I drove off the road with great
trepidation (fear, alarm, dread). I was afraid of the soft shoulders,
but the dirt was packed. I drove for about one hundred yards at the
lowest possible speed, holding the door open to look out.
156-157
Finally don Juan told me to stop. He said, that I had parked right
behind a huge rock, that would shield my car from view. I got out of
the car and walked around, guided by the headlights. I wanted to
examine the surroundings, because I had no idea, where I was. But don
Juan turned off the lights. He said loudly, that there was no time to
waste, that I should lock my car, so we could start on our way. He
handed me my net with gourds. It was so dark, that I stumbled and
nearly dropped them. Don Juan ordered me in a soft firm tone to sit
down, until my eyes were accustomed to the darkness. But my eyes were
not the problem. Once I got out of my car, I could see fairly well.
What was wrong, was a peculiar nervousness, that made me act, as if I
were absent-minded. I was glossing (make attractive by deception) over
everything.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"We're going to hike in total darkness to a special place," he
said.
"What for?"
"To find out for sure, whether or not you're capable of continuing to
hunt power." I asked him, if what he was proposing was a test, and if I
failed the test, would he still talk to me and tell me about his
knowledge. He listened without interrupting. He said, that what we were
doing was not a test, that we were waiting for an omen, and if the omen
did not come, the conclusion would be, that I had not succeeded in
hunting power, in which case I would be free from any further
imposition (establish as compulsory, levy), free to be as stupid, as I
wanted. He said, that no matter what happened, he was my friend and he
would always talk to me. Somehow I knew, I was going to fail.
"The omen will not come," I said jokingly. "I know it. I have a little
power." He laughed and patted me on the back gently.
"Don't you worry," he retorted (return, pay back, reply, answer). "The
omen will come. I know it. I have more power, than you." He found his
statement hilarious. He slapped his thighs, clapped his hands and
roared with laughter. Don Juan tied my carrying net to my back and
said, that I should walk one step behind him and step in his tracks as
much, as possible. In a very dramatic tone he whispered, "This is a
walk for power, so everything counts." He said, that if I would walk in
his footsteps, the power, that he was dissipating as he walked, would
be transmitted to me. I looked at my watch; it was eleven P.M. He made
me line up like a soldier at attention. Then he pushed my right leg to
the front and made me stand, as if I had just taken a step forward. He
lined up in front of me in the same position and then began to walk,
after repeating the instructions, that I should try to match his
footsteps to perfection. He said in a clear whisper, that I should not
concern myself with anything else, except stepping in his tracks; I
should not look ahead or to the side, but at the ground where he was
walking. He started off at a very relaxed pace. I had no trouble at
all, following him; we were walking on relatively hard ground. For
about thirty yards I maintained his pace and I matched his steps
perfectly; then I glanced to the side for an instant and the next thing
I knew, I had bumped into him. He giggled and assured me, that I had
not injured his ankle at all, when I had stepped on it with my big
shoes, but if I were going to keep on blundering (being foolish), one
of us would be a cripple by morning. He said, laughing, in a very low,
but firm voice, that he did not intend to get hurt by my stupidity and
lack of concentration, and that, if I stepped on him again, I would
have to walk barefoot.
"I can't walk without shoes," I said in a loud raspy voice. Don Juan
doubled up with laughter and we had to wait, until he had stopped. He
assured me again, that he had meant, what he said. We were journeying
to tap power and things had to be perfect. The prospect, of walking in
the desert without shoes, scared me beyond belief. Don Juan joked, that
my family were probably the type of farmers, that did not take off
their shoes even to go to bed. He was right, of course.
158-159
I had never walked barefoot and to walk in the desert without shoes,
would have been suicidal for me. "This desert is oozing power," don
Juan whispered in my ear. "There is no time for being timid." We
started walking again. Don Juan kept an easy pace. After a while I
noticed, that we had left the hard ground and were walking on soft
sand. Don Juan's feet sank into it and left deep tracks. We walked for
hours, before don Juan came to a halt. He did not stop suddenly, but
warned me ahead of time, that he was going to stop, so I would not bump
into him. The terrain had become hard again and it seemed, that we were
going up an incline. Don Juan said, that if I needed to go to the
bushes, I should do it, because from then on we had a solid stretch
without a single pause. I looked at my watch; it was one A.M. After a
fifteen-minute rest don Juan made me line up and we began to walk
again. He was right, it was a dreadful stretch. I had never done
anything, that demanded so much concentration. Don Juan's pace was so
fast and the tension of watching every step mounted to such heights,
that at a given moment I could not feel, that I was walking any more. I
could not feel my feet or my legs. It was, as if I were walking on air,
and some force were carrying me on and on. My concentration had been so
total, that I did not notice the gradual change in light. Suddenly I
became aware, that I could see don Juan in front of me. I could see his
feet and his tracks instead of half guessing, as I had done most of the
night. At a given moment he unexpectedly jumped to the side, and my
momentum carried me for about twenty yards further. As I slowed down,
my legs became weak and started to shake, until finally I collapsed on
the ground. I looked up at don Juan, who was calmly examining me. He
did not seem to be tired. I was panting for breath and soaked in cold
perspiration. Don Juan twirled me around in my lying position by
pulling me by the arm. He said, that if I wanted to regain my strength,
I had to lie with my head towards the east. Little by little I relaxed
and rested my aching body. Finally, I had enough energy to stand up. I
wanted to look at my watch, but he prevented me by putting his hand
over my wrist. He very gently turned me around to face the east and
said, that there was no need for my confounded (puzzle, bewilder)
timepiece, that we were on magical time, and that we were going to find
out for sure, whether or not I was capable of pursuing power. I looked
around. We were on top of a very large high hill. I wanted to walk
towards something, that looked like an edge or a crevice in the rock,
but don Juan jumped and held me down. He ordered me imperatively to
stay on the place, I had fallen, until the sun had come out from behind
some black mountain peaks a short distance away. He pointed to the east
and called my attention to a heavy bank of clouds over the
horizon.
He said, that it would be a proper omen, if the wind blew the clouds
away in time for the first rays of the Sun to hit my body on the
hilltop. He told me to stand still with my right leg in front, as if I
were walking, and not to look directly at the horizon, but look without
focusing.
My legs became very stiff and my calves hurt. It was an agonizing
position and my leg muscles were too sore to support me. I held on as
long, as I could. I was about to collapse.
My legs were shivering uncontrollably, when don Juan called the whole
thing off. He helped me to sit down. The bank of clouds had not moved
and we had not seen the Sun, rising over the horizon. Don Juan's only
comment was, "Too bad." I did not want to ask right off, what the real
implications of my failure were, but knowing don Juan, I was sure, he
had to follow the dictum (dogmatic pronouncement) of his omens. And
there had been no omen that morning. The pain in my calves vanished and
I felt a wave of well-being. I began to trot, in order to loosen up my
muscles. Don Juan told me very softly to run up an adjacent hill to
gather some leaves from a specific bush and rub my legs, in order to
alleviate the muscular pain.
160-161
From where I stood, I could very plainly see a large lush green bush.
The leaves seemed to be very moist. I had used them before. I never
felt, that they had helped me, but don Juan had always maintained, that
the effect of really friendly plants was so subtle, that one could
hardly notice it, yet they always produced the results, they were
supposed to. I ran down the hill and up the other. When I got to the
top I realized, that the exertion (effort) had almost been too much for
me. I had a hard time, catching my breath, and my stomach was upset. I
squatted and then crouched over for a moment, until I felt relaxed.
Then I stood up and reached over to pick the leaves he had asked me to.
But I could not find the bush. I looked around. I was sure, I was on
the right spot, but there was nothing in that area of the hilltop, that
even vaguely resembled that particular plant. Yet, that had to be the
spot, where I had seen it. Any other place would have been out of range
for anyone, looking from where don Juan was standing. I gave up the
search and walked to the other hill. Don Juan smiled benevolently, as I
explained my mistake.
"Why do you call it a mistake?" he asked.
"Obviously the bush is not there," I said.
"But you saw it, didn't you?"
"I thought, I did."
"What do you see in its place now?"
"Nothing." There was absolutely no vegetation on the spot, where I
thought, I had seen the plant. I attempted to explain, what I had seen,
as a visual distortion, a sort of mirage. I had really been exhausted,
and, because of my exhaustion, I may
have easily believed, I was Seeing
something, that I expected to be there, but which was not there at all.
Don Juan chuckled (laugh quietly or to oneself) softly and stared at me
for a brief moment.
"I see no mistake," he said. "The plant is there on that hilltop." It
was my turn to laugh. I scanned the whole area carefully. There were no
such plants in view and, what I had experienced was, to the best of my
knowledge, a hallucination. Don Juan very calmly began to descend the
hill and signaled me to follow. We climbed together to the other
hilltop and stood right where I thought, I had seen the bush. I
chuckled (laugh quietly or to oneself) with the absolute certainty, I
was right. Don Juan also chuckled (laugh quietly or to oneself). "Walk
to the other side of the hill," don Juan said. "You'll find the plant
there." I brought up the point, that the other side of the hill had
been outside my field of vision, that a plant may be there, but that
that did not mean anything. Don Juan signaled me, with a movement of
his head, to follow him. He walked around the top of the hill, instead
of going directly across, and dramatically stood by a green bush
without looking at it. He turned and looked at me. It was a peculiarly
piercing glance.
"There must be hundreds of such plants around here," I said. Don Juan
very patiently descended the other side of the hill, with me trailing
along. We looked everywhere for a similar bush. But there was none in
sight. We covered about a quarter of a mile, before we came upon
another plant. Without saying a word, don Juan led me back to the first
hilltop.
We stood there for a moment and then he guided me on another excursion
to look for the plant, but in the opposite direction. We combed the
area and found two more bushes, perhaps a mile away. They had grown
together and stuck out as a patch of intense rich green, more lush,
than all the other surrounding bushes. Don Juan looked at me with a
serious expression. I did not know, what to think of it.
"This is a very strange omen," he said. We returned to the first
hilltop, making a wide detour, in order to approach it from a new
direction. He seemed to be going out of his way to prove to me, that
there were very few such plants around there. We did not find any of
them on our way. When we reached the hilltop, we sat down in complete
silence. Don Juan untied his gourds. "You'll feel better after eating,"
he said. He could not hide his delight. He had a beaming grin, as he
patted me on the head. I
felt disoriented. The new developments were disturbing, but I was too
hungry and tired to really ponder upon them. After eating I felt very sleepy.
162-163
Don Juan urged me to use the technique of looking without focusing, in
order to find a suitable spot to sleep on the hilltop, where I had seen
the bush. I selected one. He picked up the debris from the spot and
made a circle with it the size of my body. Very gently he pulled some
fresh branches from the bushes and swept the area inside the circle. He
only went through the motions of sweeping, he did not really touch the
ground with the branches. He then removed all the surface rocks from
the area inside the circle and placed them in the centre, after
meticulously sorting them by size into two piles of equal number.
"What are you doing with those rocks?" I asked.
"They are not
rocks," he said. "They are strings. They will hold your spot suspended."
He took the smaller rocks and marked the circumference of the circle
with them. He spaced them evenly and, with the aid of a stick, he
secured each rock firmly in the ground, as if he were a mason. He did
not let me come inside the circle, but told me to walk around and
watch, what he did. He counted eighteen rocks, following a
counter-clockwise direction. "Now run down to the bottom of the hill
and wait," he said. "And I will come to the edge and see, if you are
standing in the appropriate spot."
"What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to toss each of these strings to you," he said, pointing to
the pile of bigger rocks. "And you have to place them in the ground at
the spot, I will indicate in the same manner, I have placed the other
ones. You must be infinitely careful. When one is dealing with power,
one has to be perfect. Mistakes are deadly here. Each of these is
a string, a string, that could kill us, if we leave it around loose; so
you simply can't make any mistakes. You must fix your gaze on the spot,
where I will throw the string. If you get distracted by anything at
all, the string will become an ordinary rock and you won't be able to
tell it apart from the other rocks, lying around." I suggested, that it
would be easier, if I carried the "strings" downhill one at a time. Don
Juan laughed and shook his head negatively. "These are strings," he
insisted. "And they have to be tossed by me and have to be picked up by
you."
It took hours to fulfill the task. The degree of concentration needed
was excruciating. Don Juan reminded me every time to be attentive and
focus my gaze. He was right in doing so. To pick out a specific rock,
that came hurtling (crash, move with great speed) downhill, displacing
other rocks in its way, was indeed a maddening affair. When I had
completely closed the circle and walked to the top, I thought, I was
about to drop dead. Don Juan had picked some small branches and had
matted (created) the circle. He handed me some leaves and told me to
put them inside my pants, against the skin of my umbilical region. He
said, that they would keep me warm and I would not need a blanket to
sleep. I tumbled (fall in confusion) down inside the circle. The
branches made a fairly soft bed and I fell asleep instantly. It was
late afternoon, when I woke up. It was windy and cloudy. The clouds
overhead were compact cumulus clouds, but towards the west they were
thin cirrus clouds, and the Sun shone on the land from time to time.
Sleeping had renewed me. I felt invigorated and happy. The wind did not
bother me. I was not cold. I propped my head up with my arms and looked
around. I had not noticed before, but the hilltop was quite high. The
view towards the west was impressive. I could see a vast area of low
hills and then the desert. There was a range of dark brown mountain
peaks towards the north and east, and towards the south an endless
expanse of land, hills and distant blue mountains. I sat up. Don Juan
was not anywhere in sight. I had a sudden attack of fear. I thought, he
may have left me there alone, and I did not know the way back to my
car. I lay down again on the mat of branches and strangely enough my
apprehension vanished. I again experienced a sense of quietness, an
exquisite (beautiful) sense of well-being.
164-165
It was an extremely new sensation to me; my thoughts seemed to have
been turned off. I was happy. I felt healthy. A very quiet ebullience
(boiling with enthusiasm) filled me. A soft wind was blowing from the
west and swept over my entire body, without making me cold. I felt it
on my face and around my ears, like a gentle wave of warm water, that
bathed me and then receded (diminished), and bathed me again. It was a
strange state of being, that had no parallel in my busy and dislocated
life. I began to weep, not out of sadness or self-pity, but out of some
ineffable (indescribable, beyond expression, taboo), inexplicable joy.
I wanted to stay in that spot forever and I may have, had don Juan not
come and yanked me out of the place. "You've had enough rest," he said,
as he pulled me up. He led me very calmly on a walk around the
periphery of the hilltop. We walked slowly and in complete silence. He
seemed to be interested in, making me observe the scenery all around
us. He pointed to clouds and mountains with a movement of his eyes or
with a movement of his chin. The scenery in the late afternoon was
superb. It evoked sensations of awe and despair in me. It reminded me
of sights in my childhood. We climbed to the highest point of the
hilltop, a peak of igneous (formed from lava) rock, and sat down
comfortably with our backs against the rock, facing the south. The
endless expanse of land towards the south was truly majestic. "Fix all
this in your memory," don Juan whispered in my ear. "This spot is
yours. This morning you saw, and that was the omen. You found this spot
by Seeing. The omen was
unexpected, but it happened. You are going to hunt power, whether you
like it or not. It is not a human decision, not yours or mine. Now,
properly speaking, this hilltop is your place, your beloved place; all,
that is around you, is under your care. You must look after everything
here and everything will in turn look after you." In a joking way I
asked, if everything was mine. He said yes in a very serious tone. I
laughed and told him, that, what we were doing, reminded me of the
story of how the Spaniards, that conquered the New World, had divided
the land in the name of their king. They used to climb to the top of a
mountain and claim all the land they could see in any specific
direction. "That's a good idea," he said. "I'm going to give you all
the land, you can see, not in one direction, but all around you." He
stood up and pointed with his extended hand, turning his body around to
cover a complete circle. "All this land is yours," he said. I laughed
out loud. He giggled and asked me, "Why not? Why can't I give you this
land?"
"You don't own this land," I said.
"So what? The Spaniards didn't own it either and yet, they divided it
and gave it away. So why can't you take possession of it in the same
vein (tendency, turn of mind)?"
I scrutinized him to see, if I could detect the real mood behind his
smile. He had an explosion of laughter and nearly fell off the rock.
"All this land, as far, as you can see, is yours,"
he went on, still smiling. "Not to use, but to remember. This hilltop,
however, is yours to use for the rest of your life. I am giving it to
you, because you have found it yourself. It is yours. Accept it." I
laughed, but don Juan seemed to be very serious. Except for his funny
smile, he appeared to actually believe, that he could give me that
hilltop. "Why not?"
he asked, as if he were reading my thoughts.
"I accept it," I said half in jest. His smile disappeared. He squinted
his eyes, as he looked at me.
"Every rock, pebble and bush on this hill, especially on the top, is
under your care," he said. "Every worm, that lives here, is your
friend. You can use them and they can use you." We remained silent for
a few minutes. My thoughts were unusually scarce. I vaguely felt, that
his sudden change of mood was foreboding (premonition, apprehension,
evil omen, portent) to me, but I was not afraid or apprehensive. I just
did not want to talk any more. Somehow, words seemed to be inaccurate
and their meanings difficult to pinpoint. I had never felt that way
about talking, and, upon realizing my unusual mood, I hurriedly began
to talk.
166-167
"But what can I do with this hill, don Juan?"
"'Fix every feature of it in your memory. This is the place, where you
will come in Dreaming. This is the place, where you will meet with
powers, where secrets will someday be revealed to you. You are hunting
power and this is your place, the place, where you will store your
resources. It doesn't make sense to you now. So let it be a piece of
nonsense for the time being." We climbed down the rock and he led me to
a small bowl-like depression on the west side of the hilltop. We sat
down and ate there. Undoubtedly, there was something indescribably
pleasant for me on that hilltop. Eating, like resting, was an unknown
exquisite sensation. The light of the setting Sun had a rich, almost
copperish, glow, and everything in the surroundings seemed to be dabbed
with a golden hue. I was given totally to observing the scenery; I did
not even want to think. Don Juan spoke to me almost in a whisper. He
told me to watch every detail of the surroundings, no matter how small
or seemingly trivial. Especially the features of the scenery, that were
most prominent in a westerly direction. He said, that I should look at
the Sun without focusing on it, until it had disappeared over the
horizon. The last minutes of light, right before the Sun hit a blanket
of low clouds or fog, were, in a total sense, magnificent. It was, as
if the Sun were inflaming the Earth, kindling (ignite) it like a
bonfire. I felt a sensation of redness in my face. "Stand up!" don Juan
shouted, as he pulled me up. He jumped away from me and ordered me in
an imperative, but urging voice, to trot on the spot, where I was
standing. As I jogged on the same spot, I began to feel a warmth
invading my body. It was a copperish warmth. I felt it in my palate
(roof of mouth) and in the roof of my eyes. It was, as if the top part
of my head were burning with a cool fire, that radiated a copperish
glow. Something in myself made me trot faster and faster, as the Sun
began to disappear. At a given moment I truly felt, I was so light,
that I could have flown away. Don Juan very firmly grabbed my right
wrist. The sensation, caused by the pressure of his hand, brought back
a sense of sobriety and composure. I plunked (place abruptly) down on
the ground and he sat down by me. After a few minutes' rest he quietly
stood up, tapped me on the shoulder, and signaled me to follow him. We
climbed back again to the peak of igneous (formed from lava) rock,
where we had sat before. The rock shielded us from the cold wind. Don
Juan broke the silence. "It was a fine omen," he said. "How strange! It
happened at the end of the day. You and I are so different. You are
more a creature of the night. I prefer the young brilliancy of the
morning. Or rather the brilliancy of the morning Sun seeks me, but it
shies (cautious, distrustful) away from you. On the other hand, the
dying Sun bathed you. Its flames scorched you without burning you. How
strange!"
"Why is it strange?"
"I've never seen it happen. The omen, when it happens, has always been
in the realm of the young sun."
"Why is it that way, don Juan?"
"This is not the time to talk about it," he said cuttingly. "Knowledge
is Power. It takes a long time to harness enough power to even talk
about it." I tried to insist, but he changed the topic abruptly. He
asked me about my progress in Dreaming. I had begun to Dream about
specific places, such as the school and the houses of a few friends.
"Were you at those places during the day or during the night?" he
asked. My dreams corresponded to the time of the day, when I ordinarily
was accustomed to being at those places: in the school - during the
day, at my friends' houses - at night. He suggested, that I should try
Dreaming, while I took a nap during the day time and find out, if I
could actually visualize the chosen place, as it was at the time I was
Dreaming. If I were Dreaming at night, my visions of the locale should
be of night-time.
168-169
He said, that
what one experiences in Dreaming has to be congruous (harmonious, appropriate) with the time of
the day, when Dreaming was taking place; otherwise the visions, one
might have, were not Dreaming, but ordinary dreams. "In order to help
yourself, you should pick a specific object, that belongs to the place
you want to go and focus your attention on it," he went on. "On this
hilltop here, for instance, you now have a specific bush, that you must
observe, until it has a place in your memory. You can come back here,
while Dreaming, simply by recalling that bush, or by recalling this
rock, where we are sitting, or by recalling any other thing here. It is
easier to travel in Dreaming, when you can focus on a place of power,
such as this one. But, if you don't want to come here, you may use any
other place. Perhaps, the school, where you go, is a place of
power for you. Use it. Focus your attention on any object there and
then find it in Dreaming. From the specific object you recall, you must
go back to your hands and then to another object and so on. But now you
must focus your attention on everything, that exists on this hilltop,
because this is the most important place of your life."
He looked at me, as if judging the effect of his words. "This is the
place, where you will die," he said in a soft voice. I fidgeted (moved nervously) nervously, changing sitting
positions, and he smiled. "I will have to come with you over and over
to this hilltop," he said.
"And then you will have to come by yourself, until you're saturated
with it, until the hilltop is oozing (emit moisture, leak out slowly)
you. You will know the time, when you are filled with it. This hilltop,
as it is now, will then be the place of your last dance."
"What do you mean by my last dance, don Juan?"
"This is the site of your last stand," he said. "You will die here, no
matter where you are. Every warrior has a place to die. A place of his
predilection (inclinations, preference), which is soaked with
unforgettable memories, where powerful events left their mark, a place,
where he has witnessed marvels, where secrets have been revealed to
him, a place, where he has stored his personal power. A warrior has the
obligation to go back to that place of his predilection (inclinations,
preference) every time, he taps power, in order to store it there. He
either goes there by means of walking or by means of Dreaming. And
finally, one day when his time on earth is up and he feels the tap of
his death on his left shoulder, his spirit, which is always ready,
flies to the place of his predilection (inclinations, preference) and
there the warrior dances to his death. Every warrior has a specific
form, a specific posture of power, which he develops throughout his
life. It is a sort of dance. A movement, that he does under the
influence of his personal power. If a dying warrior has limited power,
his dance is short; if his power is grandiose, his dance is
magnificent. But regardless of whether his power is small or
magnificent, death must stop to witness his last stand on Earth. Death
cannot overtake the warrior, who is recounting the toil (proceed with
difficulty and pain) of his life for the last time, until he has
finished his dance." Don Juan's words made me shiver. The quietness,
the twilight, the magnificent scenery, all seemed to have been placed
there as props, for the image of a warrior's Last Dance of Power.
"Can you teach me that dance, even though I am not a warrior?" I asked.
"Any man, that hunts power has to learn that dance," he said. "Yet I
cannot teach you now. Soon, you may have a worthy opponent and I will
show you then the first movement of power. You must add the other
movements yourself, as you go on living. Every new one must be obtained
during a struggle of power. So, properly speaking, the posture, the
form of a warrior, is the story of his life, a dance, that grows, as he
grows in personal power."
"Does death really stop to see a warrior dance?"
"A warrior is only a man. A humble man. He cannot change the designs of
his death. But his impeccable spirit, which has stored power after
stupendous hardships, can certainly hold his death for a moment, a
moment long enough to let him rejoice, for the last time, in recalling
his power. We may say, that that is a gesture, which death has with
those, who have an impeccable spirit." I experienced an overwhelming
anxiety and I talked just to alleviate it.

