Карлос Кастанеда. Сила безмолвия (engl)

     Origin: http://hotmix.narod.ru ║ http://hotmix.narod.ru


        Carlos Castaneda. The Power Of Silence



     Carlos Castaneda — "The Power Of Silence"

     Foreword

     My books are a true account of a teaching method that don Juan Matus, a
Mexican Indian  sorcerer, used in order to help me understand the sorcerers'
world. In this sense, my books  are the account of an on-going process which
becomes more clear to me as time goes by.
     It takes  years of training to teach us to deal intelligently  with the
world of everyday life. Our schooling - whether In plain reasoning or formal
topics  - is rigorous, because the knowledge we are trying to impart is very
complex. The same criteria apply  to  the sorcerers' world: their schooling,
which relies on oral instruction and the manipulation of awareness, although
different from ours, is just as rigorous, because  their knowledge is as, or
perhaps more, complex

     Introduction

     At  various times  don Juan  attempted to  name  his  knowledge  for my
benefit. He felt that the  most appropriate name was nagualism, but that the
term was too obscure. Calling  it simply "knowledge" made it  too vague, and
to call  it  "witchcraft"  was  debasing. "The mastery  of  intent"  was too
abstract,  and  "the search for  total freedom" too long  and  metaphorical.
Finally, because he was unable to find a more appropriate name, he called it
"sorcery," although he admitted it was not really accurate.
     Over the years, he had  given me different definitions of  sorcery, but
he  had always maintained  that definitions change  as  knowledge increases.
Toward  the  end  of  my  apprenticeship,  I  felt I was in  a  position  to
appreciate a clearer definition, so I asked him once more.
     "From  where  the  average  man stands,"  don  Juan said,  "sorcery  is
nonsense or an  ominous  mystery  beyond his reach. And he  is  right  - not
because  this is an absolute  fact,  but  because  the average man lacks the
energy to deal with sorcery."
     He stopped for  a moment before he continued.  "Human  beings  are born
with  a finite amount  of  energy,"  don  Juan  said,  "an  energy  that  is
systematically deployed, beginning at the moment of  birth, in order that it
may be used most advantageously by the modality of the time."
     "What do you mean by the modality of the time?" I asked.
     "The modality of the  time is the precise bundle of energy fields being
perceived," he answered. "I believe man's perception has changed through the
ages.  The actual  time decides  the  mode; the  time decides  which precise
bundle of energy fields, out of an incalculable number, are to be  used. And
handling  the  modality of  the time  - those few, selected energy fields  -
takes  all our available energy, leaving us nothing  that would help us  use
any of the other energy fields."
     He  urged  me with  a  subtle movement of his eyebrows to  consider all
this.
     "This  is what I mean when I say that  the average man lacks the energy
needed to deal with sorcery," he went  on.  "If he  uses only  the energy he
has, he can't perceive the worlds  sorcerers do. To perceive them, sorcerers
need to use  a cluster of energy fields not  ordinarily  used. Naturally, if
the average  man  is  to  perceive  those  worlds and understand  sorcerers'
perception he must use the same cluster they have used. And this is just not
possible, because all his energy is already deployed."
     He paused as if searching for the appropriate words to make his point.
     "Think of it  this  way," he proceeded.  "It isn't that as time goes by
you're learning sorcery; rather, what you're learning is to save energy. And
this  energy will enable you to  handle  some of the energy fields which are
inaccessible  to you now. And  that is  sorcery: the  ability  to use energy
fields  that  are not  employed  in perceiving  the ordinary world we  know.
Sorcery  is  a  state  of awareness.  Sorcery  is  the ability  to  perceive
something which ordinary perception cannot.
     "Everything I've  put you  through,"  don  Juan went  on,  "each of the
things I've shown you was only a device to convince you that there's more to
us than meets the eye.
     We  don't  need  anyone  to teach us  sorcery, because there  is really
nothing to learn. What we need is  a teacher  to  convince us that there  is
incalculable power at our fingertips.  What a strange paradox! Every warrior
on the path of  knowledge thinks, at one time or another, that he's learning
sorcery, but all he's doing is allowing himself to be convinced of the power
hidden in his being, and that he can reach it."
     "Is that what you're doing, don Juan - convincing me?"
     "Exactly.  I'm trying to convince you that  you can reach that power. I
went through the same thing. And I was as hard to convince as you are."
     "Once we have reached it, what exactly do we do with it, don Juan?"
