By Carlos Castaneda
"A guy of information is free...he has no honor, no dignity, no kin, no domestic, no nation, yet in simple terms existence to be lived."--don JuanIn 1961 a tender anthropologist subjected himself to a unprecedented apprenticeship to carry again a desirable glimpse of a Yaqui Indian's global of "non-ordinary fact" and the tough and unsafe street a guy needs to shuttle to turn into "a guy of knowledge." but at the convey of that global, hard to all that we think, he drew back.Then in 1968, Carlos Castaneda lower back to Mexico, to don Juan and his hallucinogenic medicinal drugs, and to an international of expertise no guy from our Western civilization had ever entered prior to.
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Additional resources for A Separate Reality: Further Conversations with Don Juan
I talked to them in Spanish but they deliberately avoided answering me; the women giggled every time I said something and the men smiled politely and turned their eyes away. It was as if they did not understand me, yet I was sure all of them spoke Spanish because I had heard them talking among themselves. After a while don Juan and the other old man came out and got into the truck and sat next to the driver. That appeared to be a signal for everyone to climb onto the flatbed of the truck. There were no side railings, and when the truck began to move we all hung onto a long rope that was tied to some hooks on the chassis.
I wanted to hear his interpretation of my vision, but he did not want to talk about it. He said that whatever I had experienced was nonsense in comparison to the omen. Don Juan kept on talking about Mescalito's light hovering over me and how everyone had seen it. "That was really something," he said. " Don Juan and I were obviously on two different avenues of thought. He was concerned with the importance of the events he had interpreted as an omen and I was obsessed with the details of the vision I had had.
I did not want to see him so I closed my eyes. And then I saw my mother. It was not the thought of my mother, the way I think of her ordinarily. This was a clear vision of her, standing by me. I felt desperate. I was trembling and wanted to escape. The vision of my mother was too disturbing, too alien to what I was pursuing in that peyote meeting. There was apparently no conscious way to avoid it. Perhaps I could have opened my eyes if I really wanted the vision to vanish, but instead I examined it in detail.
A Separate Reality: Further Conversations with Don Juan by Carlos Castaneda