170
I asked him, if he had known warriors, that had died, and in what way
their last dance had affected their dying. "Cut it out," he said dryly.
"Dying is a monumental affair. It is more, than kicking your legs and
becoming stiff."
"Will I too dance to my death, don Juan?"
"Certainly. You are hunting personal power, even though you don't live
like a warrior yet. Today the Sun gave you an omen. Your best
production in your life's work will be done towards the end of the day.
Obviously you don't like the youthful brilliancy of early light.
Journeying in the morning doesn't appeal to you. But your cup of tea is
the dying Sun, old yellowish, and mellow. You don't like the heat, you
like the glow. And thus you will dance to your death here, on this
hilltop, at the end of the day. And in your last dance you will tell of
your struggle, of the battles, you have won and of those, you have
lost; you will tell of your joys and bewilderments, upon encountering
personal power. Your dance will tell about the secrets and about the
marvels, you have stored. And your death will sit here and watch you.
The dying Sun will glow on you without burning, as it has done today.
The wind will be soft and mellow and your hilltop will tremble. As you
reach the end of your dance, you will look at the Sun, for you will
never see it again in waking or in Dreaming, and then your death will
point to the south. To the vastness."
14. The Gait of Power

171
Saturday, 8 April 1962.
"Is death a personage, don Juan?" I asked, as I sat down on the porch.
There was an air of bewilderment in don Juan's look. He was holding a
bag of groceries, I had brought him. He carefully placed them on the
ground and sat down in front of me. I felt encouraged and explained,
that I wanted to know, if death was a person, or like a person, when it
watched a warrior's last dance.
"What difference does it make?" don Juan asked. I told him, that the
image was fascinating to me and I want to know, how he had arrived at
it. How he knew, that that was so. "It's all very simple," he said. "A
Man of Knowledge knows, that death is the last witness, because he
Sees."
"Do you mean, that you have witnessed a warrior's last dance yourself?"
"No. One cannot be such a witness. Only death can do that. But I have
seen my own death watching me and I have danced to it, as though I were
dying. At the end of my dance death did not point in any direction, and
my place of predilection (inclinations, preference) did not shiver,
saying goodbye to me. So my time on Earth was not up yet and I did not
die. When all that took place, I had limited power and I did not
understand the designs of my own death, thus I believed, I was dying."
"Was your death like a person?"
"You're a funny bird. You think, you are going to understand by asking
questions. I don't think you will, but who am I to say? Death is not
like a person. It is rather a presence.