     "Nothing. Once we  have reached it, it will,  by  itself,  make use  of
energy fields which  are available  to us but inaccessible. And  that, as  I
have  said, is  sorcery.  We begin  then  to  see  -  that is, to perceive -
something else; not  as imagination,  but as real and concrete. And  then we
begin to know without having to use words. And what any of us does with that
increased  perception,  with  that silent  knowledge,  depends  on  our  own
temperament."
     On another occasion, he  gave  me another kind  of explanation. We were
discussing an unrelated topic when he abruptly changed the subject and began
to tell me a joke. He laughed and,  very gently, patted  my back between the
shoulder blades, as if  he were  shy and  it was too forward of him to touch
me. He chuckled at my nervous reaction.
     "You're skittish," he said teasingly, and  slapped my back with greater
force.
     My ears buzzed.  For an instant I lost my breath. It felt us  though he
had hurt my  lungs. Every breath brought  me great discomfort.  Yet, after I
had coughed and choked a few  times,  my nasal  passages opened and I  found
myself
     taking deep, soothing breaths.  I had such a feeling of well-being that
I was not even annoyed at him for his blow, which had  been  hard as well as
unexpected.
     Then  don  Juan  began  a  most  remarkable  explanation.  Clearly  and
concisely, he gave me a different and more precise definition of sorcery.
     I had entered into a wondrous state of awareness! I had such clarity of
mind  that  I was able to comprehend  and assimilate everything don Juan was
saying. He said that in the universe there is an unmeasurable, indescribable
force  which  sorcerers  call  intent, and that  absolutely everything  that
exists in the  entire  cosmos  is attached to intent  by a connecting  link.
Sorcerers, or warriors,  as he called them,  were concerned with discussing,
understanding,  and  employing that connecting  link. They  were  especially
concerned with  cleaning  it of the numbing  effects  brought about  by  the
ordinary concerns of their everyday lives.  Sorcery at  this  level could be
defined as  the procedure  of cleaning one's connecting link  to intent. Don
Juan  stressed that this  "cleaning procedure" was  extremely  difficult  to
understand,  or to  learn to  perform. Sorcerers, therefore,  divided  their
instruction into two categories. One was  instruction  for the everyday-life
state  of  awareness,  in which  the  cleaning process  was presented  in  a
disguised fashion. The  other was instruction for  the states of  heightened
awareness, such as the one I was presently  experiencing, in which sorcerers
obtained   knowledge   directly  from   intent,  without   the   distracting
intervention of spoken language.
     Don Juan explained that by using heightened awareness over thousands of
years  of  painful struggle, sorcerers  had  gained  specific  insights into
intent; and that  they had passed these  nuggets of direct knowledge on from
generation to generation to the present. He said that the task of sorcery is
to take this seemingly incomprehensible knowledge and make it understandable
by the standards of awareness of everyday life.
     Then he explained the  role of the guide in the lives of  sorcerers. He
said that a guide is called "the nagual," and that  the nagual is a man or a
woman with  extraordinary energy,  a teacher who  has  sobriety,  endurance,
stability; someone seers  see as a luminous sphere having four compartments,
as  if four luminous balls  have  been compressed together. Because of their
extraordinary  energy, naguals are  intermediaries. Their energy allows them
to channel peace, harmony, laughter, and knowledge directly from the source,
from intent, and transmit them to their companions. Naguals  are responsible
for supplying what sorcerers call  "the  minimal chance":  the awareness  of
one's connection with intent.
     I told him that my mind was grasping everything he was telling me, that
the only  part of his explanation still unclear  to me was  why two  sets of
teachings were needed. I could understand everything he was saying about his
world easily,  and yet he had described the process of understanding as very
difficult.
     "You will need a lifetime to remember the  insights you've  had today,"
he said, "because most of them were silent knowledge. A few moments from now
you will  have forgotten them.  That's one of the unfathomable mysteries  of
awareness."
     Don Juan then made me shift  levels of consciousness by  striking me on
my left side, at the edge of my ribcage.
     Instantly  I  lost  my  extraordinary clarity of  mind  and  could  not
remember having ever had it. ...
     Don  Juan himself set me  the task of  writing  about the  premises  of
sorcery. Once, very casually in the early stages
     of my apprenticeship, he suggested that I write a book in order to make
use of the notes  I had always taken. I had accumulated  reams of  notes and
never  considered what  to do  with them. I argued that  the  suggestion was
absurd because I was not a writer.