172-173
But one may also choose to say, that it is nothing and yet, it is
everything. One will be right on every count. Death is whatever one
wishes. I am at ease with people, so death is a person for me. I am
also given to mysteries, so death has hollow eyes for me. I can look
through them. They are like two windows and yet they move, like eyes
move. And so I can say, that death, with its hollow eyes, looks at a
warrior, while he dances for the last time on Earth."
"But is that so only for you, don Juan, or is it the same for other
warriors?"
"It is the same for every warrior, that has a dance of power, and yet
it is not. Death witnesses a warrior's last dance, but the manner, in
which a warrior sees his death, is a personal matter. It could be
anything - a bird, a light, a person, a bush, a pebble, a piece of fog,
or an unknown presence." Don Juan's images of death disturbed me. I
could not find adequate words to voice my questions and I stammered. He
stared at me,
smiling, and coaxed (persuade) me to speak up. I asked him, if the
manner, in which a warrior saw his death, depended on the way, he had
been brought up. I used the Yuma and Yaqui Indians, as examples. My own
idea was, that culture determined the way, in which one would envision
death. "It doesn't matter how one was brought up," he said. "What
determines the way, one does anything, is personal power. A man is only
the sum of his personal power, and that sum determines, how he lives
and how he dies."
"What is personal power?"
"Personal power is a feeling," he said. "Something like being lucky. Or
one may call it a mood. Personal power is something, that one acquires,
regardless of one's origin. I already have told you, that a warrior is
a hunter of power, and that I am teaching you, how to hunt and store
it. The difficulty with you, which is the difficulty with all of us, is
to be convinced. You need to believe, that personal power can be used
and that it is possible to store it, but you haven't been convinced so
far."
I told him, that he had made his point and that I was as convinced, as
I would ever be. He laughed. "That is not the type of conviction,
I am talking about," he said.
He tapped my shoulder with two or three soft punches, added with a
cackle (shrill, brittle laughter like hen), "I don't need to be
humored, you know." I felt obliged to assure him, that I was serious.
"I don't doubt it," he said. "But to be convinced means, that you can
act by yourself. It will still take you a great deal of effort to do
that. Much more has to be done. You have just begun." He was quiet for
a moment. His face acquired a placid expression. "It's funny the way
you sometimes remind me of myself," he went on. "I too did not want to
take the path of a warrior. I believed, that all that work, was for
nothing, and since we are all going to die, what difference would it
make to be a warrior? I was wrong. But I had to find that out for
myself. Whenever you do realize, that you are wrong, and that it
certainly makes a world of difference, you can say, that you are
convinced. And then you can proceed by yourself. And by yourself you
may even become a Man of Knowledge." I asked him to explain, what he
meant by a Man of Knowledge. "A Man of Knowledge is one, who has
followed truthfully the hardships of learning," he said. "A man, who
has, without rushing or
faltering (hesitating), gone as far, as he can in unraveling the
secrets of personal power." He discussed the concept in brief terms and
then discarded it, as a topic of conversation, saying, that I should
only be concerned with the idea of storing personal power.
"That's incomprehensible," I protested. "I can't really figure out,
what you are driving at."
"Hunting power is a peculiar event," he said. "It first has to be an
idea, then it has to be set up, step by step, and then, bingo! It
happens."
"How does it happen?" Don Juan stood up. He began stretching his arms
and arching his back like a cat. His bones, as usual, made a series of
cracking sounds.
"Let's go," he said. "We have a long journey ahead of us."
"But there are so many things I want to ask you," I said.
174-175
"We are going to a place of power," he said, as he stepped inside his
house. "Why don't you save your questions for the time, we are there?
We may have an opportunity to talk."
I thought, we were going to drive, so I stood up and walked to my car,
but don Juan called me from the house and told me to pick up my net
with gourds. He was waiting for me at the edge of the desert chaparral
behind his house. "We have to hurry up," he said. We reached the lower
slopes of the western Sierra Madre mountains around three P.M. It had
been a warm day, but towards the late afternoon the wind became cold.
Don Juan sat down on a rock and signaled me to do likewise.
"What are we going to do here this time, don Juan?"
"You know very well, that we're here to hunt power."
"I know that. But what are we going to do here in particular?"
"You know, that I don't have the slightest idea."
"Do you mean, that you never follow a plan?"
"Hunting power is a very strange affair," he said. "There is no way to
plan it ahead of time. That's what's exciting about it. A warrior
proceeds, as if he had a plan though, because he trusts his personal
power. He knows for a fact, that it will make him act in the most
appropriate fashion." I pointed out, that his statements were somehow
contradictory. If a warrior already had personal power, why was he
hunting for it? Don Juan raised his brows and made a gesture of feigned
(pretending, fictitious) disgust. "You're the one, who is hunting
personal power," he said. "And I am the warrior, who already has it.
You asked me, if I had a plan and I said, that I trust my personal
power to guide me and, that I don't need to have a plan." We remained
quiet for a moment and then began walking again. The slopes were very
steep, climbing them was very difficult and extremely tiring for me. On
the other hand, there seemed to be no end to don Juan's stamina. He did
not run or hurry. His walking was steady and tireless. I noticed, that
he was not even perspiring, even after having climbed an enormous and
almost vertical slope. When I reached the top of it, don Juan was
already there, waiting for me. As I sat down next to him, I felt, that
my heart was about to burst out of my chest. I lay on my back and
perspiration literally poured from my brows. Don Juan laughed out loud
and rolled me back and forth for a while. The motion helped me catch my
breath. I told him, that I was simply awed by his physical prowess
(outstanding courage, daring, stamina). "I've been trying to draw your
attention to it all along," he said.
"You're not old at all, don Juan!"
"Of course not. I've been trying to make you notice it."
"How do you do it?"
"I don't do anything. My body feels fine, that's all. I treat myself
very well, therefore, I have no reason to feel tired or ill at ease.
The secret is not in, what you do to yourself, but rather in what you
don't do." I waited for an explanation. He seemed to be aware of my
incapacity to understand. He smiled knowingly and stood up.
"This is a place of power," he said. "Find a place for us to camp here
on this hilltop." I began to protest. I wanted him to explain, what I
should not do to my body.
He made an imperative gesture. "Cut the guff," he said softly. "This
time just act for a change. It doesn't matter, how long it takes you to
find a suitable place to rest. It might take you all night. It is not
important, that you find the spot either; the important issue is, that
you try to find it." I put away my writing pad and stood up. Don Juan
reminded me, as he had done countless times, whenever he had asked me
to find a resting place, that I had to look without focusing on any
particular spot, squinting my eyes, until my view was blurred.
I began to walk, scanning the ground with my half-closed eyes. Don Juan
walked a few feet to my right and a couple of steps behind me. I
covered the periphery of the hilltop first. My intention was to work my
way in a spiral to the centre. But once I had covered the circumference
of the hilltop, don Juan made me stop. He said, I was letting my
preference for routines take over.
176-177
In a sarcastic tone he added, that I was certainly covering the whole
area systematically, but in such a stagnant way, that I would not be
able to perceive the suitable place. He added, that he himself knew,
where it was, so there was no chance for improvisations on my
part.
"What should I be doing instead?" I asked. Don Juan made me sit down.
He then plucked a single leaf from a number of bushes and gave them to
me. He ordered me to lie down on my back, loosen my belt and place the
leaves against the skin of my umbilical region. He supervised my
movements and instructed me to press the leaves against my body with
both hands. He then ordered me to close my eyes and warned me, that if
I wanted perfect results, I should not lose hold of the leaves, or open
my eyes, or try to sit up, when he shifted my body to a position of
power. He grabbed me by the right armpit and swirled me around. I had
an invincible desire to peek through my half-closed eyelids, but don
Juan put his hand over my eyes. He commanded me to concern myself only
with the feeling of warmth, that was going to come from the leaves. I
lay motionless for a moment and then, I began to feel a strange heat,
emanating from the leaves. I first sensed it with the palms of my
hands, then the warmth extended to my abdomen, and finally it literally
invaded my entire body. In a matter of minutes my feet were burning up
with a heat, that reminded me of times, when I had had a high
temperature. I told don Juan about the unpleasant sensation and my
desire to take off my shoes. He said, that he was going to help me
stand up, that I should not open my eyes, until he told me to, and,
that I should keep pressing the leaves to my stomach, until I had found
the suitable spot to rest. When I was on my feet, he whispered in my
ear, that I should open my eyes, and that I should walk without a plan,
letting the power of the leaves pull me and guide me. I began to walk
aimlessly. The heat of my body was uncomfortable. I believed, I was
running a high temperature, and I became absorbed in trying to conceive
(think, consider, formulated, become posessed), by what means don Juan
had produced it. Don Juan walked behind me. He suddenly let out a
scream, that nearly paralyzed me. He explained, laughing, that abrupt
noises scare away unpleasant spirits. I squinted my eyes and walked
back and forth for about half an hour. In that time the uncomfortable
heat of my body turned into a pleasurable warmth. I experienced a
sensation of lightness, as I paced up and down the hilltop. I felt
disappointed, however; I had somehow expected to detect some kind of
visual phenomenon, but there were no changes whatsoever in the
periphery of my field of vision, no unusual colours, or glare, or dark
masses. I finally became tired of squinting my eyes and opened them. I
was standing in front of a small ledge of sandstone, which was one of
the few barren rocky places on the hilltop; the rest was dirt with
widely spaced small bushes. It seemed, that the vegetation had burned
sometime before and the new growth was not fully mature yet. For some
unknown reason I thought, that the sandstone ledge was beautiful.
I stood in front of it for a long time. And then I simply sat down on
it. "Good! Good!" don Juan said and patted me on the back. He then told
me, to carefully pull the leaves from under my clothes and place them
on the rock. As soon, as I had taken the leaves away from my skin, I
began to cool off. I took my pulse. It seemed to be normal. Don Juan
laughed and called me "doctor Carlos" and asked me, if I could also
take his pulse. He said, that, what I had felt, was the power of the
leaves, and, that that power had cleared me and had enabled me to
fulfill my task. I asserted (affirm,
state positevely) in all
sincerity, that I had done nothing in particular, and that I sat down
on that place, because I was tired and because I found the colour of
the sandstone very appealing. Don Juan did not say anything. He was
standing a few feet away from me. Suddenly, he jumped back and, with
incredible agility, ran and leaped over some bushes to a high crest of
rocks some distance away.
"What's the matter?" I asked, alarmed.
"Watch the direction, in which the wind will blow your leaves," he
said. "Count them quickly. The wind is coming. Keep half of them and
put them back against your belly."
178-179
I counted twenty leaves. I stuck ten under my shirt and then a strong
gust of wind scattered the other ten in a westerly direction. I had the
eerie feeling, as I saw the leaves being blown off, that a real entity
was deliberately sweeping them into the amorphous mass of green
shrubbery. Don Juan walked back to, where I was, and sat down next to
me, to my left, facing the south. We did not speak a word for a long
time. I did not know , what to say. I was exhausted. I wanted to close
my eyes, but I did not dare. Don Juan must have noticed my state and
said, that it was all right to fall asleep. He told me to place my
hands on my abdomen, over the leaves, and try to feel, that I was lying
suspended on the bed of "strings", that he had made for me on the
"place of my predilection" (inclinations, preference). I closed my eyes
and a memory of the peace and plenitude, I had experienced while
sleeping on that other hilltop, invaded me. I wanted to find out, if I
could actually feel, I was suspended, but I fell asleep. I woke up just
before the sunset. Sleeping had refreshed and invigorated me. Don Juan
had also fallen asleep. He opened his eyes at the same time, I did. It
was windy, but I did not feel cold. The leaves on my stomach seemed to
have acted as a furnace, a heater of some sort. I examined the
surroundings. The place, I had selected to rest, was like a small
basin. One could actually sit on it, as on a long couch; there was
enough of a rock wall to serve as a backrest. I also found out, that
don Juan had brought my writing pads and placed them underneath my
head. "You found the right place," he said, smiling. "And the whole
operation took place, as I had told you, it would. Power guided you
here without any plan on your part."
"What kind of leaves did you give me?" I asked. "The warmth, that had
radiated from the leaves and had kept me in such a comfortable state,
without any blankets or extra thick clothing, was indeed an absorbing
phenomenon for me. "They were just leaves," don Juan said.
"'Do you mean, that I could grab leaves from any bush and they would
produce the same effect on me?"
"No. I don't mean, that you yourself can do that. You have no personal
power. I mean, that any kind of leaves would help you, providing, that
the person, who gives them to you, has power. What helped you today was
not the leaves, but power."
"Your power, don Juan?"
"I suppose you
could say, that it was my power, although that is not really accurate.
Power does not belong to anyone. Some of us may gather it and then it
could be given directly to someone else. You see, the key to stored
power is, that it can be used only to help someone else store power." I
asked him, if that meant, that his power was limited only to helping
others. Don Juan patiently explained, that he could use his personal
power however he pleased, in anything he himself wanted, but when it
came to giving it directly to another person, it was useless, unless
that person utilized it for his own search of personal power.
"Everything, a man does, hinges on his personal power," don Juan went
on. "Therefore, for one, who doesn't have any, the deeds of a powerful
man are incredible. It takes power to even conceive (think, consider,
formulated, become posessed), what power is. This is what I have been
trying to tell you all along. But I know, you don't understand, not
because you don't want to, but because you have very little personal
power."
"What should I do, don Juan?"
"Nothing. Just proceed as you are now. Power will find a way." He stood
up and turned around in a complete circle, staring at everything in the
surroundings. His body moved at the same time, his eyes moved; the
total effect was that of a hieratic () mechanical toy, that turned in a
complete circle in a precise and unaltered movement. I looked at him
with my mouth open. He hid a smile, cognizant (conscious, aware) of my
surprise. "Today you are going to hunt power in the darkness of the
day," he said and sat down.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Tonight you'll venture into those unknown hills. In the darkness they
are not hills."
180-181
"What are they?"
"They are something else. Something unthinkable for you, since you have
never witnessed their existence."
"What do you mean, don Juan? You always scare me with that spooky
talk." He laughed and kicked my calf softly.
"The world is a mystery," he said. "And it is not at all, as you
picture it." He seemed to reflect for a moment. His head bobbed up and
down with a rhythmical shake, then he smiled and added, "Well, it is
also, as you picture it, but that's not all there is to the world;
there is much more to it. You have been finding that out all along, and
perhaps tonight you will add one more piece." His tone sent a chill
through my body.
"What are you planning to do?" I asked.
"I don't plan anything. All is decided by the same power, that allowed
you to find this spot." Don Juan got up and pointed to something in the
distance. I assumed, that he wanted me to stand up and look. I tried to
jump to my feet, but before I had fully stood up, don Juan pushed me
down with great force. "I didn't ask you to follow me," he said in a
severe voice. Then he softened his tone and added, "You're going to
have a difficult time tonight, and you will need all the personal
power, you can muster. Stay where you are and save yourself for later."
He explained, that he was not pointing at anything, but just making
sure, that certain things were out there. He assured me, that
everything was all right and said, that I should sit quietly and get
busy, because I had a lot of time to write, before total darkness had
set in the land. His smile was contagious and very comforting.
"But what are we going to do, don Juan?"
He shook his head from side to side in an exaggerated gesture of
disbelief. "Write!" he commanded me and turned his back to me. There
was nothing else for me to do. I worked on my notes, until it was too
dark to write. Don Juan maintained the same position all the time, I
was working. He seemed to be absorbed in staring into the distance
towards the west. But as soon, as I stopped he turned to me and said in
a joking tone, that the only ways to shut me up were to give me
something to eat, or make me write, or put me to sleep. He took a small
bundle from his knapsack and ceremoniously opened it. It contained
pieces of dry meat. He handed me a piece and took another for himself
and began to chew on it He casually informed me, that it was power
food, which both of us needed on that occasion. I was too hungry to
think about the possibility, that the dry meat may have contained a
psychotropic substance. We ate in complete silence, until there was no
more meat, and by that time it was quite dark. Don Juan stood up and
stretched his arms and back. He suggested, I should do the same. He
said, it was a good practice to stretch the entire body after sleeping,
sitting, or walking. I followed his advice and some of the leaves, I
had kept under my shirt, slid through the legs of my pants. I wondered,
if I should try to pick them up, but he said to forget about it, that
there was no longer any need for them and that I should let them fall,
as they might. Then don Juan came very close to me and whispered in my
right ear, that I was supposed to follow him at very close range and
imitate everything he did. He said, that we were safe on the spot where
we stood, because we were, so to speak, at the edge of the night. "This
is not the night," he whispered, stomping on the rock, where we were
standing. "The night is out there." He pointed to the darkness all
around us. He then checked my carrying net to see, if the food gourds
and my writing pads were secured, and in a soft voice said, that a
warrior always made sure, that everything was in proper order, not
because he believed, that he was going to survive the ordeal, he was
about to undertake, but because that was part of his impeccable
behavior. Instead of making me feel relieved, his admonitions
(warnings) created the complete certainty, that my doom was
approaching. I wanted
to weep.
182-183
Don Juan was, I was sure, completely aware of the effect of his words.
"Trust your personal power," he said in my ear. "That's all one has in
this whole mysterious world." He pulled me gently and we started to
walk. He took the lead a couple of steps ahead of me. I followed him
with my eyes fixed on the ground. Somehow I did not dare to look
around, and, focusing my sight on the ground, made me feel strangely
calm; it almost mesmerized me. After a short walk don Juan stopped. He
whispered, that total darkness was near and that he was going to get
ahead of me, but was going to give me his position, by imitating the
cry of a specific small owl. He reminded me, that I already knew, that
his particular imitation was raspy at the beginning and then it became
as mellow, as the cry of a real owl. He warned me to be deadly aware of
other owl cries, which did not bear that mark. By the time don Juan
finished giving me all those instructions, I was practically
panic-stricken. I grabbed him by the arm and would not let go. It took
two or three minutes for me to calm myself enough, so I could
articulate my words. A nervous ripple ran along my stomach and abdomen,
and kept me from talking coherently. In a calm soft voice he urged me
to get hold of myself, because the darkness was like the wind, an
unknown entity at large, that could trick me, if I was not careful. And
I had to be perfectly calm, in order to deal with it. "You must let
yourself go, so your personal power will merge with the power of the
night," he said in my ear. He said, he was going to move ahead of me,
and I had another attack of irrational fear.
"This is insane," I protested. Don Juan did not get angry or impatient.
He laughed quietly and said something in my ear, which I did not quite
understand. "What did you say?" I said loudly through chattering teeth.
Don Juan put his hand over my mouth and whispered, that a warrior
acted, as if he knew, what he was doing, when in effect, he knew
nothing.
He repeated one statement three or four times, as if he wanted me to
memorize it. He said:
"A warrior is impeccable, when he trusts his personal power, regardless
of whether it is small or enormous." After a short wait he asked me, if
I was all right. I nodded and he went swiftly out of sight with hardly
a sound. I tried to look around. I seemed to be standing in an area of
thick vegetation. All, I could distinguish, was the dark mass of
shrubs, or perhaps small trees. I concentrated my attention on sounds,
but nothing was outstanding. The whizzing (buzzing, hissing sound) of
the wind, muffled every other sound, except the sporadic piercing cries
of large owls and the whistling of other birds. I waited for a while in
a state of utmost attention. And then came the raspy prolonged cry of a
small owl. I had no doubt it was don Juan. It came from a place behind
me. I turned around and began to walk in that direction. I moved
slowly, because I felt inextricably (too complicated to solve, impossible
to untie) encumbered (impede, hinder) by the darkness. I walked for perhaps
ten minutes. Suddenly some dark mass jumped in front of me. I screamed
and fell backward on my seat. My ears began buzzing. The fright was so
great, that it cut my wind. I had to open my mouth to breathe. "Stand
up," don Juan said softly. "I didn't mean to scare you. I just came to
meet you." He said, that he had been watching my crappy (rubbish,
nonsense, foolish) way of walking and that, when I moved in the
darkness, I looked like a crippled old lady, trying to tiptoe (one heel
of shoe raised) between mud puddles. He found this image funny and
laughed out loud. He then proceeded to demonstrate a special way of
walking in the darkness, a way, which he called "the gait of power". He
stooped (bend forward and downwards) over in front of me and made me
run my hands over his back and knees, in order to get an idea of the
position of his body. Don Juan's trunk was slightly bent forward, but
his spine was straight. His knees were also slightly bent. He walked
slowly in front of me, so I could take notice, that he raised his knees
almost to his chest, every time he took a step. And then he actually
ran out of sight and came back again. I could not conceive (think,
consider, formulated, become posessed), how he could run in total
darkness.
184-185
"The gait of power is for
running at night," he whispered in my ear. He urged me to try it myself. I told
him, that I was sure, I would break my legs, falling into a crevice or
against a rock. Don Juan very calmly said, that the "gait of power" was
completely safe. I pointed out, that the only way, I could understand
his acts, was by assuming he knew those hills to perfection, and thus
could avoid the pitfalls. Don Juan took my head
in his hands and whispered forcefully, "This is the night! And it is
power!" He let go of my head and then added in a soft voice,
that at night the world was different,
and that his ability to run in the darkness had nothing to do with his
knowledge of those hills. He said, that the key to it was to
let one's personal power flow out freely, so it could merge with the
power of the night, and, that once that power took over, there
was no chance for a slip-up. He added, in a tone of utmost seriousness,
that if I doubted it, I should consider for a moment, what was taking
place. For a man of his age to run in those hills at that hour would be
suicidal, if the power of the night was not guiding him. "Look!" he
said and ran swiftly out into the darkness and came back again. The way
his body moved was so extraordinary, that I could not believe, what I
was seeing. He sort of jogged on the same spot for a moment. The
manner, in which he lifted his legs, reminded me of a sprinter doing
preliminary warm-up exercises. He then told me to follow him. I did it
with utter constraint (force, oblige) and uneasiness. With extreme care
I tried to look, where I was stepping, but it was impossible to judge
distance. Don Juan came back and jogged by my side. He whispered, that
I had to abandon myself to the power of the night and trust the little
bit of personal power, that I had, or I would never be able to move
with freedom, and that the darkness was encumbering (impede,
hindering), only
because I relied on my sight for everything, I did, not knowing, that
another way to move was: to let power be the guide. I tried various
times without success. I simply could not let go. The fear of injuring
my legs was overpowering. Don Juan ordered me to keep on moving in the
same spot and to try to feel, as if I were actually using the "gait of
power". He then said, that he was going to run ahead and, that I should
wait for his owl's cry. He disappeared in the darkness, before I could
say anything. I closed my eyes at times and jogged on the same spot,
with my knees and trunk bent, for perhaps an hour. Little by little my
tension began to ease up, until I was fairly comfortable. Then I heard
don Juan's cry. I ran five or six yards in the direction, where the cry
came from, trying to "abandon myself", as don Juan had suggested. But
stumbling into a bush immediately brought back my feelings of
insecurity. Don Juan was waiting for me and corrected my posture. He
insisted, I
should first curl my fingers against my palms, stretching out the thumb
and index of each hand. Then he said, that in his opinion,
I was just indulging myself in my feelings of inadequacy, since I knew
for a fact, I could always see fairly well, no matter how dark the
night was, if I did not focus on anything, but kept scanning the ground
right in front of me.
The "gait of
power" was similar to finding a place to rest. Both entailed a sense of
abandon, and a sense of trust. The "gait of power" required, that one
keep the eyes on the ground, directly in front, because even a glance
to either side would produce an alteration in the flow of
movement. He explained, that
bending the trunk forward was necessary, in order to lower the eyes,
and the reason, for lifting the knees up to the chest, was, because the
steps had to be very short and safe. He warned me, that I was going to
stumble a great deal at first, but he assured me, that with practice I
could run as swiftly and as safely, as I could in the daytime.
For hours I tried to imitate his movements and get into the mood, he
recommended. He would very patiently jog on the same spot in front of
me, or he would take off in a short run and return to, where I was, so
I could see, how he moved. He would even push me and make me run a few
yards. Then he took off and called me with a series of owl cries. In
some inexplicable way I moved with an unexpected degree of
self-confidence.
186-187
To my knowledge, I had done nothing to warrant that feeling, but my
body seemed to be cognizant of things without thinking about them. For
example, I could not really see the jagged (rough, uneven) rocks in my
way, but my body always managed to step on the edges and never in the
crevices, except for a few mishaps (misfortune, bad luck), when I lost
my balance, because I became distracted. The degree of concentration,
needed to keep scanning the area directly in front, had to be total. As
don Juan had warned me, any slight glance to the side or too far ahead,
altered the flow. I located don Juan after a long search. He was
sitting by some dark shapes, that seemed to be trees. He came towards
me and said, that I was doing very well, but it was time to quit,
because he had been using his whistle long enough and was sure, that by
then, it could be imitated by others. I agreed, that it was time to
stop. I was nearly exhausted by my attempts. I felt relieved and asked
him, who would imitate his cry. "Powers, allies, spirits, who knows?"
he said in a whisper. He explained, that those "entities of the night"
usually made very melodious sounds, but were at a great disadvantage in
reproducing the raspiness of human cries or bird whistling. He
cautioned me to always stop moving, if I ever heard such a sound and to
keep in mind all, he had said, because at some other time I might need
to make the proper identification. In a reassuring tone he said, that I
had a very good idea, what the "gait of power" was like, and that, in
order to master it, I needed only a slight push, which I could get on
another occasion, when we ventured again into the night. He patted me
on the shoulder and announced, that he was ready to leave. "Let's get
out of here," he said and began running.
"Wait! Wait!" I screamed frantically. "Let's walk." Don Juan stopped
and took off his hat.
"Golly!" he said in a tone of perplexity (bewilderment). "We're in a
fix. You know, that I cannot walk in the dark. I can only run. I'll
break my legs, if I walk." I had the feeling, he was grinning, when he
said that, although I could not see his face. He added in a
confidential tone, that he was too old to walk and the little bit of
the "gait of power", that I had learned that night, had to be stretched
to meet the occasion. "If we don't use the "gait of power " we will be
mowed down like grass," he whispered in my ear.
"By whom?"
"There are things in the night, that act on people," he whispered in a
tone, that sent chills through my body. He said, that it was not
important, that I keep up with him, because he was going to give
repeated signals of four owl cries at a time, so I could follow him. I
suggested, that we should stay in those hills, until dawn and then
leave. He retorted (return, pay back, reply, answer) in a very dramatic
tone, that to stay there would be suicidal; and even if we came out
alive, the night would have drained our personal power to the point,
that we could not avoid being the victims of the first hazard of the
day. "Let's not waste any more time," he said with a note of urgency in
his voice. "Let's get out of here." He reassured me, that he would try
to go as slowly, as possible. His final instructions were, that I
should try not to utter a sound, not even a gasp, no matter what
happened. He gave me the general direction, we were going to go in, and
began running at a markedly slower pace. I followed him, but no matter
how slow he moved, I could not keep up with him, and he soon
disappeared in the darkness ahead of me. After I was alone, I became
aware, that I had adopted a fairly fast walk without realizing it. And
that came as a shock to me. I tried to maintain that pace for a long
while and then I heard don Juan's call a little bit to my right. He
whistled four times in succession. After a very short while, I again
heard his owl cry, this time to my far right. In order to follow it, I
had to make a forty-five-degree turn. I began to move in the new
direction, expecting, that the other three cries of the set would give
me a better orientation. I heard a new whistle, which placed don Juan
almost in the direction, where we had started. I stopped and listened.
I heard a very sharp noise a short distance away.
188-189
Something like the sound of two rocks being struck against each other.
I strained to listen and detected a series of soft noises, as if two
rocks were being struck gently. There was another owl's cry and then I
knew, what don Juan had meant. There was something truly melodious
about it. It was definitely longer and even more mellow, than a real
owl's. I felt a strange sensation of fright. My stomach contracted, as
if something were pulling me down from the middle part of my body. I
turned around and started to semi-jog in the opposite direction. I
heard a faint owl cry in the distance. There was a rapid succession of
three more cries. They were don Juan's. I ran in their direction. I
felt, that he must have then been a good quarter of a mile away and, if
he kept up that pace, I would soon be inextricably (complicated to
solve, impossible to untie) alone in those hills. I could not
understand why don Juan would run ahead, when he could have run around
me, if he needed to keep that pace. I noticed then, that there seemed
to be something moving with me to my left. I could almost see it in the
extreme periphery of my visual field. I was about to panic, but a
sobering thought crossed my mind. I could not possibly see anything in
the dark. I wanted to stare in that direction, but I was afraid to lose
my momentum. Another owl cry jolted me out of my deliberations. It came
from my left. I did not follow it, because it was, without a doubt, the
most sweet and melodious cry I had ever heard. It did not frighten me
though. There was something very appealing, or perhaps haunting, or
even sad about it. Then a very swift dark mass crossed from left to
right ahead of me. The suddenness of its movements made me look ahead,
I lost my balance and crashed noisily against some shrubs. I fell down
on my side and then I heard the melodious cry a few steps to my left. I
stood up, but before I could start moving forward again, there was
another cry, more demanding and compelling (forced), than the first. It was, as if
something there wanted me to stop and listen. The sound of the owl cry
was so prolonged and gentle, that it eased my fears. I would have
actually stopped, had I not heard at that precise moment don Juan's
four raspy cries. They seemed to be nearer. I jumped and took off in
that direction. After a moment I noticed again a certain flicker or a
wave in the darkness to my left. It was not a sight proper, but rather
a feeling, and yet I was almost sure, I was perceiving it with my eyes.
It moved faster, than I did, and again it crossed from left to right,
making me lose my balance. This time I did not fall down, and,
strangely enough, not falling down, annoyed me. I suddenly became angry
and the incongruency (no
harmony, incompatible) of
my feelings threw me into true panic. I tried to accelerate my pace. I
wanted, to give out an owl cry myself, to let don Juan know, where I
was, but I did not dare to disobey his instructions. At that moment
some gruesome thing came to my attention. There was actually something
like an animal to my left, almost touching me. I jumped involuntarily
and veered to my right. The fright almost suffocated me. I was so
intensely gripped by fear, that there were no thoughts in my mind, as I
moved in the darkness as fast, as I could. My fear seemed to be a
bodily sensation, that had nothing to do with my thoughts. I found that
condition very unusual. In the course of my life, my fears had always
been mounted on an intellectual matrix and had been
engendered (procreate,
propagate) by threatening
social situations, or by people, behaving towards me in dangerous ways.
This time, however, my fear was a true novelty. It came from an unknown
part of the world and hit me in an unknown part of myself. I heard an
owl cry very close and slightly to my left. I could not catch the
details of its pitch, but it seemed to be don Juan's. It was not
melodious. I slowed down. Another cry followed. The raspiness of don
Juan's whistles was there, so I moved faster. A third whistle came from
a very short distance away. I could distinguish a dark mass of rocks or
perhaps trees. I heard another owl's cry and I thought, that don Juan
was waiting for me, because we were out of the field of danger. I was
almost at the edge of the darker area, when a fifth cry froze me on the
spot. I strained to see ahead into the dark area, but a sudden rustling
sound to my left made me turn around in time to notice a black object,
blacker, than the surroundings, rolling or sliding by my side. I gasped
and jumped away.
190-191
I heard a clicking sound, as if someone were smacking his lips, and
then a very large dark mass lurched out of the darker area. It was
square, like a door, perhaps eight to ten feet high. The suddenness of
its appearance made me scream. For a moment my fright was all out of
proportion, but a second later I found myself awesomely calm, staring
at the dark shape. My reactions were, as far, as I was concerned,
another total novelty. Some part of myself seemed to pull me towards
the dark area with an eerie insistence, while another part of me
resisted. It was, as if I wanted to find out for sure on the one hand,
and on the other, I wanted to run hysterically out of there. I barely
heard don Juan's owl cries. They seemed to be very close by and they
seemed to be frantic; they were longer and raspier, as though he was
whistling, while he ran towards me. Suddenly I seemed to regain control
of myself and was able to turn around, and for a moment I ran just as
don Juan had been wanting me to. "Don Juan!" I shouted, when I found
him. He put his hand on my mouth and signaled me to follow, we
both jogged at a very comfortable pace, until we came to the sandstone
ledge, where we had been before. We sat in absolute silence on the
ledge for about an hour, until dawn. Then we ate food from the gourds.
Don Juan said, that we had to remain on the ledge until midday, and
that we were not going to sleep at all, but were going to talk, as if
nothing was out of the ordinary. He asked me to relate in detail
everything, that had happened to me from the moment, he had left me.
When I concluded my narration, he stayed quiet for a long time. He
seemed to be immersed in deep thought.
"It doesn't look too good," he finally said. "What happened to you last
night was very serious, so serious, that you cannot venture into the
night alone any more. From now on, the entities of the night won't
leave you alone."
"What happened to me last night, don Juan?"
'You stumbled on some entities, which are in the world, and which act
on people. You know nothing about them, because you have never
encountered them. Perhaps it would be more proper to call them:
entities of the mountains; they don't really belong to the night. I
call them entities of the night, because one can perceive them in the
darkness with greater ease. They are here, around us at all times. In
daylight, however, it is more difficult to perceive them, simply
because the world is familiar to us, and that, which is familiar, takes
precedence (used as standard case). In the darkness, on the other hand,
everything is equally strange and very few things take precedence (used as standard case), so we are more susceptible to those
entities at night."
"But are they real, don Juan?"
"Of course! They are so real, that ordinarily they kill people,
especially those, who stray into the wilderness and have no personal
power."
"If you knew they were so dangerous, why did you leave me alone there?"
"There is only one way to learn, and that way is: to get down to
business. To only talk about power is useless. If you want to know,
what power is, and if you want to store it, you must tackle everything
yourself. The road of knowledge and power is very difficult and very
long. You may have noticed, that I have not let you venture into the
darkness by yourself, until last night. You did not have enough power
to do that. Now you do have enough to wage (engage in war) a good
battle, but not enough to stay in the dark by yourself."
"What would happen, if I did?"
"You'll die. The entities of the night will crush you like a bug."
"Does that mean, that I cannot spend a night by myself?"
"You can spend the night by yourself in your bed, but not in the
mountains."
"What about the flatlands?"
"It applies only to the wilderness, where there are no people around,
especially the wilderness in high mountains. Since the natural abodes
(dwellings) of the entities of the night are rocks and crevices, you
cannot go to the mountains from now on, unless you have stored enough
personal power."
"But how can I store personal power?"
192-193
"You are doing it by
living the way, I have recommended. Little by little you
are plugging all your points of drainage. You don't have to be
deliberate about it, because power always finds a way. Take me as an
example. I didn't know, I was
storing power, when I first began to learn the ways of a warrior. Just
like you, I thought, I wasn't doing anything in particular, but that
was not so. Power has the peculiarity of being unnoticeable, when
it is being stored." I asked him to explain, how he had
arrived at the conclusion, that it was dangerous for me to stay by
myself in the darkness. The entities of the night moved along your
left," he said. "They were trying to merge with your death. Especially
the door, that you saw. It was an opening, you know, and it would have
pulled you, until you had been forced to cross it. And that would have
been your end." I mentioned, in the best way I could, that I thought,
it was very strange, that things always happened, when he was around,
and that it was, as if he had been concocting all the events himself.
The times, I had been alone in the wilderness at night, had always been
perfectly normal and uneventful. I had never experienced shadows or
strange noises. In fact, I had never been frightened by anything. Don
Juan chuckled (laugh quietly or to oneself) softly and said, that
everything was proof, he had enough personal power to call a myriad of
things to his aid. I had the feeling, he perhaps was hinting, that he
actually had called on some people, as his confederates (ally,
partners). Don Juan seemed to have read my thoughts and laughed out
loud. "Don't tax (strain) yourself with explanations," he said. "What I
said, makes no sense to you, simply because you still don't have enough
personal power. Yet you have more, than when you started, so things
have begun to happen to you. You already had a powerful encounter with
the fog and lightning. It is not important, that you understand, what
happened to you that night. What's important is, that you have acquired
the memory of it. The bridge and everything else, you saw that night,
will be repeated someday, when you have enough personal power."
"For what purpose would all that be repeated, don Juan?"
"I don't know. I am not you. Only you can answer that. We are all
different. That's why, I had to leave you by yourself last night,
although I knew, it was mortally dangerous; you had to test yourself
against those entities. The reason I chose the
owl's cry was, because owls are the entities' messengers. To imitate
the cry of an owl brings them out. They became dangerous to you, not
because they are naturally malevolent, but because you were not
impeccable. There is something in you, that is very chintzy (trashy, cheap) and I know, what it is. You are
just humoring me. You have been humoring everybody all along and, of
course, that places you automatically above everyone and everything.
But you know yourself, that that cannot be so. You are only a man, and
your life is too brief to encompass all the wonders and all the horrors
of this marvelous world. Therefore, your humoring is chintzy (trashy,
cheap); it cuts you down to a crappy size." I wanted to protest. Don
Juan had nailed me, as he had done dozens of times before. For a moment
I became angry. But, as it had happened before, writing detached me
enough, so I could remain impassive (apathetic, emotionless). "I think,
I have a cure for it," don Juan went on after a long interval. "Even
you would agree with me, if you could remember, what you did last
night. You ran as fast, as any sorcerer, only when your opponent became
unbearable. We both know that, and I believe, I have already found a
worthy opponent for you."
"What are you going to do, don Juan?"
He did not answer. He stood up and stretched his body. He seemed to
contract every muscle. He ordered me to do the same. "You must stretch
your body many times during the day," he said." The more times the
better, but only after a long period of work or a long period of rest."
"What kind of opponent are you going to find for me?" I asked.
"Unfortunately, only our fellow men are our worthy opponents," he said.
"Other entities have no volition of their own, and one must go to meet
them and lure them out. Our fellow men, on the contrary, are
relentless. We have talked long enough," don Juan said in an abrupt
tone and turned to me. "Before we leave, you must do one more thing,
the most important of all.
194-195
I am going to tell you something right now, to set your mind at ease,
about why you are here. The reason you keep on coming to see me is very
simple; every time you have seen me, your body has learned certain
things, even against your desire. And finally your body now needs to
come back to me to learn more. Let's say, that your body knows, that it
is going to die, even though you never think about it. So I've been
telling your body, that I too am going to die and before I do, I would
like to show your body certain things, things, which you cannot give to
your body yourself. For example, your body needs fright. It likes it.
Your body needs the darkness and the wind. Your body now knows the gait
of power and can't wait to try it. Your body needs personal power and
can't wait to have it. So let's say then, that your body returns to see
me, because I am its friend." Don Juan remained silent for a long
while. He seemed to be struggling with his thoughts. "I've told you,
that the secret of a strong body is not in, what you do to it, but in
what you don't do," he finally said. "Now it is time for you not to do,
what you always do. Sit here, until we leave and not-do."
"I don't follow you, don Juan."
He put his hands over my notes and took them away from me. He carefully
closed the pages of my notebook, secured it with its rubber band, and
then threw it like a disc far into the chaparral. I was shocked and
began to protest, but he put his hand over my mouth. He pointed to a
large bush and told me to fix my attention not on the leaves, but on
the shadows of the leaves. He said, that running in the darkness did
not have to be spurred (stimulated,
promt, incite) by fear, but
could be a very natural reaction of a jubilant (expressing triumph)
body, that knew how "to not do". He repeated over and over in a whisper
in my right ear, that "to not do, what I knew, how to do' was the key
to power. In the case of looking at a tree, what I knew, how to do, was
to focus immediately on
the foliage. The
shadows of the leaves or the spaces in between the leaves were never my
concern. His last admonitions were to start focusing on the shadows of
the leaves on one single branch and then eventually work my way to the
whole tree, and not to let my eyes go back to the leaves, because the
first deliberate step to storing personal power was to allow the body
to not-do. Perhaps it was, because of my fatigue or my
nervous excitation, but I became so immersed in the shadows of the
leaves, that by the time don Juan stood up, I could almost group the
dark masses of shadows as effectively, as I normally grouped the
foliage. The total effect was startling. I told don Juan, that I would
like to stay longer. He laughed and patted me on my hat. "I've told
you," he said." The body likes things like this." He then said, that I
should let my stored power guide me through the bushes to my notebook.
He gently pushed me into the chaparral. I walked aimlessly for a moment
and then I came upon it.
I thought, that I must have unconsciously memorized the direction, in
which don Juan had thrown it. He explained the event, saying, that I
went directly to the notebook, because my body had been soaked for
hours in not-doing.
15. Not-Doings

196-197
Wednesday, 11 April 1962. Upon returning to his house, don Juan
recommended, that I work on my notes, as if nothing had happened to me,
and not to mention or even be concerned with any of the events, I had
experienced. After a day's rest he announced, that we had to leave the
area for a few days, because it was advisable to put distance between
us and those "entities". He said, that they had affected me deeply,
although I was not noticing their effect yet, because my body was not
sensitive enough. In a short while, however, I would fall seriously
ill, if I did not go to my "place of predilection" (inclinations,
preference) to be cleansed and restored. We left before dawn and drove
north, and, after an exhausting drive and a fast hike, we arrived at
the hilltop in the late afternoon. Don Juan, as he had done before,
covered the spot, where I had once slept, with small branches and
leaves. Then he gave me a handful of leaves to put against the skin of
my abdomen and told me to lie down and rest. He fixed another place for
himself slightly to my left, about five feet away from my head, and
also lay down. In a matter of minutes I began to feel an exquisite
warmth and a sense of supreme well-being. It was a sense of physical
comfort, a sensation of being suspended in mid-air. I could fully agree
with don Juan's statement, that the "bed of strings" would keep me
floating. I commented on the unbelievable quality of my sensory
experience. Don Juan said in a factual tone, that the "bed" was made
for that purpose.
"I can't believe, that this is possible!" I exclaimed. Don Juan took my
statement literally and scolded me. He said, he was tired of my acting,
as an ultimately important being, that has to be given proof over and
over, that the world is unknown and marvelous. I tried to explain, that
a rhetorical (showy,
insincere) exclamation
had no significance. He retorted (return, pay back, reply, answer),
that, if that were so, I could have chosen another statement. It
seemed, that he was seriously annoyed with me. I sat up halfway and
began to apologize, but he laughed and, imitating my manner of
speaking, suggested a series of hilarious rhetorical (showy, insincere)
exclamations, I could have used instead. I ended up laughing at the
calculated absurdity of some of his proposed alternatives. He giggled
and in a soft tone reminded me, that I should abandon myself to the
sensation of floating. The soothing feeling of peace and plenitude,
that I experienced in that mysterious place, aroused some deeply buried
emotions in me. I began to talk about my life. I confessed, that I had
never respected or liked anybody, not even myself, and that I had
always felt, I was inherently evil, and thus my attitude towards others
was always veiled with a certain bravado and daring.
"True," don Juan said. "You don't like yourself at all."
He cackled (shrill, brittle laughter like hen) and told me, that he had
been Seeing, while I
talked. His recommendation was, that I should not have remorse for
anything I had done, because to isolate one's acts, as being mean, or
ugly, or evil, was to place an unwarranted importance on the self. I
moved nervously and the bed of leaves made a rustling sound. Don Juan
said, that if I wanted to rest, I should not make my leaves feel
agitated, and that I should imitate him and lie without making a single
movement. He added, that in his Seeing he
had come across one of my moods. He struggled for a moment, seemingly
to find a proper word, and said, that the mood in question was a frame
of mind, I continually lapsed (drift, vanish, decline) into. He
described it, as a sort of
trap door, that opened at unexpected times and swallowed me. I asked
him to be more specific. He replied, that it was impossible to be
specific about Seeing.
198-199
Before I could say anything else, he told me, I should relax, but not
fall asleep, and be in a state of awareness for as
long, as I could.
He said, that the "bed of strings" was made exclusively to allow a
warrior to arrive at a certain state of peace and well-being. In a
dramatic tone don Juan stated, that well-being was a condition one had
to groom, a condition one had to become acquainted with, in order to
seek it. "You don't know, what well-being is, because you have never
experienced it
!" I
disagreed with him. But he continued arguing, that well-being was an
achievement, one had to deliberately seek. He said, that the only
thing, I knew how to seek, was a sense of disorientation, ill-being,
and confusion. He laughed mockingly and assured me, that in order to
accomplish the feat, of making myself miserable, I had to work in a
most intense fashion, and that it was absurd, I had never realized, I
could work just the same, in making myself complete and strong. "The
trick is in what one emphasizes," he said. "We either make ourselves
miserable, or we make ourselves strong. The amount of work is the same."
I closed my eyes and relaxed again and began to feel: I was floating;
for a short while it was, as if I were actually moving through space,
like a leaf. Although it was utterly pleasurable, the feeling somehow
reminded me of times, when I had become sick, dizzy and would
experience a sensation of spinning. I thought perhapsI had eaten
something bad. I heard don Juan talking to me, but I did not really
make an effort to listen. I was trying to make a mental inventory of
all the things, I had eaten that day, but I could not become interested
in it. It did not seem to matter. "Watch the way the sunlight changes,"
he said. His voice was clear. I thought, it was like water, fluid and
warm. The sky was totally free of clouds towards the west and the
sunlight was spectacular. Perhaps the fact, that don Juan was cueing
me, made the yellowish glow of the afternoon Sun truly magnificent.
"Let that glow kindle (ignite) you," don Juan said. "Before the Sun
goes down today, you must be perfectly calm and restored, because
tomorrow or the day after, you are going to learn not-doing."
"Learn not doing what?" I asked.
"Never mind now," he said. "Wait, until we are in those lava
mountains." He pointed to some distant
jagged (rough,
uneven), dark,
menacing-looking peaks towards the north.

Thursday, 12 April 1962. We reached the high desert around the lava
mountains in the late afternoon. In the distance the dark brown lava
mountains looked almost sinister. The Sun was very low on the horizon
and shone on the western face of the solidified lava, tinting its dark
brownness with a dazzling array of yellow reflextions. I could not keep
my eyes away. Those peaks were truly mesmerizing. By the end of the day
the bottom slopes of the mountains were in sight. There was very little
vegetation on the high desert; all, I could see, were cacti and a kind
of tall grass, that grew in tufts (dense clumps). Don Juan stopped to
rest. He sat down, carefully propped his food gourds against a rock,
and said, that we were going to camp on that spot for the night. He had
picked a relatively high place. From where I stood, I could see quite a
distance away, all around us. It was a cloudy day and the twilight
quickly enveloped the area. I became involved in watching the speed,
with which the crimson clouds on the west faded into a uniform thick
dark grey. Don Juan got up and went to the bushes. By the time he came
back, the silhouette of the lava mountains was a dark mass. He sat down
next to me and called my attention to, what seemed to be, a natural
formation on the mountains towards the north-east.
200-201
It was a spot, which had a colour much lighter, than its surroundings.
While the whole range of lava mountains looked uniformly dark brown in
the twilight, the spot, he was pointing at, was actually yellowish or
dark beige. I could not figure out, what it could be. I stared at it
for a long time. It seemed to be moving; I fancied it to be pulsating.
When I squinted my eyes, it actually rippled, as if the wind were
moving it. "Look at it fixedly!" don Juan commanded me. At one moment,
after I had maintained my stare for quite a while, I felt, that the
whole range of mountains was moving towards me. That feeling was
accompanied by an unusual agitation in the pit of my stomach. The
discomfort became so acute, that I stood up. "Sit down!" don Juan
yelled, but I was already on my feet. From my new point of view the
yellowish formation was lower on the side of the mountains. I sat down
again, without taking my eyes away, and the formation shifted to a
higher place. I stared at it for an instant and, suddenly, I arranged
everything into the correct perspective. I realized, that ,what I had
been looking at, was not in the mountains at all, but was really a
piece of yellowish green cloth, hanging from a tall cactus in front of
me. I laughed out loud and explained to don Juan, that the twilight had
helped to create an optical illusion. He got up and walked to the
place, where the piece of cloth was hanging, took it down, folded it,
and put it inside his pouch.
"What are you doing that for?" I asked.
"Because this piece of cloth has power," he said casually. "For a
moment you were doing fine with it and there is no way of knowing, what
may have happened, if you had remained seated."

Friday, 13 April 1962.
At the crack of dawn we headed for the mountains. They were
surprisingly far away. By midday we walked into one of the canyons.
There was some water in shallow pools. We sat to rest in the shade of a
hanging cliff. The mountains were clumps of a monumental lava flow. The
solidified lava had weathered over the millennia into a porous dark
brown rock. Only a few sturdy weeds grew between the rocks and in the
cracks. Looking up at the almost perpendicular walls of the canyon, I
had a weird sensation in the pit of my stomach. The walls were hundreds
of feet high and gave me the feeling, that they were closing in on me.
The Sun was almost overhead, slightly towards the southwest. "Stand up
here," don Juan said and manoeuvred my body, until I was looking
towards the Sun. He told me to look fixedly at the mountain walls above
me. The sight was stupendous. The magnificent height of the lava flow
staggered my imagination. I began to wonder, what a volcanic upheaval
it must have been. I looked up and down the sides of the canyon various
times. I became immersed in the richness of colour in the rock wall.
There were specks of every conceivable hue. There were patches of light
grey moss or lichen in every rock. I looked right above my head and
noticed, that the sunlight was producing the most exquisite
reflections, when it hit the brilliant specks of the solidified lava. I
stared at an area in the mountains, where the sunlight was being
reflected. As the Sun moved, the intensity diminished, then it faded
completely. I looked across the canyon and saw another area of the same
exquisite light refractions. I told don Juan, what was happening, and
then I spotted another area of light, and then another in a different
place, and another, until the whole canyon was blotched with big
patches of light. I felt dizzy; even, if I closed my eyes, I could
still see the brilliant lights. I held my head in my hands and tried to
crawl under the hanging cliff, but don Juan grabbed my arm firmly and
imperatively told me to look at the walls of the mountains, and try to
figure out spots of heavy darkness in the midst of the fields of light.
I did not want to look, because the glare bothered my eyes. I said,
that, what was happening to me, was similar to staring into a sunny
street through a window, and then Seeing
the window frame, as a dark silhouette everywhere else.
202-203
Don Juan shook his head from side to side and began to chuckle (laugh
quietly or to oneself). He let go of my arm and we sat down again under
the hanging cliff. I was jotting down (write briefly/hastily) my
impressions of the surroundings, when don Juan, after a long silence,
suddenly spoke in a dramatic tone. "I have brought you here to teach
you one thing," he said and paused. "You are going to learn not-doing.
We might as well talk about it, because there is no other way for you
to proceed. I thought, you might catch on to not-doing without my
having to say anything. I was wrong."
"I don't know, what you're talking about, don Juan."
"It doesn't matter," he said. "I am going to tell you about something,
that is very simple, but very difficult to perform; I am going to talk
to you about not-doing, in spite of the fact, that there is no way to
talk about it, because it is the body, that does it." He stared at me
in glances and then said, that I had to pay the utmost attention to,
what he was going to say. I closed my notebook, but to my amazement he
insisted, that I should keep on writing. "Not-doing is so difficult and
so powerful, that you should not mention it," he went on. "Not until
you have Stopped the World; only then can you talk about it freely, if
that's what you'd want to do."
Don Juan looked around and then pointed to a large rock. "That rock,
over there, is a rock, because of doing," he said. We looked at each
other and he smiled.
I waited for an explanation, but he remained silent. Finally I had to
say, that I had not understood, what he meant. "That's doing!" he
exclaimed.
"Pardon me?"
"That's also doing."
"What are you talking about, don Juan?"
"Doing is, what makes that rock: a rock and that bush: a bush. Doing
is, what makes you: yourself and me: myself." I told him, that his
explanation did not explain anything. He laughed and scratched his
temples. "That's the problem with talking," he said. "It always makes
one confuse the issues. If one starts talking about doing, one always
ends up talking about something else. It is better to just act. "Take
that rock for instance. To look at it is doing, but to See it is
not-doing." I had to confess, that his words were not making sense to
me. "Oh yes they do!" he exclaimed. "But you are convinced, that they
don't, because that is your doing. That is the way, you act towards me
and the world." He again pointed to the rock. "That rock is a rock,
because of all the things you know how to do to it," he said. "I call
that doing. A Man of Knowledge, for instance, knows, that the rock is a
rock, only because of doing, so, if he doesn't want the rock to be a
rock, all he has to do is not-doing. See what I mean?" I did not
understand him at all. He laughed and made another attempt at
explaining. "The world is the world, because you know the doing
involved, in making it so," he said." If you didn't know its doing, the
world would be different." He examined me with curiosity. I stopped
writing. I just wanted to listen to him. He went on explaining, that,
without that certain doing, there would be nothing familiar in the
surroundings. He leaned over and picked up a small rock between the
thumb and index of his left hand and held it in front of my eyes. "This
is a pebble, because you know, the doing involved in making it into a
pebble," he said.
"What are you saying?" I asked with a feeling of bona fide confusion.
Don Juan smiled. He seemed to be trying to hide a mischievous
delight.
"I don't know, why you are so confused," he said. "Words are your
predilection (inclinations, preference). You should be in heaven." He
gave me a mysterious look and raised his brows two or three times. Then
he pointed again to the small rock, he was holding in front of my eyes.
"I say, that you are making this into a pebble, because you know, the
doing involved in it," he said. "Now, in order to Stop the World, you
must stop doing."

204-205
He seemed to know, that I still had not understood and smiled, shaking
his head. He then took a twig and pointed to the uneven edge of the
pebble. "In the case of this little rock,"
he went on, "the first thing, which doing does to it, is to shrink it
to this size. So the proper thing to do, which a warrior does, if he
wants to Stop the World, is to enlarge a little rock, or any other
thing, by not-doing." He stood up, placed the pebble on a boulder and
then asked me to come closer and examine it. He told me to look at the
holes and depressions in the pebble, and try to pick out the minute
detail in them. He said, that if I could pick out the detail, the holes
and depressions would disappear and I would understand, what not-doing
meant. "This damn pebble is going to drive you crazy today," he said. I
must have had a look of bewilderment on my face. He looked at me and
laughed uproariously. Then he pretended to get angry with the pebble
and hit it two or three times with his hat. I urged him to clarify his
point. I argued, that it was possible for him to explain anything he
wanted to, if he made an effort. He gave me a sly glance and shook his
head, as if the situation were hopeless. "Sure I can explain anything,"
he said, laughing. "But could you understand it?" I was taken aback by
his insinuation.
"Doing makes you separate the pebble from the larger boulder," he
continued. "If you want to learn not-doing, let's say, that you have to
join them." He pointed to the small shadow, that the pebble cast on the
boulder and said, that it was not a shadow, but a glue, which bound
them together. He then turned around and walked away, saying, that he
was coming back to check on me later. I stared at the pebble for a long
time. I could not focus my attention on the minute detail in the holes
and depressions, but the tiny shadow, that the pebble cast on the
boulder, became a most interesting point. Don Juan was right; it was
like a glue. It moved and shifted. I had the impression, it was being
squeezed from underneath the pebble. When don Juan returned, I related
to him, what I had observed about the shadow.
"That's a good beginning," he said. "A warrior can tell all kinds of
things from the shadows." He then suggested, that I should take the
pebble and bury it somewhere.
"Why?" I asked.
"You've been
watching it for a long time," he said. "It has something of you now. A
warrior always tries to affect the force of doing by changing it into
not-doing. Doing would be to leave the pebble lying around,
because it is merely a small rock. Not-doing would be to proceed with
that pebble, as if it were something far beyond a mere rock. In this
case, that pebble has soaked in you for a long time and now it is you,
and as such, you cannot leave it lying around, but must bury
it. If
you would have personal power, however, not-doing would be to change
that pebble into a power object."
"Can I do that now?"
"Your life is not tight enough to do that. If you would See, you would
know, that your heavy concern has changed that pebble into something
quite unappealing, therefore the best thing, you can do, is to dig a
hole, bury it and let the Earth absorb its heaviness."
"Is all this true, don Juan?"
"To say yes or no to your question is doing. But since you are learning
not-doing, I have to tell you, that it really doesn't matter, whether
or not all this is true. It is here, that a warrior has a point of
advantage over the average man. An average man cares, that things are
either true or false, but a warrior doesn't. An average man proceeds in
a specific way with things, that he knows are true, and in a different
way with things, that he knows are not true. If things are said to be
true, he acts and believes, in what he does. But if things are said to
be untrue, he doesn't care to act, or he doesn't believe, in what he
does. A warrior, on the other hand, acts in both instances.
206-207
If things are said to be true, he would act, in order to do doing. If
things are said to be untrue, he still would act, in order to do
not-doing. See what I mean?"
"No, I don't see, what you mean at all," I said. Don Juan's statements
put me in a belligerent (marked
by hostile behaviour) mood.
I could not make sense of, what
he was saying. I told him, it was gibberish, and he mocked me and said,
that I did not even have an impeccable spirit, in what I liked to do
the most, talking.
He actually made fun of my verbal command and found it faulty and
inadequate.
"If you are going to be all mouth, be a mouth warrior," he said and
roared with laughter. I felt dejected. My ears were buzzing. I
experienced an uncomfortable heat in my head. I was actually
embarrassed and presumably red in the face. I stood up, went into the
chaparral and buried the pebble. "I was teasing you a little bit," don
Juan said, when I returned and sat down again. "And yet I know, that if
you don't talk, you don't understand. Talking is doing for you, but
talking is not appropriate and, if you want to know, what I mean by
not-doing, you have to do a simple exercise. Since we are concerned
with not-doing, it doesn't matter, whether you do the exercise now or
ten years from now."
He made me lie
down and took my right arm and bent it at my elbow. Then he turned my
hand, until the palm was facing the front; he curved my fingers, so my
hand looked, as if I were holding a door knob, and then he began to
move my arm back and forth with a circular motion, that resembled the
act of pushing and pulling a lever attached to a wheel. Don Juan said,
that a warrior executed that movement, every time he wanted to push
something out of his body, something like a disease or an unwelcome
feeling. The idea was: to push and pull an imaginary opposing force,
until one felt a heavy object, a solid body, stopping the free
movements of the hand. In the case of the exercise, not-doing consisted
in repeating it, until one felt the heavy body with the hand, in spite
of the fact, that one could never believe, it was possible to feel it.
I began moving my arm and in a short while my hand became ice cold. I
had begun to feel a sort of mushiness around my hand. It was, as
if I were
paddling through some heavy viscous liquid matter. Don Juan made a
sudden movement and grabbed my arm to stop the motion. My whole body
shivered, as though stirred by some unseen force. He scrutinized me, as
I sat up, and then walked around me, before he sat back down on the
place, where he had
been.
"You've done
enough," he said. "You may do this exercise some other time, when you
have more personal power."
"Did I do
something wrong?"
"No. Not-doing is
only for very strong warriors and you don't have the power to deal with
it yet. Now you will only trap horrendous things with your hand. So do
it little by little, until your hand doesn't get cold any more.
Whenever your hand remains warm, you can actually feel the lines of the
world with it." He paused, as if to
give me time to ask about the lines. But before I had a chance to, he
started explaining, that there were infinite numbers of lines, that
joined us to things. He said, that the exercise of not-doing, that he
had just described, would help anyone to feel a line, that came out
from the moving hand, a line, that one could place or cast, wherever
one wanted to. Don Juan said, that this was only an exercise, because
the lines, formed by the hand, were not durable enough to be of real
value in a practical
situation. "A Man of Knowledge
uses other parts of his body to produce durable lines," he said.
"What
parts of the body, don Juan?"
"The most durable
lines, that a Man of Knowledge produces, come from the middle of the
body," he said. "But he can also make them with
his eyes."
"Are they
real lines?"
"Surely."
"Can you
see them and touch them?"
"Let's say, that
you can feel them. The most difficult part, about the warrior's way, is
to realize, that the world is a feeling. When one is not-doing, one is
feeling the world, and one feels the world through its lines."
208-209
He paused and examined me with curiosity. He raised his brows and
opened his eyes and then blinked. The effect was like the eyes of a
bird blinking. Almost immediately I felt a sensation of discomfort and
queasiness (causing nausea). It was actually, as if something was
applying pressure to my stomach. "See, what I mean?" don Juan asked and
moved his eyes away. I mentioned, that I felt nauseated and he replied
in a matter-of-fact tone, that he knew it, and that he was trying to
make me feel the lines of the world with his eyes. I could not accept
the claim, that he, himself, was making me feel that way. I voiced my
doubts. I could hardly conceive (think, consider, formulated, become
posessed) the idea, that he was causing my feeling of nausea, since he
had not, in any physical way, impinged (strike, collide, trespass) on
me. "Not-doing is very simple, but very difficult," he said. "It is not
a matter of understanding it, but of mastering it. Seeing, of course, is the final
accomplishment of a Man of Knowledge, and Seeing is attained only, when
one has Stopped the World through the technique of not-doing." I smiled
involuntarily. I had not understood, what he meant. "When one does
something with people," he said, "the concern should be only with
presenting the case to their bodies. That's, what I've been doing with
you so far, letting your body know. Who cares whether or not you
understand?"
"But that's unfair, don Juan. I want to understand everything,
otherwise coming here would be a waste of my time."
"A waste of your time!" he exclaimed parodying my tone of voice. "You
certainly are conceited (high opinion about himself, vain)." He stood
up and told me, that
we were going to hike to the top of the lava peak to our right. The
ascent to the top was an excruciating affair. It was actual mountain
climbing, except, that there were no ropes to aid and protect us. Don
Juan repeatedly told me not to look down; and he had to actually pull
me up bodily a couple of times, after I had begun to slide down the
rock. I felt terribly embarrassed, that don Juan, being so old, had to
help me. I told him, that I was in poor physical condition, because I
was too lazy to do any exercise. He replied, that once one had arrived
at a certain level of personal power, exercise or any training of that
sort was unnecessary, since all one needed, to be in an impeccable
form, was to engage oneself in "not-doing". When we arrived at the top,
I lay down. I was about to be sick. He rolled me back and forth with
his foot, as he had done once before. Little by little the motion
restored my balance. But I felt nervous. It was, as if I were somehow
waiting for the sudden appearance of something. I involuntarily looked
two or three times to each side. Don Juan did not say a word, but he
also looked in the direction, I was looking.
"Shadows are peculiar affairs," he said all of a sudden. "You must have
noticed, that there is one following us."

"I haven't noticed anything of the sort," I protested in a loud voice.
Don Juan said, that my body had noticed our pursuer, in spite of my
stubborn opposition, and assured me in a confident tone, that there was
nothing unusual about being followed by a shadow. "It is just a power,"
he said. "These mountains are filled with them. It is just like one of
those entities, that scared you the other night." I wanted to know, if
I could actually perceive it myself. He asserted (state positevely, affirm), that in the daytime I could only feel
its presence. I wanted an explanation of, why he called it a shadow,
when, obviously, it was not like the shadow of a boulder. He replied,
that both had the same lines, therefore both were shadows. He pointed
to a long boulder, standing directly in front of us. "Look at the
shadow of that boulder," he said. "The shadow is the boulder,
and yet it isn't.
To observe the boulder, in order to know, what the boulder is, is
doing, but to observe its shadow is not-doing. Shadows are like doors,
the doors of not-doing. A Man of Knowledge, for example, can tell the
innermost feelings of men by watching their shadows."
"Is there
movement in them?" I asked.
"You may say,
that there is movement in them (in shadows), or you may say, that the
lines of the world are shown in them, or you may say, that feelings
come from them."
"But how could
feelings come out of shadows, don Juan?"
210-211
"To believe, that
shadows are just shadows is doing," he explained. "That belief is
somehow stupid. Think about it this way: There is so much more to
everything in the world, that obviously, there must be more to shadows
too. After all, what makes them shadows is merely our doing."
There was a long silence. I did not know, what else to say. "The end of
the day is approaching," don Juan said, looking at the sky. "You have
to use this brilliant sunlight to perform one last exercise." He led me
to a place, where there were two peaks the size of a man, standing
parallel to each other, about four or five feet apart. Don Juan stopped
ten yards away from them, facing the west. He marked a spot for me to
stand on and told me to look at the shadows of the peaks.
He said, that I should watch them and cross my eyes in the same manner,
I ordinarily crossed them, when scanning the ground for a place to
rest. He clarified his directions by saying, that when searching for a
resting place, one had to look without focusing, but in observing
shadows, one had to cross the eyes and yet keep a sharp image in focus.
The idea was to let one shadow be superimposed on the other, by
crossing the eyes. He explained, that through that process one could
ascertain a certain feeling, which emanated from shadows.