     "Of course, you're  not a writer," he said,  "so  you will have to  use
sorcery.  First, you must visualize your experiences as if you were reliving
them, and then  you must see the  text in  your  dreaming. For you,  writing
should not be a literary exercise, but rather an exercise in sorcery."
     I have written in that manner about the premises of sorcery just as don
Juan explained them to me, within the context of his teaching.
     In his  teaching  scheme,  which was developed by sorcerers  of ancient
times, there  were two categories of instruction. One was  called "teachings
for the right  side," carried out  in  the ordinary  state of awareness. The
other was called "teachings for the left side,"  put into practice solely in
states of heightened awareness.
     These  two  categories  allowed  teachers  to school  their apprentices
toward  three  areas of  expertise:  the  mastery  of  awareness, the art of
stalking, and the mastery of intent.
     These  three  areas  of  expertise  are  the  three  riddles  sorcerers
encounter in their search for knowledge.
     The  mastery of awareness is the  riddle  of  the  mind; the perplexity
sorcerers experience when they recognize the astounding mystery and scope of
awareness and perception.
     The  art of  stalking  is  the  riddle  of the  heart;  the  puzzlement
sorcerers feel  upon becoming  aware  of  two things: first  that  the world
appears  to  us  to  be  unalterably  objective  and  factual,  because   of
peculiarities  of  our awareness  and perception; second,  that if different
peculiarities of perception come into play,  the very things about the world
that seem so unalterably objective and factual change. The mastery of intent
is  the riddle of the spirit,  or  the paradox of the abstract -  sorcerers'
thoughts and actions projected beyond our human condition.
     Don Juan's instruction on the art of stalking and the mastery of intent
depended  upon his instruction on  the mastery of  awareness, which was  the
cornerstone of his teachings,  and  which  consist  of the  following  basic
premises:
     1.  The  universe  is  an  infinite  agglomeration  of  energy  fields,
resembling threads of light.
     2.  These energy fields, called the  Eagle's emanations, radiate from a
source of inconceivable proportions metaphorically called the Eagle.
     3. Human beings are also composed of an incalculable number of the same
threadlike  energy  fields.  These  Eagle's  emanations   form  an   encased
agglomeration that manifests itself  as  a ball  of light  the  size of  the
person's body with the arms extended laterally, like a giant luminous egg.
     4. Only  a very  small  group of the energy fields inside this luminous
ball are  lit up  by a point of  intense  brilliance  located  on the ball's
surface.
     5.  Perception  occurs  when the  energy  fields  in  that small  group
immediately  surrounding  the point  of  brilliance  extend  their light  to
illuminate identical energy  fields outside the  ball. Since the only energy
fields  perceivable are those lit by  the point of brilliance, that point is
named "the  point where  perception is assembled" or simply  "the assemblage
point."
     6.  The assemblage  point can be moved from its usual  position on  the
surface of the luminous ball to another position on the surface, or into the
interior. Since the brilliance of the assemblage point can light up whatever
energy field it  comes in contact  with, when it  moves to a new position it
immediately  brightens  up  new energy fields, making them perceivable. This
perception is known as seeing.
     7.  When  the assemblage point shifts, it makes possible the perception
of  an entirely different  world  - as objective  and  factual as the one we
normally  perceive. Sorcerers go into that other world to get energy, power,
solutions to general and particular problems, or to face the unimaginable.
     8. Intent is the pervasive force that causes us to perceive.  We do not
become aware  because  we  perceive; rather, we perceive as a  result of the
pressure and intrusion of intent.
     9. The aim of sorcerers is to reach a state of total awareness in order
to experience  all  the  possibilities of perception  available to man. This
state of awareness even implies an alternative way of dying.
     A level  of practical knowledge was  included  as part  of teaching the
mastery of awareness. On that practical level don Juan taught the procedures
necessary to move the assemblage point. The two great systems devised by the
sorcerer seers  of  ancient  times to  accomplish  this were:  dreaming, the
control and utilization of dreams; and stalking, the control of behavior.
     Moving  one's assemblage point  was an  essential  maneuver  that every
sorcerer had to learn. Some of them, the naguals, also learned to perform it
for  others.  They  were  able to dislodge  the  assemblage  point  from its
customary position  by delivering a hard  slap  directly to  the  assemblage
point. This  blow, which  was experienced as  a smack  on the right shoulder
blade -  although  the body was never  touched  -  resulted  in  a  state of
heightened awareness.