I commented on his vagueness, but he maintained, that there was really
no way of describing, what he meant. My attempt to carry out the
exercise was futile. I struggled, until I got a headache. Don Juan was
not at all concerned with my failure. He climbed to a domelike peak and
yelled from the top, telling me to look for two small long and narrow
pieces of rock. He showed with his hands the size rock he wanted. I
found two pieces and handed them to him. Don Juan placed each rock
about a foot apart in two crevices, made me stand above them facing the
west, and told me to do the same exercise with their shadows. This time it was an altogether
different affair. Almost immediately I was capable of crossing my eyes
and perceiving their individual shadows, as if they had merged into
one. I noticed, that the act of looking without converging the images,
gave the single shadow, I had formed, an unbelievable depth and a sort
of transparency. I stared at it, bewildered. Every hole in the rock, on
the area, where my eyes were focused, was neatly discernible; and the
composite shadow, which was superimposed on them, was like a film of
indescribable transparency. I did not want to blink, for fear of losing
the image, I was so precariously (lacking in stabitlity), holding.
Finally my sore eyes forced me to blink, but I did not lose the view of
the detail at all. In fact, by remoistening my cornea, the image became
even clearer. I noticed at that point, that it was, as if I were
looking from an immeasurable height at a world, I had never seen
before. I also noticed, that I could scan the surroundings of the
shadow without losing the focus of my visual perception. Then, for an
instant, I lost the notion, that I was looking at a rock. I felt, that
I was landing in a world, vast beyond anything, I had ever conceived
(think, consider, formulated, become posessed). This extraordinary
perception lasted for a second and then everything was turned off. I
automatically looked up and saw don Juan, standing directly above the
rocks, facing me. He had blocked the sunlight with his body. I
described the unusual sensation, I had had, and he explained, that he
had been forced to interrupt it, because he saw, that I was about to
get lost in it. He added, that it was a natural tendency for all of us
to indulge ourselves, when feelings of that nature occur, and that, by
indulging myself in it, I had almost turned not-doing into my old
familiar doing. He said, that what I should have done, was to maintain
the view without succumbing (gave in, gave up) to it, because in a way
doing was a manner of succumbing (gave in, gave up). I complained, that
he should have told me beforehand, what to expect and what to do, but
he pointed out, that he had no way of knowing, whether or not I would
succeed in merging the shadows. I had to confess, I was more mystified,
than ever, about not-doing. Don Juan's comments were, that I should be
satisfied with, what I had done, because, for once, I had proceeded
correctly, that by reducing the world, I had enlarged it, and that,
although I had been far from feeling the lines of the world, I had
correctly used the shadow of the rocks, as a door into not-doing. The
statement, that I had enlarged the world by reducing it, intrigued me
no end.
212-213-214
The detail of the porous rock in the small area, where my eyes were
focused, was so vivid and so precisely defined, that the top of the
round peak became a vast world for me; and yet it was really a reduced
vision of the rock. When don Juan blocked the light, and I found
myself, looking as I normally would do, the precise detail became dull,
the tiny holes in the porous rock became bigger, the brown colour of
the dried lava became opaque, and everything lost the shiny
transparency, that made the rock into a real world. Don Juan then took
the two rocks, laid them gently into a deep crevice, and sat down
crosslegged, facing the west, on the spot, where the rocks had been. He
patted a spot next to him to his left and told me to sit down. We did
not speak for a long time. Then we ate, also in silence. It was only
after the Sun had set, that he suddenly turned and asked me about my
progress in Dreaming. I told him, that it had been easy in the
beginning, but that at the moment I had ceased altogether to find my
hands in my dreams. "When you first
started Dreaming, you were using my personal power, that's why,
it was easier,"
he said. "Now you
are empty. But you must keep on trying, until you have enough power of
your own. You see, Dreaming is the not-doing of dreams, and, as you
progress in your not-doing, you will also progress in Dreaming. The
trick is not to stop looking for your hands, even if you don't believe,
that, what you are doing, has any meaning. In fact, as I have told you
before, a warrior doesn't need to believe, because as long, as he keeps
on acting without believing, he is not-doing."
We looked at each other for a moment. "There is nothing else I can tell
you about Dreaming" he continued. "Everything, I may say, would only be
not-doing. But, if you tackle not-doing directly, you, yourself, would
know, what to do in Dreaming. To find your hands is essential, though,
at this time, and I am sure, you will."
"I don't know, don Juan. I don't trust myself."
"This is not a matter of trusting anybody. This whole affair is a
matter of a warrior's struggle; and you will keep on struggling, if not
under your own power, then perhaps under the impact of a worthy
opponent, or with the help of some allies, like the one, which is
already following you." I made a jerky involuntary movement with my
right arm. Don Juan said, that my body knew much more, than I
suspected, because the force, that had been pursuing us, was to my
right. He confided in a low tone of voice, that twice that day the ally
had come so close to me, that he had had to step in and stop it.
"During the day shadows are the doors of not-doing," he said. “But at
night, since very little doing prevails (be the same or current) in the
dark, everything is a shadow, including the allies. I've already told
you about this, when I taught you the Gait of Power." I laughed out
loud and my own laughter scared me. "Everything, I have taught you so
far, has been an aspect of not-doing," he went on. "A warrior applies
not-doing to everything in the world, and yet I can't tell you more
about it, than what I have said today. You must let your own body
discover the power and the feeling of not-doing." I had another fit of
nervous cackling. "It is stupid for you to scorn (reject as unworthy)
the mysteries of the world, simply because you know the doing of scorn
(reject as unworthy)," he said with a serious face. I assured him, that
I was not scorning (reject as unworthy) anything or anyone, but that I
was more nervous and incompetent (clumsy, very inefficient), than he
thought.
"I've always been
that way," I said. "And yet I want to change, but I don't know how. I
am so inadequate."
"I already know,
that you think, you are rotten," he said. "That's your doing. Now, in
order to affect that doing, I am going to recommend, that you learn
another doing. From now on, and for a period of eight days, I want you
to lie to yourself. Instead of telling yourself the truth, that you are
ugly, rotten and inadequate, you will tell yourself, that you are the
complete opposite, knowing, that you are lying and, that you are
absolutely beyond hope."
"But what would be the point of lying like that, don Juan?"
"It may hook you to another doing and then you may realize, that both
doings are lies, unreal, and, that to hinge (depend, attach) yourself
to either one, is a waste of time, because the only thing, that is
real, is the being in you, that is going to die. To arrive at that
being is the not-doing of the self."
16. The Ring of Power

215
Saturday, 14 April 1962. Don Juan felt the weight of our gourds and
concluded, that we had exhausted our food supply and, that it was time
to return home. I casually mentioned, that it was going to take us at
least a couple of days to get to his house. He said, he was not going
back to Sonora, but to a border town, where he had some business to
take care of. I thought, we were going to start our descent through a
water canyon, but don Juan headed towards the northwest on the high
plateau of the lava mountains. After about an hour of walking he led me
into a deep ravine, which ended at a point, where two peaks almost
joined. There was a slope there, going almost to the top of the range,
a strange slope, which looked like a slanted concave bridge between the
two peaks. Don Juan pointed to an area on the face of the slope. "Look
there fixedly," he said. "The Sun is almost right."
He explained, that at midday the light of the Sun could help me with
not-doing. He then gave me a series of commands: to loosen all the
tight garments I had on, to sit in a cross-
legged position, and to look intently at the spot, he had specified.
There were very few clouds in the sky and none towards the west. It was
a hot day and the sunlight beamed on the solidified lava. I kept a very
close watch over the area in question. After a long vigil (watch during sleeping
hours), I asked what,
specifically, I was supposed to look for. He made me be quiet with an
impatient gesture of his hand. I was tired. I wanted to go to sleep. I
half closed my eyes; they were itching and I rubbed them, but my hands
were clammy (humid, damp) and the sweat made my eyes sting.
216-217
I looked at the lava peaks through half-closed eyelids and suddenly the
whole mountain was lit up. I told don Juan, that if I squinted my eyes,
I could see the whole range of mountains, as an intricate array of
light fibers. He told me to breathe as little, as possible, in order to
maintain the view of the light fibers, and not to stare intently into
it, but to look casually at a point on the horizon right above the
slope. I followed his instructions and was able to hold the view of an
interminable (endless, continual) extension, covered with a web of
light. Don Juan said in a very soft voice, that I should try to isolate
areas of darkness within the field of light fibers, and that, right
after finding a dark spot, I should open my eyes and check, where that
spot was on the face of the slope. I was incapable of perceiving any
dark areas. I squinted my eyes and then opened them up various times.
Don Juan drew closer to me and pointed to an area to my right, and then
to another one right in front of me. I tried to change the position of
my body; I thought, that perhaps, if I shifted my perspective, I would
be able to perceive the supposed area of darkness, he was pointing to,
but don Juan shook my arm and told me in a severe tone to keep still
and be patient. I again squinted my eyes and once more saw the web of
light fibers. I looked at it for a moment and then I opened my eyes
wider. At that instant I heard a faint rumble - it could have easily
been explained as the distant sound of a jet plane - and then, with my
eyes wide open, I saw the whole range of mountains in front of me, as
an enormous field of tiny dots of light. It was, as if for a brief
moment some metallic specks in the solidified lava were reflecting the
sunlight in unison. Then the sunlight grew dim and was suddenly turned
off, the mountains became a mass of dull dark brown rock and, at the
same time, it also became windy and cold. I wanted to turn around to
see, if the Sun had disappeared behind a cloud, but don Juan held my
head and did
not let me move. He said, that if I
turned, I might catch a glimpse of an entity of the mountains, the
ally, that was following us. He assured me, that I did not have the
necessary strength to stand a sight of that nature, and then he added
in a calculated tone, that the rumble I had heard, was the peculiar
way, in which an ally heralded its presence. He then stood
up and announced, that we were going to start climbing up the side
of the slope.
"Where are we going?" I asked. He pointed to one of the areas, he had
isolated, as being a spot of darkness. He explained, that not-doing had
allowed him to single out that spot, as a possible centre of power, or
perhaps as a place, where power objects might be found. We reached the
spot, he had in mind, after a painful climb. He stood motionless for a
moment a few feet in front of me. I tried to come closer to him, but he
signaled me with his hand to stop. He seemed to be orienting himself. I
could see the back of his head moving, as if he were sweeping his eyes
up and down the mountain, then with sure steps he led the way to a
ledge. He sat down and began to wipe some loose dirt off the ledge with
his hand. He dug with his fingers around a small piece of rock, that
was sticking out, cleaning the dirt around it. Then he ordered me to
dig it out. Once I had dislodged the piece of rock, he told me to
immediately put it inside my shirt, because it was a power object, that
belonged to me. He said, that he was giving it to me to keep, and that
I should polish and care for it. Right after that we began our descent
into a water canyon, and a couple of hours later we were in the high
desert at the foot of the lava mountains. Don Juan walked about ten
feet ahead of me and kept up a very good pace. We went south, until
just before sunset. A heavy bank of clouds in the west prevented us
from seeing the Sun, but we paused, until it had presumably disappeared
over the horizon. Don Juan changed directions then and headed towards
the southeast. We went over a hill and, as we got to the top, I spotted
four men coming towards us from the south. I looked at don Juan. We had
never encountered people in our excursions and I did not know, what to
do in a case like that. But he did not seem to be concerned. He
kept on walking, as if nothing had happened.

218-219
The men moved, as if they were not in a hurry; they
meandered (wander aimlessly, follow winding course) towards, where we
were in a leisurely way. When they were closer to us I noticed, that
they were four young Indians. They seemed to recognize don Juan. He
talked to them in Spanish. They were very soft-spoken and treated him
with great deference (honour, courteous respect). Only one of them
spoke to me. I asked don Juan in a whisper, if I could also talk to
them and he nodded his head affirmatively. Once I engaged them in
conversation, they were very friendly and communicative, especially the
one, who had first spoken to me. They told me, they were there in
search of power quartz crystals. They said, that they had been
wandering around the lava mountains for several days, but they had not
had any luck. Don Juan looked around and pointed to a rocky area about
two hundred yards away. "That's a good place to camp for a while," he
said. He began to walk towards the rocks and we all followed him. The
area he had selected was very rugged. There were no bushes on it. We
sat down on the rocks. Don Juan announced, that he was going to go back
into the chaparral to gather dry branches for a fire. I wanted to help
him, but he whispered to me, that this was a special fire for those
brave young men and he did not need my help. The young men sat down
around me in a close cluster. One of them sat with his back against
mine. I felt a bit embarrassed. When don Juan returned with a pile of
sticks, he commended them for their carefulness and told me, that the
young men were a sorcerer's apprentices, and that it was the rule to
make a circle and have two people back to back in the centre, when
going on hunting parties for power objects. One of the young men asked
me, if I had ever found any crystals myself. I told him, that don Juan
had never taken me to look for them. Don Juan selected a place close to
a big boulder and started to make a fire. None of the young men moved
to help him, but watched him attentively. When all the sticks were
burning, don Juan sat with his back against the boulder. The
fire was to his right. The
young men apparently knew, what was going on, but I did not have the
faintest idea about the procedure to follow, when one was dealing with
sorcerer's apprentices. I watched the young men. They sat facing don
Juan, making a perfect half circle. I noticed then, that don Juan was
directly facing me and two of the young men had sat to my left and the
other two to my right. Don Juan began telling them, that I was in the
lava mountains to learn not-doing and, that an ally had been following
us. I thought, that that was a very dramatic beginning and I was right.
The young men changed positions and sat with their left legs tucked
under their seats. I had not observed how they were sitting before. I
had assumed, that they were sitting the same way I was, cross-legged. A
casual glance at don Juan revealed to me, that he was also sitting with
his left leg tucked in. He made a barely perceptible gesture with his
chin to point at my sitting position. I casually tucked in my left leg.
Don Juan had once told me, that that was the posture, that a sorcerer
used, when things were uncertain. It had always proved, however, to be
a very tiring position for me. I felt, it was going to be a terrible
imposition on me, to remain seated in that fashion for the duration of
his talk. Don Juan seemed to be thoroughly aware of my handicap and in
a succinct (concise, clearly expressed in few words) manner explained
to the young men, that quartz crystals could be found in certain
specific spots in that area, and, that once they were found, they had
to be coaxed (persueded) to leave their abode by means of special
techniques. The crystals then became the man himself, and their power
went beyond our understanding. He said, that ordinarily quartz crystals
were found in clusters, and that it was up to the man, who had found
them, to choose five of the longest and best-looking blades of quartz
and sever them from their matrix. The finder was responsible for
carving and polishing them, in order to make them pointed and to make
them fit perfectly to the size and shape of the fingers of his right
hand. Then he told us, that the quartz crystals were weapons, used for
sorcery, that they were usually hurled (throw with great force, thrust)
to kill.
220-221
And, that they penetrated the enemy's body and then returned to their
owner's hand, as though they had never left it. Next he talked about
the search for the spirit, that would turn the ordinary crystals into
weapons and said, that the first thing, one had to do, was to find a
propitious (favourable, kindly, gracious, auspicious) place to lure out
the spirit. That place had to be on a hilltop and was found by sweeping
the hand, with the palm turned towards the Earth, until a certain heat
was detected with the palm of the hand. A fire had to be made on that
spot. Don Juan explained, that the ally was attracted by the flames and
manifested itself through a series of consistent noises. The person,
searching for an ally, had to follow the direction of the noises, until
the ally revealed itself, and then wrestle it to the ground, in order
to overpower it. It was at that point, that one could make the ally
touch the crystals to imbue (inspire, saturate, permeate) them with
power. He warned us, that there were other forces at large in those
lava mountains, forces, which did not resemble the allies; they did not
make any noise, but appeared only as fleeting shadows, and did not have
any power at all. Don Juan added, that a brilliantly coloured feather
or some highly polished quartz crystals would attract the attention of
an ally, but in the long run any object, whatever, would be equally
effective, because the important part was not to find the objects, but
to find the force, that would imbue (inspire, saturate, permeate) them
with power.

"What's the use of having beautifully polished crystals, if you never
find the spirit giver of power?" he said. "On the other hand, if you
don't have the crystals, but do find the spirit, you may put anything
in his way to be touched. You could put your dicks in the way, if you
can't find anything else." The young men giggled. The most daring of
them, the one, who talked to me first, laughed loudly. I noticed, that
don Juan had crossed his legs and was sitting in a relaxed manner. All
the young men had also crossed their legs. I tried to slip casually into a more
relaxed posture, but my left knee seemed to have a pinched nerve or a
sore muscle and I had to stand up and jog on the spot for a few
minutes. Don Juan made a joking comment. He said, I was out of practice
kneeling down, because I had not been to confession in years, ever
since I had begun running around with him. That produced a great
commotion among the young men. They laughed in spurts (short burst of
energy or activity). Some of them covered their faces and giggled
nervously. "I'm going to show you fellows something," don Juan said
casually after the young men had stopped laughing. My guess was, that
he was going to let us see some power objects, he had in his pouch. For
an instant I thought the young men were going to cluster around him,
for they made a sudden movement in unison. All of them bent forward a
little bit, as if they were going to stand up, but then they all tucked
their left legs in and went back to that mysterious position, that was
so hard on my knees. I tucked my left leg in as casually, as possible.
I found that, if I did not sit on my left foot, that is, if I kept a
half-kneeling position, my knees did not hurt as much. Don Juan stood
up and walked around the big boulder, until he was out of sight. He
must have fed the fire, before he stood up, while I was tucking in my
leg, for the new sticks chirped (utter with high-pitched sound), as
they ignited and long flames spurted out (short burst of energy or
activity). The effect was extremely dramatic. The flames grew twice as
big.
Don Juan suddenly stepped out from behind the boulder and stood, where
he had been sitting. I had a moment of bewilderment. Don Juan had put
on a funny black hat. It had peaks on the side, by the ears, and it was
round on top. It occurred to me, that it was actually a pirate's hat.
He was wearing a long black coat with tails, fastened with a single
shiny metallic button, and he had a peg leg. I laughed to myself. Don
Juan really looked silly in his pirate's costume. I began to wonder,
where he had gotten that outfit out there in the wilderness. I assumed,
that it must have been hidden behind the rock. I commented to myself,
that all don Juan needed was a patch over his eye and a parrot on his
shoulder, to be the perfect stereotype of a pirate. Don Juan looked at
every member of the group, sweeping his eyes slowly from right to left.
Then he looked up above us and stared into the darkness behind us.
222-223
He remained in that position for a moment and then, he went around the
boulder and disappeared. I did not notice, how he walked. Obviously, he
must have had his knee bent, in order to depict a man with a wooden
leg; when he turned around to walk behind the boulder, I should have
seen his bent leg, but I was so mystified by his acts, that I did not
pay any attention to details. The flames lost their strength at the
very moment, don Juan went around the boulder. I thought, that his
timing had been superb; he must have calculated, how long it would take
for the sticks, he had added to the fire, to burn, and had arranged his
appearance and exit according to that calculation. The change in the
intensity of the fire was very dramatic for the group; there was a
ripple of nervousness among the young men. As the flames diminished in
size, the young men went back in unison to a cross-legged sitting
position. I expected don Juan to step out from behind the boulder right
away and sit down again, but he did not. He remained out of sight. I
waited impatiently. The young men were sitting with an impassive
(apathetic, emotionless) look on their faces. I could not understand,
what don Juan had intended with all those histrionics (exaggerated
emotional behavior). After a long wait I turned to the young man on my
right and asked him in a low voice, if any of the items don Juan had
put on - the funny hat and the long tail coat - and the fact, he was
standing on a peg leg, had any meaning to him. The young man looked at
me with a funny blank expression. He seemed confused. I repeated my
question and the other young man, next to him, looked at me
attentively, in order to listen. They looked at each other seemingly in
utter confusion. I said, that to me the hat and the stump and the coat
made him into a pirate. By then all four young men had come closer
together around me. They
giggled softly and fretted (agitate) nervously. They seemed to be at a
loss for words. The most daring of them finally spoke to me. He said,
that don Juan did not have a hat on, was not wearing a long coat, and
was certainly not standing on a stump, but that he had a black cowl or
shawl over his head and a jet black tunic, like a friar's, that went
all the way to the ground.
"No!" another young man exclaimed softly. "He didn't have a cowl
(капюшон)."
"That's right," the others said. The young man, who had spoken first,
looked at me with an expression of total disbelief. I told them, that
we had to review, what had happened very carefully and very quietly,
and that I was sure, don Juan had wanted us to do so, and thus he had
left us alone. The young man, who was to my extreme right said, that
don Juan was in rags. He had on a tattered (torn, ragged) poncho, or
some sort of Indian coat, and a most beat-up sombrero. He was holding a
basket with things in it, but he was not sure, what those things were.
He added, that don Juan was not really dressed as a beggar, but rather
as a man, who was coming back from an interminable (endless, continual)
journey, loaded with strange things. The young man, who had seen don
Juan with a black cowl (капюшон), said, that he had nothing in his
hands, but that his hair was long and wild, as if he were a wild man,
that had just killed a friar and had put on his clothes, but could not
hide his wildness. The young man to my left chuckled (laugh quietly or
to oneself) softly and commented on the weirdness of it all. He said,
that don Juan was dressed as an important man, who had just gotten off
his horse. He had leather leggings for horseback riding, big spurs, a
whip, that he kept beating on his left palm, a Chihuahua hat with a
conical crown, and two .45-calibre automatic pistols. He said, that don
Juan was the picture of a well-to-do "ranchero". The young man to my
extreme left laughed shyly and did not volunteer to reveal, what he had
seen. I coaxed (persuade) him, but the others did not seem to be
interested. He appeared to be rather too shy to talk. The fire was
about to be extinguished, when don Juan came out from behind the
boulder. "We better
leave the young men to their doings," he said to me. "Bid them
good-bye." He did not look at them. He began to walk away slowly, to
give me time to say good-bye.
224-225
The young men embraced me. There were no flames in the fire, but the
live coals reflected enough glare. Don Juan was like a dark shadow a
few feet away and the young men were a circle of neatly defined static
silhouettes. They were like a row of jet black statues, set in a
background of darkness. It was at that point, that the total event had
an impact on me.
A chill ran up my spine. I caught up with don Juan. He told me in a
tone of great urgency, not to turn around to look at the young men,
because at that moment they were a circle of shadows. My stomach felt a
force, coming from the outside. It was, as if a hand had grabbed me. I
screamed involuntarily. Don Juan whispered, that there was so much
power in that area, that it would be very easy for me to use the "gait
of power". We jogged for hours. I fell down five times. Don Juan
counted out loud, every time I lost my balance. Then he came to a halt.
"Sit down, huddle against the rocks, and cover your belly with your
hands," he whispered in my ear.