     In compliance with his tradition, it was exclusively in these states of
heightened awareness that don Juan carried
     out  the most  important  and  dramatic  part  of  his  teachings:  the
instructions  for  the  left  side.  Because of the extraordinary quality of
these states, don Juan demanded that I not discuss them with others until we
had concluded everything in  the sorcerers' teaching scheme. That demand was
not  difficult for  me to  accept. In  those unique states  of awareness  my
capabilities for understanding the instruction  were  unbelievably enhanced,
but  at the same time  my capabilities for describing or even remembering it
were  impaired. I  could function  in  those  states  with  proficiency  and
assuredness, but I  could not recollect anything about them  once I returned
to my normal consciousness.
     It  took  me  years to be  able to  make  the crucial conversion of  my
enhanced awareness  into  plain memory. My reason  and  common sense delayed
this  moment  because they  were  colliding  head-on  with the preposterous,
unthinkable  reality of heightened awareness and direct knowledge. For years
the resulting cognitive disarrangement  forced me  to avoid the issue by not
thinking about it.
     Whatever I have written about my sorcery apprenticeship, up to now, has
been a recounting of how don Juan taught me the mastery of awareness. I have
not yet described the art of stalking or the mastery of intent.
     Don  Juan taught me their  principles and applications with the help of
two of his companions:  a  sorcerer named  Vicente Medrano and another named
Silvio Manuel,  but whatever I  learned from them still  remains  clouded in
what Don  Juan called the intricacies of heightened  awareness. Until now it
has  been impossible for  me to write or  even to think coherently about the
art of stalking and the mastery of  intent.  My  mistake has been to  regard
them as subjects for normal  memory and recollection.  They are, but  at the
mime time they are not.  In order to resolve  this contradiction, I have not
pursued  the  subjects directly  -  a virtual impossibility - but have dealt
with them indirectly through the concluding topic of don Juan's instruction:
the stories of the sorcerers of the past.
     He recounted these  stories to make evident what he called the abstract
cores of  his  lessons. But I  was incapable of  grasping  the nature of the
abstract  cores despite his  comprehensive explanations, which, I  know now,
were  intended more to open my mind  than to explain anything in a  rational
manner.  His way  of  talking  made  me  believe  for many  years  that  his
explanations of the abstract cores were like academic dissertations; and all
I was able to do, under these circumstances, was to take his explanations as
given. They became part of my tacit acceptance of his teachings, but without
the thorough assessment on my part that was essential to understanding them.
     Don Juan  presented three sets of six abstract  cores each, arranged in
an increasing level of complexity. I  have  dealt  here with the  first set,
which  is composed of the following:  the  manifestations of the spirit, the
knock of the  spirit, the trickery of the spirit, the descent of the spirit,
the requirements of intent, and handling intent.

     THE MANIFESTATIONS OF THE SPIRIT

     The First Abstract Core

     Don  Juan,  whenever it was  pertinent, used to tell  me  brief stories
about the  sorcerers  of  his  lineage, especially  his  teacher, the nagual
Julian.  They were  not really stories,  but rather descriptions of the  way
those  sorcerers  behaved  and  of  aspects  of their  personalities.  These
accounts  were  each designed  to shed  light  on  a  specific  topic  in my
apprenticeship.
     I had  heard the same stories  from the  other  fifteen  members of don
Juan's group of sorcerers, but none of these accounts had been able  to give
me  a  clear picture of the  people they described. Since I  had  no  way of
persuading  don  Juan to give me more details about those  sorcerers, I  had
resigned myself to the idea of never knowing about them in any depth.
     One  afternoon, in the mountains of  southern Mexico,  don  Juan, after
having  explained  to  me  more  about the  intricacies  of  the mastery  of
awareness, made a statement that completely baffled me.
     "I  think it's time for us to talk about the sorcerers of our past," he
said.
     Don  Juan  explained  that  it  was  necessary  that  I  begin  drawing
conclusions based on a systematic view of the past,
     conclusions  about both the world of daily  affairs and  the sorcerers'
world.
     "Sorcerers are  vitally  concerned  with  their past," he said.  "But I
don't mean their  personal past.  For sorcerers  their  past  is what  other
sorcerers  in  bygone  days  have done. And  what  we are now going to do is
examine that past.
     "The  average man also examines the past. But  it's mostly his personal
past he  examines, and he  does so for personal  reasons. Sorcerers do quite
the opposite;  they consult  their  past  in  order  to  obtain  a point  of
reference."
     "But isn't that what everyone does?  Look at the past to get a point of
reference?"
     "No!"  he  answered  emphatically.  "The average man  measures  himself
against the past,  whether  his  personal past or the past knowledge  of his
time, in order to find justifications for his present or future behavior, or
to establish  a model for himself. Only  sorcerers genuinely seek a point of
reference in their past."
     "Perhaps, don Juan, things would be  clear to me if you tell me  what a
point of reference for a sorcerer is."
     "For  sorcerers, establishing a  point  of  reference  means  getting a
chance  to  examine  intent" he replied. "Which is exactly  the aim  of this
final topic of instruction. And nothing can give sorcerers  a better view of
intent than examining stories  of other sorcerers battling to understand the
same force."
     He explained  that  as they examined  their  past, the sorcerers of his
lineage took careful notice of the basic abstract order of their knowledge.
     "In sorcery there  are twenty-one  abstract cores," don Juan  went  on.
"And  then, based  on  those  abstract cores,  there  are scores  of sorcery
stories about the naguals of our  lineage battling to understand the spirit.
It's time to tell you the abstract cores and the sorcery stories."
     I  waited for don Juan to begin telling me the stories, but  he changed
the subject and went back to explaining awareness.
     "Wait a minute," I protested. "What  about the  sorcery stories? Aren't
you going to tell them to me?"
     "Of course I  am," he said. "But they are not stories that one can tell
as if  they  were tales.  You've got to think your way through them and then
rethink them - relive them, so to speak."
     There was a long silence. I became very cautious and was afraid that if
I  persisted  in  asking  him  again  to  tell  me  the stories, I could  be
committing myself to  something  I might later regret. But  my curiosity was
greater than my good sense.
     "Well, let's get on with them," I croaked.
     Don  Juan,  obviously  catching  the  gist  of   my  thoughts,   smiled
maliciously. He stood and signaled me to follow. We had been sitting on some
dry rocks at the  bottom of a gully. It was mid-afternoon.  The sky was dark
and  cloudy. Low, almost-black rain  clouds  hovered  above the peaks to the
east. In comparison, the high clouds made  the sky seem clear to  the south.
Earlier it had rained heavily, but then the rain seemed to have retreated to
a hiding place, leaving behind only a threat.
     I should have been chilled to the bone, for it was very cold. But I was
warm. As I clutched a rock  don  Juan had  given me to hold, I realized that
this sensation of being warm in nearly freezing weather was familiar to  me,
yet it amazed  me  each  time. Whenever I  seemed about to freeze,  don Juan
would give  me a branch to  hold,  or  a  stone, or he would put a bunch  of
leaves  under  my  shirt,  on  the  tip of  my sternum, and  that  would  be
sufficient to raise my body temperature.
     I had tried unsuccessfully to recreate, by  myself,  the effect of  his
ministrations. He told me it was not the ministrations but his inner silence
that kept me warm, and the branches or stones or leaves were  merely devices
to trap my attention and maintain it in focus.
     Moving quickly,  we climbed the steep west side  of a mountain until we
reached a rock  ledge at the very top. We were in the foothills of a  higher
range  of mountains. From the rock  ledge I could see that fog had begun  to
move  onto the  south end of the valley floor below  us.  Low,  wispy clouds
seemed to be closing  in on us, too, sliding down from the black-green, high
mountain peaks  to the  west. After the rain, under the dark  cloudy sky the
valley and the mountains to the east  and south appeared covered in a mantle
of black-green silence.
     "This is the ideal place to have a talk," don Juan said, sitting on the
rock floor of a concealed shallow cave.
     The cave was perfect for the  two  of us to sit side by side. Our heads
were nearly touching the roof and our backs fitted snugly against the curved
surface of the rock wall. It was as if the cave had been carved deliberately
to accommodate two persons of our size.
     I noticed  another  strange  feature of  the  cave: when I stood on the
ledge, I could see the entire valley and the mountain ranges to the east and
south, but when I sat down, I was boxed  in by  the rocks. Yet the ledge was
at the level of the cave floor, and flat.
     I was  about  to  point  this strange effect out to don  Juan,  but  he
anticipated me.
     "This cave is  man-made," he  said.  "The  ledge is slanted but the eye
doesn't register the incline."
     "Who made this cave, don Juan?"
     "The ancient sorcerers. Perhaps thousands of years  ago. And one of the
peculiarities of this cave is that animals and insects and  even people stay
away from it. The ancient sorcerers seem to have infused it  with an ominous
charge that makes every living thing feel ill at ease."