Sunday, 15 April
1962.
As soon, as there was enough light in the morning, we started walking.
Don Juan guided me to the place, where I had left my car. I was hungry,
but I felt otherwise invigorated and well rested. We ate some crackers
and drank some bottled mineral water, that I had in my car. I wanted to
ask him some questions, that were overwhelming me, but he put his
finger to his lips. By mid-afternoon we were in the border town, where
he wanted me to leave him. We went to a restaurant to eat lunch. The
place was empty; we sat at a table by a window looking out at the busy
main street and ordered our food. Don Juan seemed relaxed; his eyes
shone with a mischievous glint. I felt encouraged and began a barrage
(overwhelming outpouring) of questions. I mainly wanted to know about
his disguise.

"I showed you a little bit of my not-doing," he said and his eyes
seemed to glow.
"But none of us saw the same disguise," I said. "How did you do that?"
"It's all very simple," he replied. "They were only disguises, because
everything, we do, is in some way merely a disguise. Everything we do,
as I have told you, is a matter of doing. A Man of Knowledge could hook
himself to everyone's doing and come up with weird things. But they are
not weird, not really. They are weird only to those, who are trapped in
doing. Those four young men and yourself are not aware yet of
not-doing, so it was easy to fool all of you."
"But how did you fool us?"
"It won't make sense to you. There is no way for you to understand it."
"Try me, don Juan, please."
"Let's
say, that when everyone of us is born, we bring with us a little ring
of power. That little ring is almost immediately put to use. So every
one of us is already hooked from birth and our rings of power are
joined to everyone else's. In other words, our rings of power are
hooked to the doing of the world, in order to make the world."
"Give
me an example, so I could understand it," I said.
"For instance, our rings of power, yours and mine, are hooked right now
to the doing in this room. We are making this room. Our rings of power
are spinning this room into being at this very moment."
"Wait, wait," I said. "This room is here by itself. I am not creating
it. I have nothing to do with it." Don Juan did not seem to be
concerned with my argumentative protests. He very calmly maintained,
that the room, we were in, was brought to being, and was kept in place,
because of the force of everybody's ring of power.
"You see," he continued, "every one of us knows the doing of rooms,
because, in one way or another, we have spent much of our lives in
rooms. A Man of Knowledge, on the other hand, develops another ring of
power. I would call it the ring of not-doing, because it is hooked to
not-doing. With that ring, therefore, he can spin another world." A
young waitress brought our food and seemed to be suspicious of us.

226-227
Don Juan whispered, that I should pay her to show her, that I had
enough money. "I don't blame her for distrusting you," he said and
roared with laughter. "You look like hell." I paid the woman and tipped
her, and, when she left us alone, I stared at don Juan, trying to find
a way to recapture the thread of our conversation. He came to my
rescue. "Your difficulty is, that you haven't yet developed your extra
ring of power and your body doesn't know not-doing," he said. I did not
understand what he had said. My mind was locked in quite a prosaic
concern. All, I wanted to know, was whether or not he had put on a
pirate's outfit. Don Juan did not answer, but laughed uproariously. I
begged him to explain.
"But I've just explained it to you," he retorted (return, pay back,
reply, answer).
"You mean, that
you didn't put on any disguise?" I
asked.
"All I did was to
hook my ring of power to your own doing," he said." You yourself did
the rest and so did the
others."
"That's
incredible!" I exclaimed.
"We all have been
taught to agree about doing," he said softly. "You don't have any idea
of the power, that that agreement brings with it. But, fortunately,
not-doing is equally miraculous, and powerful." I felt an
uncontrollable ripple in my stomach. There was an unbridgeable abyss
between my first-hand experience and his explanation. As an ultimate
defence, I ended up, as I had always done, with a tinge of doubt and
distrust and with the question:
"What if don Juan was really in cahoots with the young men and he
himself had set it all up?" I changed the subject and asked him about
the four apprentices.
"Did you tell me, that they were shadows?" I asked.
"That's right."
"Were they allies?"
"No. They were apprentices of a man, I know."
"Why did you call them shadows?"
"Because at that moment they had been touched by the power of
not-doing, and since they are not as stupid, as you are, they shifted
into something quite different, from what you know. I didn't want you
to look at them for that reason. It would have only injured you." I did
not have any more questions. I was not hungry either. Don Juan ate
heartily and seemed to be in an excellent mood. But I felt dejected.
Suddenly a consuming fatigue possessed me. I realized, that don Juan's
path was too arduous for me, I commented, that I did not have the
qualifications to become a sorcerer. "Perhaps another meeting with
Mescalito will help you," he said.
I assured him, that that was the farthest thing from my mind, and that
I would not even consider the possibility. "Very drastic things have to
happen to you, in order for you to allow your body to profit from all
you have learned," he said.
I ventured the opinion, that since I was not an Indian, I was not
really qualified to live the unusual life of a sorcerer. "Perhaps if I
could disentangle myself from all my commitments, I could fare in your
world a little better," I said. "Or if I would go into the wilderness
with you and live there. As it is now, the fact, that I have a foot in
both worlds, makes me useless in either." He stared at me for a long
moment.
"This is your world," he said, pointing to the busy street outside the
window. "You are a man of that world. And out there, in that world, is
your hunting ground. There is no way to escape the doing of our world,
so, what a warrior does, is to turn his world into his hunting ground.
As a hunter, a warrior knows, that the world is made to be used. So he
uses every bit of it. A warrior is like a pirate, that has no qualms
(feeling of doubt, sickness, nausea), in taking and using anything, he
wants, except, that the warrior doesn't mind or he doesn't feel
insulted, when he is used and taken himself."
17. A Worthy Opponent

228-229
Tuesday, 11 December 1962.
My traps were perfect; the setting was correct; I saw rabbits,
squirrels and other rodents, quail, and birds, but I could not catch
anything at all during the whole day. Don Juan had told me, as we left
his house in the early morning, that I had to wait that day for a gift
of power, an exceptional animal, that might be lured into my traps, and
whose flesh I could dry for power food. Don Juan seemed to be in a
pensive (deeply thoughtful) mood. He did not make a single suggestion
or comment. Near the end of the day he finally made a statement.
"Someone is interfering with your hunting," he said.
"Who?" I asked, truly surprised. He looked at me, smiled and shook his
head in a gesture of disbelief.
"You act, as if you didn't know who," he said. "And you've known who,
all day." I was going to protest, but I saw no point in it. I knew, he
was going to say "la Catalina", and if that was the kind of knowledge,
he was talking about, then he was right, I did know who. "We either go
home now," he continued, "or we wait until dark and use the twilight to
catch her." He appeared to be waiting for my decision. I wanted to
leave. I began to gather some thin rope, that I was using, but before I
could voice my wish, he stopped me with a direct command. "Sit down,"
he said. "It would be a simpler and more sober decision just to leave
now, but this is a peculiar case and I think, we must stay. This show
is just for you."
"What do you mean?"
"Someone is interfering with you, in particular, so that makes it your
show. I know who and you also know who."
"You scare me," I said.
"Not me," he replied, laughing. "That woman, who is out there prowling
(move with predatory intent), is scaring you." He paused, as if he were
waiting for the effect of his words to show on me. I had to admit, that
I was terrified. Over a month before, I had had a horrendous
confrontation with a sorceress called "la Catalina". I had faced her at
the risk of my life, because don Juan had convinced me, that she was
after his life and, that he was incapable of fending (manage
alone, turn aside, defend, deflect, parry) off her onslaughts. After I
had come in contact with her, don Juan disclosed to me, that she had
never really been of any danger to him, and that the whole affair had
been a trick, not in the sense of a malicious prank, but in the sense
of a trap to ensnare (catch in) me. His method was so unethical to me,
that I became furious with him. Upon hearing my angry outburst, don
Juan had begun to sing some Mexican tunes. He imitated popular crooners
and his renditions (interpretations) were so comical, that I had ended
up laughing like a child. He entertained me for hours. I never knew, he
had such a repertoire of idiotic songs.
"Let me tell you something," he had finally said on that occasion. "If
we wouldn't be tricked, we would never learn. The same thing happened
to me, and it'll happen to anyone. The art of a benefactor is to take
us to the brink. A benefactor can only point the way and trick. I
tricked you before. You remember the way I recaptured your hunter's
spirit, don't you? You, yourself, told me, that hunting made you forget
about plants. You were willing to do a lot of things, in order to be a
hunter, things you wouldn't have done, in order to learn about
plants. Now you must do a lot more, in order to survive." He
stared at me and broke into a fit of laughter.
230-231
"This is all crazy," I said. "We are rational beings."
"You're rational," he retorted (return, pay back, reply, answer). "I am
not."
"Of course you are," I insisted. "You are one of the most rational men,
I have ever met."
"All right!" he exclaimed. "Let us not argue. I am rational, so what?"
I involved him in the argument of, why it was necessary for two
rational beings to proceed in such an insane way, as we had proceeded
with the lady witch. "You're rational, all right," he said fiercely.
"And that means, you believe, that you know a lot about the world, but
do you? Do you really? You have only seen the acts of people. Your
experiences are limited only to, what people have done to you or to
others. You know nothing about this mysterious unknown world." He
signaled me to follow him to my car and we drove to the small Mexican
town near by. I did not ask, what we were going to do. He made me park
my car by a restaurant, then we walked around the bus depot and the
general store. Don Juan walked on my right side, leading me. Suddenly I
became aware, that someone else was walking side by side with me to my
left, but before I had time to turn to look, don Juan made a fast and
sudden movement; he leaned forward, as if he were picking something
from the ground, and then grabbed me by the armpit, when I nearly
stumbled over him. He dragged me to my car and did not let go of my
arm, even to allow me to unlock the door. I fumbled (touch/handle
nervously) with the keys for a moment. He shoved me gently into the car
and then got in himself. "Drive slowly and stop in front of the store,"
he said. When I had stopped, don Juan signaled me with a nod of his
head to look.
"La Catalina' was standing at the place, where don Juan had grabbed me.
I recoiled involuntarily. The woman took a couple of steps towards the
car and stood there defiantly.
I scrutinized her carefully and concluded, that she was a beautiful
woman. She was very dark and had a plump body, but she seemed to be
strong and muscular. She had a round full face with high cheekbones and
two long braids of jet black hair. What surprised me the most was her
youth. She was at the most in her early thirties. "Let her come closer
if she wants," don Juan whispered. She took three or four steps towards
my car and stopped perhaps ten feet away.
We looked at each other. At that moment I felt there was nothing
threatening about her. I smiled and waved at her. She giggled, as if
she were a shy little girl and covered her mouth. Somehow I felt
delighted. I turned to don Juan to comment on her appearance and
behavior, and he scared me half to death with a yell. "Don't turn your
back to that woman, damn it!" he said in a forceful voice. I quickly
turned to look at the woman. She had taken another couple of steps
towards my car and was standing barely five feet away from my door. She
was smiling; her teeth were big and white and very clean. There was
something eerie about her smile, however. It was not friendly; it was a
contained grin; only her mouth smiled. Her eyes were black, cold and
were staring at me fixedly. I experienced a chill all over my body. Don
Juan began to laugh in a rhythmical cackle (shrill, brittle laughter
like hen); after a moment's wait the woman slowly backed away and
disappeared among people. We drove away and don Juan speculated, that,
if I did not tighten up my life and learn, she was going to step on me,
as one steps on a defenseless bug. "She is the worthy opponent, I had
found for you," he said. Don Juan said, that we had to wait for an
omen, before we knew, what to do with the woman, who was interfering
with my hunting. "If we see or hear a crow, we'll know for sure, that
we can wait, and we'll also know, where to wait,"
he added. He slowly turned around in a complete circle, scanning all
the surroundings. "This is not the place to wait," he said in a
whisper. We began to walk towards the east.
It was already fairly dark. Suddenly two crows flew out from behind
some tall bushes and disappeared behind a hill.
232-233
Don Juan said, that the hill was our destination. Once we arrived
there, he circled it and chose a place, facing the southeast at the
bottom of the hill. He cleaned the dry twigs, leaves and other debris
from a circular spot five or six feet in diameter. I attempted to help
him, but he refused me with a strong movement of his hand. He put his
finger over his lips and made a gesture of silence. When he had
finished, he pulled me to the centre of the circle, made me face the
south away from the hill, and whispered in my ear, that I had to
imitate his movements. He began a sort of dance, making a rhythmical
thump (stomp, heavy steps) with his right foot; it consisted of seven
even beats spaced by a cluster of three fast thumps (stomp, heavy
steps). I tried to adapt myself to his rhythm and, after a few clumsy
attempts, I was more or less capable of reproducing the same thumping
(stomp, heavy steps).
"What's this for?" I whispered in his ear. He told me, also in a
whisper, that I was thumping (stomp, heavy steps) like a rabbit and,
that sooner or later the prowler would be attracted by the noise and
would show up to see, what was going on. Once I had copied the rhythm,
don Juan ceased to thump (stomp, heavy steps) himself, but had me
continue, marking the pace with a movement of his hand. From time to
time he would listen attentively, with his head slightly tilted to the
right, seemingly to pick out noises in the chaparral. At one point he
signaled me to stop and he remained in a most alert position; it was,
as if he were ready to spring up and jump on an unknown and unseen
assailant. Then he motioned me to continue the thumping (stomp, heavy
steps) and, after a while, he stopped me again. Every time I stopped,
he listened with such a concentration, that every fiber in his body
seemed to be tense to the point of bursting. Suddenly, he jumped to my
side and whispered in my ear, that the twilight was at its full power.
I looked around. The chaparral was a dark mass, and so were the hills
and the rocks. The sky was dark blue and I could not see the clouds any
more. The whole world seemed to be a uniform mass of dark silhouettes,
which did not have any visible boundaries. I heard the eerie distant
cry of an animal, a coyote or perhaps a night bird. It happened so
suddenly, that I did not pay attention to it.
But don Juan's body jerked a bit. I felt its vibration, as he stood
next to me.
"Here we go," he whispered. "Thump (stomp, heavy steps) again and be
ready. She's here." I began to thump (stomp, heavy steps) furiously,
don Juan put his foot over mine and signaled me frantically to relax
and thump (stomp, heavy steps) rhythmically. "Don't scare her away," he
whispered in my ear. "Calm down and don't lose your marbles." He again
began to mark the pace of my thumping (stomp, heavy steps) and, after
the second time, he made me stop, I heard the same cry again. This time
it seemed to be the cry of a bird, which was flying over the hill. Don
Juan made me thump once more and, just when I stopped, I heard a
peculiar rustling sound to my left. It was the sound a heavy animal
would make, while moving about in the dry underbrush. The thought of a
bear crossed my mind, but then I realized, that there were no bears in
the desert. I grabbed on to don Juan's arm and he smiled at me and put
his finger to his mouth in a gesture of silence. I stared into the
darkness towards my left, but he signaled me not to. He repeatedly
pointed directly above me and then he made me turn around slowly and
silently, until I was facing the dark mass of the hill. Don Juan kept
his finger leveled at a certain point on the hill. I kept my eyes glued
to that spot and suddenly, as if in a nightmare, a dark shadow leaped
at me. I shrieked and fell down to the ground on my back. For a moment
the dark silhouette was superimposed against the dark blue sky, and
then it sailed through the air and landed beyond us, in the bushes. I
heard the sound of a heavy body crashing into the shrubs and then an
eerie outcry. Don Juan helped me up and guided me in the darkness to
the place, where I had left my traps.
234-235
He made me gather and disassemble them, and then he scattered the
pieces away in all directions. He performed all this without saying a
single word. We did not speak at all on our way back to his house.
"What do you want me to say?" don Juan asked, after I had urged him
repeatedly to explain the events, I had witnessed a few hours
before.
"What was it?" I asked.
"You know damn well, who it was," he said. "Don't water it down with
"what was it?" It is 'who it was', that is important." I had worked out
an explanation, that seemed to suit me. The figure, I had seen, looked
very much like a kite, that someone had let out over the hill, while
someone else, behind us, had pulled it to the ground, thus the effect
of a dark silhouette sailing through the air perhaps fifteen or twenty
yards. He listened attentively to my explanation and then laughed,
until tears rolled down his cheeks. "Quit beating around the bush," he
said. "Get to the point. Wasn't it a woman?" I had to admit, that when
I fell down and looked up, I saw the dark silhouette of a woman with a
long skirt, leaping over me in a very slow motion; then something
seemed to have pulled the dark silhouette and it flew over me with
great speed and crashed into the bushes. In fact, that movement was,
what had given me the idea of a kite. Don Juan refused to discuss the
incident any further. The next day he left to fulfill some mysterious
errand and I went to visit some Yaqui friends in another
community.
Wednesday, 12 December 1962.
As soon, as I arrived at the Yaqui community, the Mexican storekeeper
told me, that he had rented a record player and twenty records from an
outfit in Ciudad Obregon for the "fiesta", he was planning to give that
night in honor of the Virgin of Guadalupe. He had already told
everybody, that he had made all the necessary arrangements through
Julio, the traveling salesman, who came to the Yaqui settlement twice a
month to collect instalments on a layaway plan for cheap articles of
clothing, which he had succeeded in selling to some Yaqui Indians.
Julio brought the record player early in the afternoon and hooked it to
the dynamo, that provided electricity for the store. He made sure, that
it worked; then he turned up the volume to its maximum, reminded the
storekeeper not to touch any knobs, and began to sort the twenty
records. "I know how many scratches each of them has," Julio said to
the storekeeper.
"Tell that to my daughter," the storekeeper replied.
"You're responsible, not your daughter."
"Just the same, she's the one, who'll be changing the records."
Julio insisted, that it did not make any difference to him whether she
or someone else was going to actually handle the record player as long,
as the storekeeper paid for any records, that were damaged. The
storekeeper began to argue with Julio. Julio's face became red. He
turned from time to time to the large group of Yaqui Indians,
congregated in front of the store, and made signs of despair or
frustration by moving his hands or contorting his face in a grimace.
Seemingly as a final resort, he demanded a cash deposit. That
precipitated another long argument about, what constituted a damaged
record. Julio stated with authority, that any broken record had to be
paid for in full, as if it were new. The storekeeper became angrier and
began to pull out his extension cords. He seemed bent upon unhooking
the record player and canceling the party. He made it clear to his
clients, congregated in front of the store, that he had tried his best
to come to terms with Julio. For a moment it seemed, that the party was
going to fail, before it had started. Bias, the old Yaqui Indian, in
whose house I was staying, made some derogatory comments in a loud
voice about the Yaquis' sad state of affairs, that they could not even
celebrate their most revered religious festivity, the day of the Virgin
of Guadalupe. I wanted to intervene and offer my help, but Bias stopped
me. He said, that if I were to make the cash deposit, the storekeeper
himself would smash the records.
236-237
"He's worse, than anybody," he said. "Let him pay the deposit. He
bleeds us, so why shouldn't he pay?" After a long discussion, in which,
strangely enough, everyone present was in favor of Julio, the
storekeeper hit upon terms, which were mutually agreeable. He did not
pay a cash deposit, but accepted responsibility for the records and the
record player. Julio's motorcycle left a trail of dust, as he headed
for some of the more remote houses in the locality. Bias said, that he
was trying to get to his customers, before they came to the store and
spent all their money, buying booze. As he was saying this, a group of
Indians emerged from behind the store. Bias looked at them and began to
laugh, so did everyone else there. Bias told me, that those Indians
were Julio's customers and had been hiding behind the store waiting for
him to leave. The party began early. The storekeeper's daughter put a
record on the turntable and brought the arm down; there was a terrible
loud screech and a high-pitched buzz and then came a blasting sound of
a trumpet and some guitars. The party consisted of playing the records
at full volume. There were four young Mexican men, who danced with the
storekeeper's two daughters and three other young Mexican women. The
Yaquis did not dance; they watched with apparent delight every movement
the dancers made. They seemed to be enjoying themselves just watching
and gulping down cheap tequila. I bought individual drinks for
everybody I knew. I wanted to avoid any feelings of resentment. I
circulated among the numerous Indians and talked to them and then
offered them drinks. My pattern of behavior worked, until they
realized, I was not drinking at all. That seemed to annoy everyone at
once. It was, as if collectively, they had discovered, that I did not
belong there. The Indians became very gruff (harsh, stern, rough) and gave me sly looks. The Mexicans,
who were as drunk, as the Indians, also realized at the same time, that
I had not danced; and that appeared to offend them even more. They
became very aggressive. One of them forcibly took me by the arm and
dragged me closer to the record player; another served me a full cup of
tequila, wanted me to drink it all in one gulp and prove, that I was a
"macho". I tried to stall (employing delaying
tactics) them and
laughed idiotically, as if I were actually enjoying the situation. I
said, that I would like to dance first and then drink. One of the young
men called out the name of a song. The girl in charge of the record
player began to search in the pile of records. She seemed to be a
little tipsy (slightly drunk), although none of the women had openly
been drinking, and had trouble fitting a record on the turntable. A
young man said, that the record, she had selected, was not a twist; she
fumbled (touch/handle nervously) with the pile, trying to find the
suitable one, and everybody closed in around her and left me. That gave
me time to run behind the store, away from the lighted area, and out of
sight. I stood about thirty yards away in the darkness of some bushes,
trying to decide, what to do. I was tired. I felt: it was time to get
in my car and go back home. I began to walk to Bias's house, where my
car was parked. I figured, that if I drove slowly, no one would notice,
that I was leaving. The people, in charge of the record player, were
apparently still looking for the record - all, I could hear, was the
high-pitched buzzing of the loudspeaker - but then came the blasting
sound of a twist. I laughed out loud, thinking, that they had probably
turned to, where I had been and found out, that I had disappeared. I
saw some dark silhouettes of people, walking in the opposite direction,
going towards the store. We passed each other and they mumbled, "Buenas
noches". I recognized them and spoke to them. I told them, that it was
a great party. Before I came to a sharp bend in the road, I encountered
two other people, whom I did not recognize, but I greeted them anyway.
The blasting sound of the record player was almost as loud there on the
road, as it was in front of the store. It was a dark starless night,
but the glare from the store lights allowed me to have a fairly good
visual perception of my surroundings. Bias's house was very near and I
accelerated my pace. I noticed then the dark shape of a person, sitting
or perhaps squatting to my left, at the bend of the road.
238-239
I thought for an instant, that it might have been one of the people
from the party, who had left, before I had. The person seemed to be
defecating on the side of the road.
That seemed odd. People in the community went into the thick bushes to
perform their bodily functions. I thought, that whoever it was in front
of me, must have been drunk. I came to the bend and said, "Buenas
noches". The person answered me with an eerie, gruff (harsh, stern,
rough), inhuman howl. The hair on my body literally stood on end. For a
second
I was paralyzed. Then I began to walk fast. I took a quick glance. I
saw, that the dark silhouette had stood up halfway; it was a woman. She
was stooped over, leaning forward;
she walked in that position for a few yards and then she hopped. I
began to run, while the woman hopped like a bird by my side, keeping up
with my speed. By the time I arrived at Bias's house, she was cutting
in front of me and we had almost touched. I leaped across a small dry
ditch in front of the house and crashed through the flimsy door. Bias
was already in the house and seemed unconcerned with my story.
"They pulled a good one on you," he said reassuringly. "The Indians
take delight in teasing foreigners."
My experience had been so unnerving, that the next day I drove to don
Juan's house, instead of going home, as I had planned to do. Don Juan
returned in the late afternoon. I did not give him time to say
anything, but blurted out the whole story, including Bias's commentary.
Don Juan's face became sombre (sober, gloomy). Perhaps it was only my
imagination, but I thought, he was worried. "Don't put so much stock in
what Bias told you," he said in a serious tone. "He knows nothing of
the struggles between sorcerers. You should have known, that it was
something serious the moment, you noticed, that the shadow was to your
left. You shouldn't have run either."
"What was I supposed to do? Stand there?"
"Right. When a warrior encounters his opponent, and the opponent is not
an ordinary human being, he must make his stand. That is the only
thing, that makes him invulnerable."
"What are you saying, don Juan?"
"I'm saying, that you have had your third encounter with your worthy
opponent. She's following you around, waiting for a moment of weakness
on your part. She almost bagged you this time." I felt a surge of
anxiety and accused him of putting me in unnecessary danger. I
complained, that the game, he was playing with me, was cruel. "It would
be cruel, if this would have happened to an average man," he said. "But
the instant, one begins to live like a warrior, one is no longer
ordinary. Besides, I didn't find you a worthy opponent, because I want
to play with you, or tease you, or annoy you. A worthy opponent might
spur (stimulate, promt, incite) you on; under the influence of an
opponent like "la Catalina" you may have to make use of everything, I
have taught you. You don't have any other alternative." We were quiet
for a while. His words had aroused a tremendous apprehension in me. He
then wanted me to imitate, as close, as possible, the cry, I had heard,
after I had said "Buenas noches". I attempted to reproduce the sound
and came up with some weird howling, that scared me. Don Juan must have
found my rendition funny; he laughed almost uncontrollably. Afterwards
he asked me to reconstruct the total sequence; the distance
I ran, the distance, the woman was from me at the time I encountered
her, the distance, she was from me, at the time I reached the house,
and the place, where she had begun hopping. "No fat Indian woman could
hop that way," he said after assessing all those variables. "They could
not even run that far." He made me hop. I could not cover more, than
four feet each time, and if I were correct in my perception, the woman
had hopped at least ten feet with each leap. "Of course, you know, that
from now on, you must be on the lookout," he said in a tone of great
urgency. "She will try to tap you on your left shoulder during a
moment, when you are unaware and weak."
"What should I do?" I asked.
240-241
"It is meaningless to complain," he said. "What's important, from this
point on, is the strategy of your life." I could not concentrate at
all, on what he was saying. I took notes automatically. After a long
silence he asked, if I had any pain behind my ears or in the nape of my
neck. I said no, and he told me, that if I had experienced an
uncomfortable sensation in either of those two areas, it would have
meant, that I had been clumsy and, that la Catalina had injured me.
"Everything, you did that night, was clumsy," he said. "First of all,
you went to the party to kill time, as though there is any time to
kill. That weakened you."
"You mean I shouldn't go to parties?"
"No, I don't mean that. You may go any place, you wish, but if you do,
you must assume the full responsibility for that act. A warrior lives
his life strategically. He would attend a party or a reunion like that,
only if his strategy calls for it. That means, of course, that he would
be in total control and would perform all the acts, that he deems
(think, judge) necessary." He looked at me fixedly and smiled, then
covered his face and chuckled (laugh quietly or to oneself) softly.
"You are in a terrible bind," he said. "Your opponent is on your trail
and, for the first time in your life, you cannot afford to act
helter-skelter. This time you will have to learn a totally different
doing, the doing of strategy. Think of it this way. If you survive the
onslaughts of "la Catalina", you will have to thank her someday, for
having forced you to change your doing."
"What a terrible way of putting it!" I exclaimed. "What if I don't
survive?"
"A warrior never indulges in thoughts like that," he said. "When he has
to act with his fellow men, a warrior follows the doing of strategy,
and, in that doing, there are no victories or defeats. In that doing
there are only actions." I asked him, what the doing of strategy
entailed. "It entails, that one is not at the mercy of people," he
replied. "At that party, for instance, you were a clown, not because it
served your purposes, to be a clown, but because you placed yourself at
the mercy of those people. You never had any control and thus you had
to run away from them."
"What should I have done?"
"Not go there at all, or else go there to perform a specific act. After
horsing around with the Mexicans, you were weak, and la Catalina used
that opportunity. So she placed herself in the road, to wait for you.
Your body knew, that something was out of place, though, and yet you
spoke to her. That was terrible. You must not utter a single word to
your opponent during one of those encounters. Then you turned your back
to her. That was even worse. Then you ran away from her, and that was
the worst thing, you could have done! Apparently she is clumsy. A
sorcerer, that is worth his salt, would have mowed you down right then,
the instant, you turned your back and ran away. So far, your only
defence is to stay put and do your dance."
"What dance are you talking about?" I asked. He said, that the "rabbit
thumping" (stomp, heavy steps) he had taught me, was the first movement
of the dance, that a warrior groomed and enlarged throughout his life,
and then executed in his last stand on Earth. I had a moment of strange
sobriety and a series of thoughts occurred to me. On one level it was
clear, that what had taken place between me and la Catalina, the first
time I had confronted her, was real. La Catalina was real, and I could
not discard the possibility, that she was actually following me. On the
other level, I could not understand, how she was following me, and this
gave rise to the faint suspicion, that don Juan might be tricking me,
and that he, himself, was somehow producing the weird effects, I had
witnessed. Don Juan suddenly looked at the sky and told me, that there
was still time to go and check the sorceress. He reassured me, that we
were running very little danger, because we were only going to drive by
her house. "You must confirm her shape," don Juan said. "Then there
won't be any doubts left in your mind, one way or the other." My hands
began to sweat profusely and I had to dry them repeatedly with a towel.
We got in my car and don Juan directed me to the main highway and then
to a wide unpaved road. I drove in the centre of it.
242-243
Heavy trucks and tractors had carved deep trenches and my car was too
low to go on either the left or the right side of the road. We went
slowly amid a thick cloud of dust.
The coarse gravel, which was used to level the road, had lumped with
dirt during the rains, and chunks of dry mud rocks bounced against the
metal underside of my car, making loud explosive sounds. Don Juan told
me to slow down, as we were coming to a small bridge. There were four
Indians, sitting there, and they waved at us. I was not sure, whether
or not I knew them. We passed the bridge and the road curved gently.
"That's the woman's house," don Juan whispered to me, as he pointed
with his eyes to a white house with a high bamboo fence all around it.
He told me to make a U-turn, stop in the middle of the road and wait to
see, if the woman became suspicious enough to show her face. We stayed
there perhaps ten minutes. I thought, it was an interminable (endless,
continual) time. Don Juan did not say a word. He sat motionless,
looking at the house. "There she is," he said, and his body gave a
sudden jump. I saw the dark foreboding (premonition, apprehension, evil
omen, portent) silhouette of a woman, standing inside the house,
looking through the open door. The room was dark and that only
accentuated the darkness of the woman's silhouette. After a few minutes
the woman stepped out of the darkness of the room, stood in the doorway
and watched us. We looked at her for a moment and then don Juan told me
to drive on. I was speechless. I could have sworn, that she was the
woman, I had seen, hopping by the road in the darkness. About half an
hour later, when we had turned on to the paved highway, don Juan spoke
to me.
"What do you say?" he asked. "Did you recognize the shape?" I hesitated
for a long time, before answering. I was afraid of the commitment,
entailed in saying yes. I carefully worded my reply and said, that I
thought, it had been too dark to be completely sure. He laughed and
tapped me gently on my head. "She was the one, wasn't she?" he asked.
He did not give me time to reply. He put a finger to his mouth in a
gesture of silence and whispered in my ear, that it was meaningless to
say anything, and that in order to survive la Catalina's onslaughts, I
had to make use of everything, he had taught me.
Part
Two Journey to Ixtlan, 18. The
Sorcerer's Ring of Power