     But  strangely I felt irrationally secure  and happy there. A sensation
of physical contentment made my entire body tingle. I actually felt the most
agreeable, the most delectable, sensation  in my stomach. It  was  as if  my
nerves were being tickled.
     "I don't feel ill at ease," I commented.
     "Neither do I," he said. "Which only  means that you and  I aren't that
far temperamentally from those  old  sorcerers of the past;  something which
worries me no end."
     I was afraid to pursue that subject any further, so I waited for him to
talk.
     "The  first  sorcery  story  I  am going  to tell  you is  called  'The
Manifestations of the Spirit,'  " don  Juan began, "but don't  let the title
mystify you.  The manifestations  of the spirit is  only the  first abstract
core around which the first sorcery story is built.
     "That first abstract core is a story in itself," he went on. "The story
says  that once upon  a time  there  was a  man, an average man  without any
special attributes.  He was, like everyone else,  a conduit  for the spirit.
And by virtue of that,  like everyone else, he was part of the spirit,  part
of the  abstract. But he didn't know it. The world kept him so  busy that he
had neither the time nor the inclination really to examine the matter.
     "The  spirit  tried,  uselessly,  to reveal their  connection. Using an
inner voice, the  spirit disclosed its secrets, but the man was incapable of
understanding the revelations. Naturally, he heard the inner  voice,  but he
believed it to be  his own feelings  he was feeling  and his own thoughts he
was thinking.
     "'The spirit, in order to shake him  out of his slumber, gave him three
signs, three successive manifestations. The
     spirit  physically crossed  the man's path in the most  obvious manner.
But the man was oblivious to anything but his self-concern."
     Don Juan stopped and looked at me as he did whenever he was waiting for
my  comments  and questions. I had nothing to say.  I did not understand the
point he was trying to make.
     "I've just told you the first  abstract  core," he continued. "The only
other thing I  could add is that because of the man's absolute unwillingness
to understand,  the  spirit was forced to use  trickery. And trickery became
the essence of the sorcerers' path. But that is another story."
     Don Juan explained that sorcerers understood this abstract core to be a
blueprint for events, or a recurrent pattern that appeared every time intent
was giving an indication of something meaningful. Abstract cores, then, were
blueprints of complete chains of events.
     He assured me that by means beyond comprehension, every detail of every
abstract core reoccurred to  every apprentice nagual.  He further assured me
that he had helped intent to involve me in all the abstract cores of sorcery
in the same  manner  that his  benefactor, the  nagual  Julian  and all  the
naguals  before him, had involved  their apprentices. The  process by  which
each apprentice  nagual encountered the abstract cores  created a  series of
accounts  woven around  those  abstract cores  incorporating  the particular
details of each apprentice's personality and circumstances.
     He said, for example, that I had my  own story about the manifestations
of the  spirit,  he  had his, his benefactor had his own,  so had the nagual
that preceded him, and so on, and so forth.
     "What is  my story  about the  manifestations of the  spirit?" I asked,
somewhat mystified.
     "If any  warrior is aware of his stories it's you," he replied.  "After
all, you've been  writing  about them for years. But you  didn't notice  the
abstract cores  because you are a practical man. You do everything only  for
the purpose  of  enhancing  your  practicality.  Although  you handled  your
stories to  exhaustion you had  no idea that  there was an abstract  core in
them. Everything I've done appears to  you, therefore, as an often-whimsical
practical activity:  teaching sorcery  to a reluctant and, most of the time,
stupid, apprentice. As long as you see it in those terms, the abstract cores
will elude you."
     "You must forgive me, don Juan," I  said, "but your statements are very
confusing. What are you saying?"
     "I'm trying to introduce the sorcery stories as a subject," he replied.
"I've  never  talked   to   you   specifically  about  this  topic   because
traditionally it's left hidden. It is the spirit's last artifice. It is said
that when  the  apprentice understands  the  abstract  cores  it's  like the
placing of the stone that caps and seals a pyramid."
     It was getting dark and it looked as though it was about to rain again.
I  worried that if the wind blew  from east to west while it was raining, we
were going  to  get soaked in that cave.  I was sure  don Juan was aware  of
that, but he seemed to ignore it.
     "It won't rain again until tomorrow morning," he said.
     Hearing my inner thoughts being answered made me jump involuntarily and
hit the top of my head  on the cave roof. It  was a thud  that sounded worse
than it felt.
     Don Juan held his sides laughing. After a while my head really began to
hurt and I had to massage it.
     "Your  company is  as  enjoyable to me as  mine  must have been  to  my
benefactor," he said and began to laugh again.