247
May of 1971. I paid don Juan the last visit of my apprenticeship. I
went to see him on that occasion in the same spirit, I had gone to see
him during the ten years of our association. That is to say, I was once
again seeking the amenity () of his company. His friend don Genaro, a
Mazatec Indian sorcerer, was with him. I had seen both of them during
my previous visit six months earlier. I was considering, whether or not
to ask them, if they had been together all that time, when don Genaro
explained, that he liked the northern desert so much, that he had
returned just in time to see me. Both of them laughed, as if they knew
a secret.
"I came back just for you," don Genaro said.
"That's true," don Juan echoed. I reminded don Genaro, that the last
time I had been there, his attempts to help me, to Stop the World, has
been disastrous for me. That was my friendly way of letting him
know, that I was afraid of him. He laughed uncontrollably, shaking his
body and kicking his legs like a child. Don Juan avoided looking at me
and also laughed.
"You're not going to try to help me any more, are you, don Genaro?" I
asked. My question threw both of them into spasms of laughter. Don
Genaro rolled on the ground, laughing, then lay on his stomach and
began to swim on the floor. When I saw him doing that, I knew, I was
lost. At that moment my body somehow became aware, that I had arrived
at the end. I did not know, what that end was.
248-249
My personal tendency to dramatization and my previous experience with
don Genaro made me believe, that it might be the end of my life. During
my last visit to them, don Genaro had attempted to push me to the brink
of Stopping the World. His efforts had been so bizarre and direct, that
don Juan himself had had to tell me to leave. Don Genaro's
demonstrations of power were so extraordinary and so baffling, that
they forced me to a total re-evaluation of myself. I went home,
reviewed the notes, that I had taken in the very beginning of my
apprenticeship, and a whole new feeling mysteriously set in on me,
although I had not been fully aware of it, until I saw don Genaro
swimming on the floor. The act of swimming on the floor, which was
congruous (harmonious, appropriate) with other strange and bewildering
acts, he had performed in front of my very eyes, started, as he was
lying face down. He was first laughing so hard, that his body shook, as
in a convulsion, then he began kicking, and finally the movement of his
legs became coordinated with a paddling movement of his arms, and don
Genaro started to slide on the ground, as if he were lying on a board
fitted with ball bearings. He changed directions various times and
covered the entire area of the front of don Juan's house, maneuvering
around me and don Juan. Don Genaro had clowned in front of me before,
and every time, he had done it, don Juan had asserted (affirm, state
positevely), that I had been on the brink of Seeing. My failure to See was
a result of my insistence on, trying to explain every one of don
Genaro's actions from a rational point of view. This time I was on
guard and when he began to swim, I did not attempt to explain or
understand the event. I simply watched him. Yet I could not avoid the
sensation of being dumbfounded. He was actually sliding on his stomach
and chest. My eyes began to cross, as I watched him. I felt a surge of
apprehension. I was convinced, that if I did not explain, what was
happening, I would See, and that thought filled me with an
extraordinary anxiety. My nervous anticipation was so great, that in
some way I was back at the same point, locked once more in some
rational endeavor. Don Juan must have been watching me. He
suddenly tapped me; I automatically turned to face him, and for an
instant I took my eyes away from don Genaro. When I looked at him
again, he was standing by me with his head slightly tilted and his chin
almost resting on my right shoulder. I had a delayed startled reaction.
I looked at him for a second and then I jumped back. His expression of
feigned (pretending, fictitious) surprise was so comical, that I
laughed hysterically. I could not help being aware, however, that my
laughter was unusual. My body shook with nervous spasms, originating
from the middle part of my stomach. Don Genaro put his hand on my
stomach and the convulsion, like ripples, ceased.
"This little Carlos is always so exaggerated!" he exclaimed, as if he
were a fastidious (overcritical, meticulous) man. Then he added,
imitating don Juan's voice and mannerisms, "Don't you know, that a
warrior never laughs that way?" His caricature of don Juan was so
perfect, that I laughed even harder. Then both of them left together
and were gone for over two hours, until about midday. When they
returned, they sat in the area in front of don Juan's house. They did
not say a word. They seemed to be sleepy, tired, almost absent-
minded. They stayed motionless for a long time, yet they seemed to be
so comfortable and relaxed. Don Juan's mouth was slightly opened, as if
he were really asleep, but his hands were clasped over his lap and his
thumbs moved rhythmically. I fretted (agitate) and changed sitting
positions for a while, then I began to feel a soothing placidity
(calmness). I must have fallen asleep. Don Juan's chuckle (laugh
quietly or to oneself) woke me up. I opened my eyes. Both of them were
staring at me. "If you don't talk, you fall asleep," don Juan said,
laughing.
"I'm afraid, I do," I said. Don Genaro lay on his back and began to
kick his legs in the air. I thought for a moment, that he was going to
start his disturbing clowning again, but he went back right away to his
crosslegged sitting position.
"There is something, you ought to be aware of by now," don Juan said.
"I call it the cubic centimeter of chance.

250-251
All of us, whether or not we are warriors, have a cubic centimeter of
chance, that pops out in front of our eyes from time to time. The
difference between an average man and a warrior is, that the warrior is
aware of this, and one of his tasks is to be alert, deliberately
waiting, so that, when his cubic centimeter pops out, he has the
necessary speed, the prowess (outstanding courage, daring) to pick it
up. Chance, good luck, personal power, or whatever you may call it, is
a peculiar state of affairs. It is like a very small stick, that comes
out in front of us and invites us to pluck it. Usually we are too busy,
or too preoccupied, or just too stupid and lazy to realize, that that
is our cubic centimeter of luck.
A warrior, on the other hand, is always alert, tight and has the
spring, the gumption (common sense, practicality) necessary to grab it."
"Is your life very tight?" don Genaro asked me abruptly.
"I think it is," I said with conviction.
"Do you think, that you can pluck your cubic centimeter of luck?" don
Juan asked me with a tone of incredulity.
"I believe, I do that all the time," I said.
"I think, you are only alert about things, you know," don Juan
said.
"Maybe I'm kidding myself, but I do believe, that nowadays I am more
aware, than at any other time in my life," I said and really meant it.
Don Genaro nodded his head in approval.
"Yes," he said softly, as if talking to himself. "Little Carlos is
really tight, and absolutely alert."
I felt, that they were humoring me. I thought, that perhaps my
assertion (affirm, state positevely) about my alleged condition of
tightness may have annoyed them.
"I didn't mean to brag," I said. Don Genaro arched his eyebrows and
enlarged his nostrils. He glanced at my notebook and pretended to be
writing.
"I think Carlos is tighter, than ever," don Juan said to don
Genaro.
"Maybe he's too tight," don Genaro snapped.
"He may very well be," don Juan conceded. I did not know, what to
interject at that point, so I remained quiet. "Do you remember the
time, when I jammed your car?" don Juan asked casually. His question
was abrupt and unrelated, to what we had been talking about. He was
referring to a time, when I could not start the engine of my car, until
he said, I could. I remarked, that noone could forget such an event.
"That was
nothing," don Juan asserted (affirm) in a factual tone. "Nothing at
all. True, Genaro?"
"True," don Genaro said indifferently.
"What do you mean?" I said in a tone of protest. "What you did that day
was something truly beyond my comprehension."
"That's not saying much," don Genaro retorted (return, pay back, reply,
answer). They both laughed loudly and then don Juan patted me on the
back.
"Genaro can do something much better, than jamming your car," he went
on." True, Genaro?"
"True," don Genaro replied, puckering up his lips like a child.
"What can he do?" I asked, trying to sound unruffled.
"Genaro can take your whole car away!" don Juan exclaimed in a booming
voice; and then he added in the same tone, 'True, Genaro?"
"True!" don Genaro retorted (return, pay back, reply, answer) in the
loudest human tone, I had ever heard. I jumped involuntarily. My body
was convulsed by three or four nervous spasms.
"What do you mean, he can take my whole car away?" I asked.
"What did I mean, Genaro?" don Juan asked.
"You meant, that I can get into his car, turn the motor on, and drive
away," don Genaro replied with unconvincing seriousness.
"Take the car away, Genaro," don Juan urged him in a joking tone.
"It's done!" don Genaro said, frowning and looking at me askew
(crooked, oblique, to one side). I noticed, that as he frowned, his
eyebrows rippled, making the look in his eyes mischievous and
penetrating.
252-253
"All right!"' don Juan said calmly. "Let's go down there and examine
the car."
"Yes!" don Genaro echoed. "Let's go down there and examine the car."
They stood up, very slowly. For an instant I did not know, what to do,
but don Juan signaled me to stand up. We began walking up the small
hill in front of don Juan's house. Both of them flanked me, don Juan to
my right and don Genaro to my left. They were perhaps six or seven feet
ahead of me, always within my full field of vision. "Let's examine the
car," don Genaro said again. Don Juan moved his hands, as if he were
spinning an invisible thread; don Genaro did likewise and repeated,
"Let's examine the car." They walked with a sort of bounce. Their steps
were longer, than usual, and their hands moved, as though they were
whipping or batting some invisible objects in front of them. I had
never seen don Juan clowning like that and felt almost embarrassed to
look at him. We reached the top and I looked down to the area at the
foot of the hill, some fifty yards away, where I had parked my car. My
stomach contracted with a jolt. The car was not there! I ran down the
hill. My car was not anywhere in sight. I experienced a moment of great
confusion. I was disoriented. My car had been parked there, since I had
arrived early in the morning. Perhaps half an hour before, I had come
down to get a new pad of writing paper. At that time I had thought of
leaving the windows open, because of the excessive heat, but the number
of mosquitoes and other flying insects, that abounded (present in large
numbers, teem) in the area, had made me change my mind, and I had left
the car locked as usual. I looked all around again. I refused to
believe, that my car was gone. I walked to the edge of the cleared
area. Don Juan and don Genaro joined me and stood by me, doing exactly,
what I was doing, peering into the distance to see, if the car was
somewhere in sight. I had a moment of euphoria, that gave way to a
disconcerting sense of annoyance. They seemed to have noticed it and
began to walk around me, moving their hands, as if they were rolling
dough in them.
"What do you think happened to the car, Genaro?" don Juan asked
in a meek (weak) tone.
"I drove it away," don Genaro said and made the most astounding motion
of shifting gears and steering. He bent his legs, as though he were
sitting, and remained in that position for a few moments, obviously
sustained only by the muscles of his legs; then he shifted his weight
to his right leg and stretched his left foot to mimic the action on the
clutch. He made the sound of a motor with his lips; and finally, to top
everything, he pretended to have hit a bump in the road, bobbed up and
down, giving me the complete sensation of an inept (awkward, clumsy,
incompetent, inappropriate, unsuitable) driver, that bounces without
letting go of the steering wheel. Don Genaro's pantomime was
stupendous. Don Juan laughed, until he was out of breath. I wanted to
join them in their mirth, but I was unable to relax. I felt ill and
threatened at ease. An anxiety, that had no precedence (used as
standard case) in my life, possessed me. I felt, I was burning up
inside and began kicking small rocks on the ground, and ended up,
hurling them with an unconscious and unpredictable fury. It was, as if
the wrath was actually outside of myself and had suddenly enveloped me.
Then the feeling of annoyance left me, as mysteriously, as it had hit
me.
I took a deep breath and felt better. I did not dare to look at don
Juan. My display of anger embarrassed me, but at the same time I wanted
to laugh. Don Juan came to my side and patted me on the back. Don
Genaro put his arm on my shoulder. "It's all right I" don Genaro said.
"Indulge yourself. Punch yourself in the nose and bleed. Then you can
get a rock and knock your teeth out. It'll feel good! And if that
doesn't help, you can mash your balls with the same rock on that big
boulder over there." Don Juan giggled. I told them, that I was ashamed
of myself for having behaved so poorly. I did not know, what had gotten
into me. Don Juan said, that he was sure, I knew exactly, what was
going on. That I was pretending not to know, and that it was the act of
pretending, that made me angry. Don Genaro was unusually comforting; he
patted my back repeatedly.
254-255
"It happens to all of us," don Juan said.
"What do you mean by that, don Juan?" don Genaro asked, imitating my
voice, mocking my habit of asking don Juan questions. Don Juan said
some absurd things like "When the world is upside down, we are right
side up, but when the world is right side up, we are upside down. Now
when the world and we are right side up, we think we are upside down."
He went on and on, talking gibberish, while don Genaro mimicked my
taking notes. He wrote on an invisible pad, enlarging his nostrils, as
he moved his hand, keeping his eyes wide open and fixed on don Juan.
Don Genaro had caught on to my efforts to write without looking at my
pad, in order to avoid altering the natural flow of conversation. His
portrayal was genuinely hilarious. I suddenly felt very at ease, happy.
Their laughter was soothing. For a moment I let go and had a belly
laugh. But then my mind entered into a new state of apprehension,
confusion, and annoyance. I thought, that whatever was taking place
there, was impossible;
in fact, it was inconceivable (unbelievable), according to the logical
order, by which I am accustomed to judge the world at hand. Yet, as the
perceiver, I perceived, that my car was not there. The thought occurred
to me, as it always had happened, when don Juan had confronted me with
inexplicable phenomena, that I was being tricked by ordinary means. My
mind had always, under stress, involuntarily and consistently repeated
the same construct. I began to consider how many confederates don Juan
and don Genaro would have needed, in order to lift my car and remove
it, from where I had parked it. I was absolutely sure, that I had
compulsively (conditioned by
obsession) locked the
doors; the handbrake was on; it was in gear; and the steering wheel was
locked. In order to move it they would have had to Lift it up bodily.
That task would have required a labor force, that I was convinced
neither of them could have brought together. Another possibility was,
that someone in agreement with them, had broken into my car, wired it,
and driven it away. To do that would have required a specialized
knowledge, that was beyond their means. The only other possible
explanation was, that perhaps they were mesmerizing me. Their movements
were so novel to me and so suspicious, that I entered into a spin of
rationalizations. I thought, that if they were hypnotizing me, I was
then in a state of altered consciousness. In my experience with don
Juan, I had noticed, that in such states one is incapable of keeping a
consistent mental record of the passage of time. There had never been
an enduring () order, in matters of passage of time, in all the states
of nonordinary reality, I had experienced, and my conclusion was that,
if I kept myself alert, a moment would come, when I would lose my order
of sequential time. As if, for example,
I were looking at a mountain at a given moment, and then in my next
moment of awareness I found myself looking at a valley in the opposite
direction, but without remembering having turned around. I felt, that
if something of that nature would happen to me, I could then explain,
what was taking place with my car as, perhaps, a case of hypnosis. I
decided, that the only thing, I could do, was to watch every detail
with excruciating thoroughness.
"Where's my car?" I asked, addressing both of them.
"Where's the car, Genaro?" don Juan asked with a look of utmost
seriousness. Don Genaro began turning over small rocks and looking
underneath them. He worked feverishly over the whole flat area, where I
had parked my car. He actually turned over every rock. At times he
would pretend to get angry and would hurl the rock into the bushes. Don
Juan seemed to enjoy the scene beyond words. He giggled and chuckled
(laugh quietly or to oneself) and was almost oblivious to my presence.
Don Genaro had just finished hurling a rock in a display of sham ()
frustration, when he came upon a good-sized boulder, the only large and
heavy rock in the parking area. He attempted to turn it over, but it
was too heavy and too deeply embedded in the ground. He struggled and
puffed, until he was perspiring. Then he sat on the rock and called don
Juan to help him. Don Juan turned to me with a beaming smile and said,
"Come on, let's give Genaro a hand."
"What's he doing?" I asked.
"He's looking for your car," don Juan said in a casual and factual
tone.
256-257
"For heaven's sake! How can he find it under the rocks?" I
protested.
"For heaven's sake, why not?" don Genaro retorted (return, pay back,
reply, answer) and both of them roared with laughter.
We could not budge (alter position) the rock. Don Juan suggested, that
we go to the house and look for a thick piece of wood, to use as a
lever. On our way to the house I told them, that their acts were absurd
and, that whatever they were doing to me, was unnecessary. Don Genaro
peered at me. "Genaro is a very thorough man," don Juan said with a
serious expression. "He's as thorough and meticulous, as you are. You,
yourself, said, that you never leave a stone unturned. He's doing the
same." Don Genaro patted me on the shoulder and said, that don Juan was
absolutely right and that, in fact, he wanted to be like me. He looked
at me with an insane glint and opened his nostrils. Don Juan clapped
his hands and threw his hat to the ground. After a long search around
the house for a thick piece of wood, don Genaro found a long and fairly
thick tree trunk, a part of a house beam. He put it across his
shoulders and we started back to the place, where my car had been. As
we were going up the small hill and were about to reach a bend in the
trail, from where I would see the flat parking area, I had a sudden
insight. It occurred to me, that I was going to find my car, before
they did, but when I looked down, there was no car at the foot of the
hill. Don Juan and don Genaro must have understood, what I had had in
mind and ran after me, laughing uproariously. Once we got to the bottom
of the hill, they immediately went to work. I watched them for a few
moments. Their acts were incomprehensible. They were not pretending,
that they were working, they were actually immersed in the task of
turning over a boulder to see, if my car was underneath. That was too
much for me and I joined them. They puffed and yelled, don Genaro howled like a coyote.
They were soaked in perspiration. I noticed how terribly strong their
bodies were, especially don Juan's. Next to them I was a flabby
(lacking vitality/firmness, obese, flaccid, feeble) young man. Very
soon I was also perspiring copiously. Finally we succeeded in turning
over the boulder and don Genaro examined the dirt underneath the rock
with the most maddening patience and thoroughness.
"No. It isn't here," he announced. That statement brought both of them
down to the ground with laughter. I laughed nervously. Don Juan seemed
to have true spasms of pain, covered his face and lay down, as his body
shook with laughter. "In which direction do we go now?" don Genaro
asked after a long rest. Don Juan pointed with a nod of his head.
"Where are we going?" I asked.