     We  were quiet for a few minutes. The silence around  me was ominous. I
fancied that I could  hear the rustling of the low  clouds as they descended
on us from the higher mountains. Then I realized that what I was hearing was
the soft wind. From  my position in the shallow cave,  it  sounded  like the
whispering of human voices.
     "I had the incredible good luck to be  taught by two naguals," don Juan
said  and  broke the mesmeric grip the  wind  had on me at that moment. "One
was, of  course, my  benefactor, the  nagual  Julian, and the other  was his
benefactor, the nagual Elias. My case was unique."
     "Why was your case unique?" I asked.
     "Because for generations  naguals have gathered their apprentices years
after their  own teachers have  left  the world,"  he explained.  "Except my
benefactor. I became  the nagual Julian's apprentice eight  years before his
benefactor  left  the world. I  had eight years'  grace. It was the luckiest
thing that could have happened to me, for I had the opportunity to be taught
by two opposite temperaments. It  was like being reared by a powerful father
and  an even more powerful grandfather who don't see eye to eye.  In  such a
contest, the grandfather  always  wins. So I'm  properly  the product of the
nagual Elfas's teachings.  I was  closer to him not only in  temperament but
also in looks. I'd say that  I owe him my fine tuning. However, the  bulk of
the work that went into turning me from a miserable being into an impeccable
warrior I owe to my benefactor, the nagual Julian."
     "What was the nagual Julian like physically?" I asked.
     "Do you know that to  this day it's hard for  me to visualize him?" don
Juan said. "I  know that sounds absurd, but  depending on  his needs or  the
circumstances, he could be either young or  old, handsome  or homely, effete
and weak or strong and virile, fat or slender, of medium height or extremely
short."
     "Do you mean he was an actor acting out different roles with the aid of
props?"
     "No, there were  no props involved and  he  was not merely an actor. He
was, of course, a great actor in his  own right, but that is different.  The
point is that he was capable  of transforming himself and becoming all those
diametrically opposed  persons.  Being a great actor enabled  him to portray
all the minute peculiarities of behavior that made each specific being real.
Let us say that he was at  ease in every change of being. As you are at ease
in every change of clothes."
     Eagerly,  I  asked don Juan  to  tell  me more about  his  benefactor's
transformations.  He said  that  someone  taught  him  how  to  elicit those
transformations, but that to explain any further would force him to  overlap
into different stories.
     "What  did the  nagual Julian  look  like when  he wasn't  transforming
himself?" I asked.
     "Let's  say  that before he  became  a  nagual he  was  very  slim  and
muscular," don Juan said.  "His hair  was  black, thick, and  wavy. He had a
long, fine nose, strong big white teeth, an oval face, strong jaw, and shiny
dark-brown eyes. He was about five feet eight inches tall. He was not Indian
or even a brown  Mexican,  but  he was not Anglo white either. In  fact, his
complexion seemed to be like no one else's,  especially  in his  later years
when his ever-changing complexion shifted constantly from dark to very light
and back again to  dark. When I  first met him he was a light-brown old man,
then as time went by, he became a light-skinned  young  man, perhaps  only a
few years older than me. I was twenty at that time.
     "But if the changes of his outer appearance were astonishing," don Juan
went  on,  "the   changes  of  mood  and  behavior   that  accompanied  each
transformation were  even more  astonishing. For example, when he was  a fat
young man, he was jolly and sensual.  When  he  was a skinny old man, he was
petty  and  vindictive.  When he  was a  fat old man,  he  was the  greatest
imbecile there was."
     "Was he ever himself?" I asked.
     "Not the  way  I am myself,"  he replied. "Since I'm  not interested in
transformation I am always the same.  But  he  was not  like me at all." Don
Juan  looked at me  as if he were  assessing  my inner strength.  He smiled,
shook his head from side to side and broke into a belly laugh.
     "What's so funny, don Juan?" I asked.
     "The  fact is that  you're  still too  prudish and stiff to  appreciate
fully  the nature of my benefactor's transformations and their total scope,"
he  said.  "I  only  hope that when  I tell  you about them you don't become
morbidly obsessed."
     For some reason I suddenly became quite uncomfortable and had to change
the subject.
     "Why are the naguals  called 'benefactors' and not simply teachers?"  I
asked nervously.
     "Calling a nagual a benefactor is a gesture his apprentices make,"  don
Juan  said.  "A  nagual creates an overwhelming feeling of  gratitude in his
disciples.  After  all,   a  nagual  molds  them  and  guides  them  through
unimaginable areas."
     I  remarked  that  to  teach  was  in  my  opinion  the  greatest, most
altruistic act anyone could perform for another.
     "For  you,  teaching  is  talking  about  patterns,"  he  said. "For  a
sorcerer, to  teach is what a  nagual does  for his apprentices. For them he
taps the  prevailing force in the universe: intent - the force  that changes
and reorders things or keeps them as  they are. The nagual  formulates, then
guides the consequences that that force can  have on  his disciples. Without
the nagual's molding intent there  would be no awe, no wonder  for them. And
his apprentices, instead  of embarking on a magical  journey  of  discovery,
would only  be learning  a trade: healer,  sorcerer, diviner, charlatan,  or
whatever."
     "Can you explain intent to me?" I asked.
     "The only  way  to know intent" he replied,  "is  to  know it  directly
through a  living  connection that  exists between intent  and all  sentient
beings. Sorcerers call intent  the indescribable, the  spirit, the abstract,
the nagual.  I would prefer to call it nagual, but it overlaps with the name
for the leader, the benefactor, who is also  called nagual,  so I have opted
for calling it the spirit, intent, the abstract."
     Don Juan stopped abruptly and  recommended  that I keep quiet and think
about what  he had  told me.  By then it was very dark.  The  silence was so
profound  that instead of lulling me into a restful state, it agitated me. I
could  not maintain order in my thoughts. I  tried to focus my  attention on
the story he had  told  me,  but instead I thought of everything else, until
finally I fell asleep.

     The Impeccability Of The Nagual Elias

     I had no way of telling how long I slept in that cave. Don Juan's voice
startled me  and  I  awoke.  He  was  saying that  the  first  sorcery story
concerning  the  manifestations  of  the  spirit  was   an  account  of  the
relationship between intent and the nagual.  It was  the  story  of  how the
spirit set up a lure for the nagual,  a prospective disciple, and of how the
nagual had to evaluate the lure before making  his decision either to accept
or  reject  it. It  was  very dark  in the  cave, and  the  small space  was
confining.  Ordinarily  an  area   of   that   size  would  have   made   me
claustrophobic, but  the  cave kept soothing  me, dispelling my feelings  of
annoyance. Also,  something in the configuration of the  cave  absorbed  the
echoes of don Juan's words.
     Don Juan explained that every act performed by sorcerers, especially by
the naguals, was either  performed as a way to  strengthen  their  link with
intent  or  as a  response triggered  by  the link  itself.  Sorcerers,  and
specifically the naguals,  therefore  had to be actively and  permanently on
the lookout  for  manifestations  of  the spirit. Such  manifestations  were
called gestures of the spirit or, more simply, indications or omens.
     He repeated a story he had already told me; the story of how he had met
his benefactor, the nagual Julian.
     Don  Juan  had been  cajoled  by  two crooked men to take  a job on  an
isolated hacienda. One of the men, the foreman of the hacienda,  simply took
possession of don Juan and in effect made him a slave.
     Desperate and  with  no other  course  of action, don Juan escaped. The
violent foreman chased him and caught him on  a  country  road where he shot
don Juan in the chest and left him for dead.
     Don Juan was lying unconscious in the road, bleeding to death, when the
nagual  Julian  came  along.  Using  his  healer's knowledge, he stopped the
bleeding, took don Juan, who was still unconscious, home and cured him.
     The indications the spirit gave  the nagual Julian about don Juan were,
first,  a small  cyclone that lifted a  cone of dust on the road a couple of
yards from where he lay. The second omen was the thought which  had  crossed
the nagual Julian's  mind  an instant before he had heard  the report of the
gun a few yards away: that it was time to have an apprentice nagual. Moments
later,  the spirit  gave him the third  omen, when he ran to take cover  and
instead collided with the gunman,  putting him to flight, perhaps preventing
him from  shooting don Juan  a second time. A collision with someone was the
type of blunder which no sorcerer, much less a nagual, should ever make.
     The nagual Julian  immediately  evaluated the opportunity. When he  saw
don Juan he understood the reason for the spirit's manifestation: here was a
double man, a perfect candidate to be his apprentice nagual.
     This brought up a nagging rational concern for  me. I wanted to know if
sorcerers  could  interpret  an  omen  erroneously.  Don Juan  replied  that
although my question sounded perfectly legitimate, it was inapplicable, like
the majority  of my  questions, because I asked them based on my experiences
in  the