"To look for your car!" don Juan said and did not crack a smile. They
again flanked me, as we walked into the brush. We had only covered a
few yards, when don Genaro signaled us to stop. He tiptoed to a round
bush a few steps away, looked in the inside branches for a few moments,
and said, that the car was not there. We kept on walking for a while
and then don Genaro made a gesture with his hand to be quiet. He arched
his back, as he stood on his toes, and extended his arms over his head.
His fingers were contracted like a claw. From where I stood, don
Genaro's body had the shape of a letter S. He maintained that position
for an instant and then virtually plunged headfirst on a long twig with
dry leaves. He carefully lifted it up and examined it and again
remarked, that the car was not there. As we walked into the deep
chaparral, he looked behind bushes and climbed small paloverde trees to
look into their foliage, only to conclude, that the car was not there
either. Meanwhile I kept a most meticulous mental record of everything,
I touched or saw. My sequential and orderly view of the world around me
was as continuous, as it had always been. I touched rocks, bushes,
trees. I shifted my view from the foreground to the background by
looking out of one eye and then out of the other. By all calculations,
I was walking in the chaparral, as I had done scores of times during my
ordinary life. Next don Genaro lay down on his stomach and asked us to
do likewise.
258-259
He rested his chin on his clasped hands. Don Juan did the same. Both of
them stared at a series of small protuberances on the ground, that
looked like minute hills. Suddenly don Genaro made a sweeping movement
with his right hand and clasped something. He hurriedly stood up and so
did don Juan. Don Genaro held his clasped hand in front of us and
signaled us to come closer and look. Then he slowly began to open his
hand. When it was half open a big black object flew away. The motion
was so sudden and the flying object was so big, that I jumped back and
nearly lost my balance. Don Juan propped me up.
"That wasn't the car," don Genaro complained. "It was a goddamn fly.
Sorry!" Both of them scrutinized me. They were standing in front of me
and were not looking directly at me, but out of the corners of their
eyes. It was a prolonged look. "It was a fly, wasn't it?" don Genaro
asked me.
"I think so," I said.
"Don't think," don Juan ordered me imperiously (domineering,
dictatorial). "What did you see?"
"I saw something as big, as a crow, flying out of his hand," I said. My
statement was congruous (harmonious, appropriate), with what I had perceived, and was
not intended as a joke, but they took it, as perhaps, the most
hilarious statement, that anyone had made that day. Both of them jumped
up and down, and laughed, until they choked.
"I think Carlos has had enough," don Juan said. His voice sounded
hoarse from laughing. Don Genaro said, that he was about to find my
car, that the feeling was getting hotter and hotter. Don Juan said, we
were in a rugged area and that, to find the car there, was not a
desirable thing. Don Genaro took off his hat and rearranged the strap
with a piece of string from his pouch, then he attached his woolen belt
to a yellow tassel (ornament, кисточка), affixed to the brim of the
hat.
"I'm making a kite out of my hat," he said to me. I watched him and I
knew, he was joking. I had always considered myself to be an expert on
kites. When I was a child, I used to make the most complex kites and I
knew, that the brim of the straw hat was too brittle, to resist the
wind. The hat's crown, on the other hand, was too deep and the wind
would circulate inside it, making it impossible to lift the hat off the
ground.
"You don't think it'll fly, do you?" don Juan asked me.
"I know it won't," I said. Don Genaro was unconcerned and finished
attaching a long string to his kite-hat. It was a windy day and don
Genaro ran downhill, as don Juan held his hat, then don Genaro pulled
the string and the damn thing actually flew.
"Look, look at the kite!" don Genaro yelled. It bobbed a couple of
times, but it remained in the air.
"Don't take your eyes off the kite," don Juan said firmly. For a moment
I felt dizzy. Looking at the kite, I had had a complete recollection of
another time; it was, as if
I were flying a kite myself, as I used to, when it was windy in
the hills of my home town. For a brief moment the recollection engulfed
me and I lost my awareness of the passage of time. I heard don Genaro
yelling something and I saw the hat bobbing up and down, and then
falling to the ground, where my car was. It all took place with such
speed, that I did not have a clear picture, of what had happened. I
became dizzy and absent-minded. My mind held on to a very confusing
image. I either saw don Genaro's hat turning into my car, or I saw the
hat falling over on top of the car. I wanted to believe the latter,
that don Genaro had used his hat to point at my car. Not that it really
mattered, one thing was as awesome, as the other, but just the same my
mind hooked on that
arbitrary (random)
detail, in order to keep my
original mental balance. "Don't fight it," I heard don Juan saying. I
felt, that something inside me was about to surface. Thoughts and
images came in uncontrollable waves, as if I were falling asleep. I
stared at the car dumbfounded. It was sitting on a rocky flat area
about a hundred feet away. It actually looked, as if someone had just
placed it there. I ran towards it and began to examine it. "Goddamnit!"
don Juan exclaimed. "Don't stare at the car. Stop the World!"
260
Then, as in a dream, I heard him
yelling, "Genaro's hat! Genaro's hat!" I looked at them. They were
staring at me directly. Their eyes were piercing. I felt a pain in my
stomach. I had an instantaneous headache and got ill. Don Juan and don
Genaro looked at me curiously. I sat by the car for a while and then,
quite automatically, I unlocked the door and let don Genaro get in the
back seat. Don Juan followed him and sat next to him. I thought, that
was strange, because he usually sat in the front seat. I drove my car
to don Juan's house in a sort of haze. I was not myself at all. My
stomach was very upset, and the feeling of nausea demolished all my
sobriety. I drove mechanically. I heard don Juan and don Genaro in the
back seat laughing and giggling like children. I heard don Juan
asking me, "Are we getting closer?" It was at that point, that I took
deliberate notice of the road. We were actually very close to his
house.
"We're about to get there," I muttered. They howled with laughter. They
clapped their hands and slapped their thighs. When we arrived at the
house, I automatically jumped out of the car and opened the door for
them. Don Genaro stepped out first and congratulated me for what, he
said, was the nicest and smoothest ride, he had ever taken in his life.
Don Juan said the same. I did not pay much attention to them. I locked
my car and barely made it to the house. I heard don Juan and don Genaro
roaring with laughter, before I fell asleep.

19. Stopping the World
261
The next day as soon, as I woke up I began asking don Juan questions.
He was cutting firewood in the back of his house, but don Genaro was
nowhere in sight. He said, that there was nothing to talk about. I
pointed out, that I had succeeded in remaining aloof and had observed
don Genaro's "swimming on the floor" without wanting or demanding any
explanation whatsoever, but my restraint had not helped me to
understand, what was taking place. Then, after the disappearance of the
car, I became automatically locked in seeking a logical explanation,
but that did not help me either. I told don Juan, that my insistence,
on finding explanations, was not something, that I had arbitrarily
devised myself, just to be difficult, but was something, so deeply
ingrained in me, that it overruled every other
consideration.
"It's like
a disease," I said.
"There are no
diseases," don Juan replied calmly. "There is only indulging. And you
indulge yourself, in trying to explain everything. Explanations are no
longer necessary in your case." I insisted, that I could function only
under conditions of order and understanding. I reminded him, that I had
drastically changed my personality during the time of our association,
and that the condition, that had made that change possible, was that I
had been capable of explaining to myself the reasons for that change.
Don Juan laughed softly. He did not speak for a long time. "You are very clever,"
he finally said. "You go back, to where you have always been. This time
you are finished though. You have no place to go back to. I will not
explain anything to you any more. Whatever Genaro did to you yesterday,
he did it to your body, so let your body decide, what's what."
262-263
Don Juan's
tone was friendly, but unusually detached, and that made me feel an
overwhelming loneliness. I expressed my feelings of sadness. He smiled.
His fingers gently clasped the top of my
hand. "We
both are beings, who are going to die," he said softly. "There is no
more time, for what we used to do. Now you must employ all the
not-doing, I have taught you, and Stop the
World." He clasped my hand again. His touch was firm and friendly; it
was like a reassurance, that he was concerned and had affection for me,
and, at the same time, it gave me the impression of an unwavering
purpose. "This
is my gesture for you," he said, holding the grip, he had on my hand
for an instant. "Now you must go by yourself into those friendly
mountains." He pointed with his chin to the distant range of mountains
towards the southeast. He said, that I had to remain there, until my
body told me to quit, and then return to his house. He let me know,
that he did not want me to say anything or to wait any longer, by
shoving me gently in the direction of my car.
"What am I supposed
to do there?" I asked. He did not answer, but looked at me, shaking his
head.
"No more
of that," he finally said. Then he pointed his finger to the southeast.
"Go there," he said
cuttingly. I drove south and then east, following the roads I had
always taken, when driving with don Juan. I parked my car around the
place, where the dirt road ended and then I hiked on a familiar trail,
until I reached a high plateau. I had no idea, what to do there. I
began to meander (wander aimlessly, follow winding
course), looking for a resting place. Suddenly I became aware of a
small area to my left. It seemed, that the chemical composition of the
soil was different on that spot, yet when I focused my eyes on it,
there was nothing visible, that would account for the difference. I
stood a few feet away
and tried to "feel", as don Juan had always recommended, I
should do. I stayed motionless for perhaps an hour. My thoughts began
to diminish by degrees, until I was no longer talking to myself. I then
had a sensation of annoyance. The feeling seemed to be confined to my
stomach and was more acute, when I faced the spot in question. I was
repulsed by it and felt
compelled (forced) to move away from it. I began scanning the area with
crossed eyes and, after a short walk, I came upon a large flat rock. I
stopped in front of it. There was nothing particular about the
rock, that attracted me. I did not detect any specific colour or any
shine on it, and yet I liked it. My body felt good. I experienced a
sensation of physical comfort and sat down for a while. I meandered
(wander aimlessly, follow winding course) in the high plateau and the
surrounding mountains all day without knowing, what to do or what to
expect. I came back to the flat rock at dusk. I knew, that, if I spent
the night there, I would be safe. The next day I ventured farther east
into the high mountains. By late afternoon I came to another even
higher plateau. I thought, I had been there before. I looked around to
orient myself,
but I could not recognize any of the surrounding peaks. After carefully
selecting a suitable place, I sat down to rest at the edge of a barren
rocky area. I felt very warm and peaceful there. I tried to pour out
some food from my gourd, but it was empty. I drank some water. It was
warm and stale. I thought, that I had nothing else to do, but to return
to don Juan's house and began to wonder, whether or not I should start
on my way back right away. I lay down on my stomach and rested my head
on my arm. I felt uneasy and changed positions various times, until I
found myself facing the west. The Sun was already low. My eyes were
tired. I looked down at the ground and caught sight of a large black
beetle. It came out from behind a small rock, pushing a ball of dung
twice its size. I followed its movements for a long time. The insect
seemed unconcerned with my presence and kept on pushing its load over
rocks, roots, depressions, and protuberances on the ground. For all I
knew, the beetle was not aware, that I was there. The thought occurred
to me, that I could not possible be sure, that the insect was not aware
of me; that thought triggered a series of rational evaluations about
the nature of the insect's world, as opposed to mine. The beetle and I
were in the same world and, obviously, the world was not the same for
both of us.
264-265
I became immersed in watching it and marveled at the gigantic strength,
it needed to carry its load over rocks and down crevices. I observed
the insect for a long time and then I became aware of the silence
around me. Only the wind hissed between the branches and leaves of the
chaparral. I looked up, turned to my left in a quick and involuntary
fashion, and caught a glimpse of a faint shadow or a flicker (tremor,
flutter, wavering light) on a rock a few feet away. At first I paid no
attention to it, but then I realized, that that flicker had been to my
left. I turned again suddenly and was able clearly to perceive a shadow
on the rock. I had the weird sensation, that the shadow instantly slid
down to the ground and the soil absorbed it, as a blotter (piece of
blotting paper) dries an ink blotch (spot/blot, skin discoloration,
blemish). A chill ran down my back. The thought crossed my mind, that
death was watching me and the beetle. I looked for the insect again,
but I could not find it. I thought, that it must have arrived at its
destination and then had dropped its load into a hole in the ground. I
put my face against a smooth rock. The beetle emerged from a deep hole
and stopped a few inches away from my face. It seemed to look at me
and, for a moment, I felt, that it became aware of my presence,
perhaps, as I was aware of the presence of my death. I experienced a
shiver. The beetle and I were not that different after all. Death, like
a shadow, was stalking both of us from behind the boulder. I had an
extraordinary moment of elation. The beetle and I were on a par.
Neither of us was better, than the other.
Our death made us equal. My elation and joy were
so overwhelming, that I began to weep. Don Juan was right. He had
always been right. I was living in a most mysterious world and, like
everyone else, I was a most mysterious being, and yet I was no more
important, than a
beetle. I wiped my eyes and, as I rubbed them with the back of my hand,
I saw a man, or something, which had the shape of a man. It was to my
right about fifty yards. I sat up straight and strained to see. The Sun
was almost on the horizon and its yellowish glow prevented me from
getting a clear view. I heard a peculiar roar at that moment. It was
like the sound of a distant jet plane. As I focused my attention on it,
the roar increased to a prolonged sharp metallic whizzing and then it
softened, until it was a mesmerizing, melodious sound. The melody was
like the vibration of an electrical current. The image, that came to my
mind, was that two electrified spheres were coming together, or two
square blocks of electrified metal were rubbing against each other and
then, coming to rest with a thump (stomp, heavy
steps) , when they were perfectly leveled with each other. I again
strained to see, if I could distinguish the person, that seemed to be
hiding from me, but I could only detect a dark shape against the
bushes. I shielded my eyes by placing my hands above them. The
brilliancy of the sunlight changed at that moment and then I realized,
that, what I was seeing, was only an optical illusion, a play of
shadows and foliage. I moved my eyes away and I saw a coyote, calmly
trotting across the field. The coyote was around the spot, where I
thought, I had seen the man. It moved about fifty
yards in a southerly direction and then it stopped, turned, and began
walking towards me. I yelled a couple of times to scare it away, but it
kept on coming. I had a moment of apprehension. I thought, that it
might be rabid (fanatical, extreme, raging, uncontrollable) and I even
considered gathering some rocks to defend myself, in case of an attack.
When the animal was ten to fifteen feet away, I noticed, that it was
not agitated in any way; on the contrary, it seemed calm and unafraid.
It slowed down its gait, coming to a halt barely four or five feet from
me. We looked at each other, and then the coyote came even closer. Its
brown eyes were friendly and clear. I sat down on the rocks and the
coyote stood almost
touching me. I was
dumbfounded. I had never seen a wild coyote that close, and the only
thing, that occurred to me at that moment, was to talk to it. I began,
as one would talk to a friendly dog. And then I thought, that the
coyote "talked" back to me. I had the absolute certainty, that it had
said something. I felt confused, but I did not have time to ponder upon
my feelings, because the coyote "talked" again. It was not that the
animal was voicing words, the
way I am accustomed to hearing words being voiced by human beings, it
was rather a "feeling", that it was talking. But it was not like a
feeling, that one has when a pet seems to communicate with its
master either. The coyote actually said something; it relayed a thought
and, that communication came out in something quite similar to a
sentence.
266-267
I had said, "How are you, little coyote?" and I thought, I had heard
the animal respond, "I'm all right, and you?" Then the coyote repeated
the sentence and I jumped to my feet. The animal did not make a single
movement. It was not even startled by my sudden jump. Its eyes were
still friendly and clear. It lay down on its stomach and tilted its
head and asked, "Why are you afraid?" I sat down, facing it, and I
carried on the weirdest conversation, I had ever had. Finally it asked
me, what I was doing there, and I said, I had come there to Stop the
World. The coyote said, "Que bueno!" and then I realized, that it was a
bilingual coyote. The nouns and verbs of its sentences were in English,
but the conjunctions and exclamations were in Spanish. The thought
crossed my mind, that I was in the presence of a Chicano coyote. I
began to laugh at the absurdity of it all and I laughed so hard, that I
became almost hysterical. Then the full weight of the impossibility, of
what was happening, struck me and my mind wobbled. The coyote stood up
and our eyes met. I stared fixedly into them. I felt they were pulling
me and, suddenly, the animal became iridescent; it began to glow.
It was, as if my mind were replaying the memory of another event, that
had taken place ten years before, when, under the influence of peyote,
I witnessed the metamorphosis of an ordinary dog into an unforgettable
iridescent being. It was, as though the coyote had triggered the
recollection, and the memory of that previous event was summoned, and
became superimposed on the coyote's shape; the coyote was a fluid,
liquid, luminous being. Its luminosity was dazzling. I wanted to cover
my eyes with my hands to protect them, but I could not move. The
luminous being touched me in some undefined part of myself, and my body
experienced such an exquisite indescribable warmth and well-being, that
it was, as if the touch had made me explode. I became transfixed, I
could not feel my feet, or my legs, or any part of my body, yet
something was sustaining me erect. I had no idea, how long I stayed in
that position. In the meantime, the luminous coyote and the hilltop,
where I stood, melted away. I had no thoughts or feelings. Everything
had been turned off and I was floating freely. Suddenly, I felt, that
my body had been struck and then it became enveloped by something, that
kindled (ignited) me. I became aware then, that the Sun was shining on
me. I could vaguely distinguish a distant range of mountains towards
the west.
The
Sun was almost over the horizon. I was looking directly into it and
then I Saw the "Lines of the World". I actually perceived the most
extraordinary profusion of fluorescent white lines, which criss-crossed
everything around me. For a moment I thought, that I was perhaps
experiencing sunlight, as it was being refracted by my eyelashes. I
blinked and looked again. The lines were constant and were superimposed
on or were coming through everyt