It had gotten dark while don Juan was talking about breaking the mirror of self-reflection. I told him I was thoroughly exhausted, and we should cancel the rest of the trip and return home, but he maintained that we had to use every minute of our available time to review the sorcery stories or recollect by making my assemblage point move as many times as possible.
I was in a complaining mood. I said that a state of deep fatigue such as mine could only breed uncertainty and lack of conviction.
“Your uncertainty is to be expected,” don Juan said matter-of-factly. “After all, you are dealing with a new type of continuity. It takes time to get used to it. Warriors spend years in limbo where they are neither average men nor sorcerers.”
“What happens to them in the end?” I asked. “Do they choose sides?”
“No. They have no choice,” he replied. “All of them become aware of what they already are: sorcerers. The difficulty is that the mirror of self-reflection is extremely powerful and only lets its victims go after a ferocious struggle.”
He stopped talking and seemed lost in thought. His body entered into the state of rigidity I had seen before whenever he was engaged in what I characterized as reveries, but which he described as instances in which his assemblage point had moved and he was able to recollect.
“I’m going to tell you the story of a sorcerer’s ticket to impeccability,” he suddenly said after some thirty minutes of total silence. “I’m going to tell you the story of my death.”
He began to recount what had happened to him after his arrival in Durango still disguised in women’s clothes, following his month-long journey through central Mexico. He said that old Belisario took him directly to a hacienda to hide from the monstrous man who was chasing him.
As soon as he arrived, don Juan—very daringly in view of his taciturn nature—introduced himself to everyone in the house. There were seven beautiful women and a strange, unsociable man who didn’t utter a single word. Don Juan delighted the lovely women with his rendition of the monstrous man’s efforts to capture him. Above all, they were enchanted with the disguise which he still wore, and the story that went with it. They never tired of hearing the details of his trip, and all of them advised him on how to perfect the knowledge he had acquired during his journey. What surprised don Juan was their poise and assuredness, which were unbelievable to him.
The seven women were exquisite and they made him feel happy. He liked them and trusted them. They treated him with respect and consideration. But something in their eyes told him that under their facades of charm there existed a terrifying coldness, an aloofness he could never penetrate.
The thought occurred to him that in order for these strong and beautiful women to be so at ease and to have no regard for formalities, they had to be loose women. Yet it was obvious to him that they were not.
Don Juan was left alone to roam the property. He was dazzled by the huge mansion and its grounds. He had never seen anything like it. It was an old colonial house with a high surrounding wall. Inside were balconies with flowerpots and patios with enormous fruit trees that provided shade, privacy, and quiet.
There were large rooms, and on the ground floor airy corridors around the patios. On the upper floor there were mysterious bedrooms, where don Juan was not permitted to set foot.
During the following days don Juan was amazed by the profound interest the women took in his well-being. They did everything for him. They seemed to hang on his every word. Never before had people been so kind to him. But also, never before had he felt so solitary. He was always in the company of the beautiful, strange women, and yet he had never been so alone.
Don Juan believed that his feeling of aloneness came from being unable to predict the behavior of the women or to know their real feelings. He knew only what they told him about themselves.
A few days after his arrival, the woman who seemed to be their leader gave him some brand-new men’s clothes and told him that his woman’s disguise was no longer necessary, because whoever the monstrous man might have been, he was now nowhere in sight. She told him he was free to go whenever he pleased.
Don Juan begged to see Belisario, whom he had not seen since the day they arrived. The woman said that Belisario was gone. He had left word, however, that don Juan could stay in the house as long as he wanted—but only if he was in danger.
Don Juan declared he was in mortal danger. During his few days in the house, he had seen the monster constantly, always sneaking about the cultivated fields surrounding the house. The woman didn’t believe him and told him bluntly that he was a con artist, pretending to see the monster so they would take him in. She told him their house was not a place to loaf. She stated they were serious people who worked very hard and could not afford to keep a freeloader.
Don Juan was insulted. He stomped out of the house, but when he caught sight of the monster hiding behind the ornamental shrubbery bordering the walk, his fright immediately replaced his anger.
He rushed back into the house and begged the woman to let him stay. He promised to do peon labor for no wages if he could only remain at the hacienda.
She agreed, with the understanding that don Juan would accept two conditions: that he not ask any questions, and that he do exactly as he was told without requiring any explanations. She warned him that if he broke these rules his stay at the house would be in jeopardy.
“I stayed in the house really under protest,” don Juan continued. “I did not like to accept her conditions, but I knew that the monster was outside. In the house I was safe. I knew that the monstrous man was always stopped at an invisible boundary that encircled the house, at a distance of perhaps a hundred yards. Within that circle I was safe. As far as I could discern, there must have been something about that house that kept the monstrous man away, and that was all I cared about.
“I also realized that when the people of the house were around me the monster never appeared.”
After a few weeks with no change in his situation, the young man who don Juan believed had been living in the monster’s house disguised as old Belisario reappeared. He told don Juan that he had just arrived, that his name was Julian, and that he owned the hacienda.
Don Juan naturally asked him about his disguise. But the young man, looking him in the eye and without the slightest hesitation, denied knowledge of any disguise.
“How can you stand here in my own house and talk such rubbish?” he shouted at don Juan. “What do you take me for?”
“But—you are Belisario, aren’t you?” don Juan insisted.
“No,” the young man said. “Belisario is an old man. I am Julian and I’m young. Don’t you see?”
Don Juan meekly admitted that he had not been quite convinced that it was a disguise and immediately realized the absurdity of his statement. If being old was not a disguise, then it was a transformation, and that was even more absurd.
Don Juan’s confusion increased by the moment. He asked about the monster and the young man replied that he had no idea what monster he was talking about. He conceded that don Juan must have been scared by something, otherwise old Belisario would not have given him sanctuary. But whatever reason don Juan had for hiding, it was his personal business.
Don Juan was mortified by the coldness of his host’s tone and manner. Risking his anger, don Juan reminded him that they had met. His host replied that he had never seen him before that day, but that he was honoring Belisario’s wishes as he felt obliged to do.
The young man added that not only was he the owner of the house but that he was also in charge of every person in that household, including don Juan, who, by the act of hiding among them, had become a ward of the house. If don Juan didn’t like the arrangement, he was free to go and take his chances with the monster no one else was able to see.
Before he made up his mind one way or another, don Juan judiciously decided to ask what being a ward of the house involved.
The young man took don Juan to a section of the mansion that was under construction and said that that part of the house was symbolic of his own life and actions. It was unfinished. Construction was indeed underway, but chances were it might never be completed.
“You are one of the elements of that incomplete construction,” he said to don Juan. “Let’s say that you are the beam that will support the roof. Until we put it in place and put the roof on top of it, we won’t know whether it will support the weight. The master carpenter says it will. I am the master carpenter.”
This metaphorical explanation meant nothing to don Juan, who wanted to know what was expected of him in matters of manual labor.
The young man tried another approach. “I’m a nagual,” he explained. “I bring freedom. I’m the leader of the people in this house. You are in this house, and because of that you are part of it whether you like it or not.”
Don Juan looked at him dumbfounded, unable to say anything.
“I am the nagual Julian,” his host said, smiling. “Without my intervention, there is no way to freedom.”
Don Juan still didn’t understand. But he began to wonder about his safety in light of the man’s obviously erratic mind. He was so concerned with this unexpected development that he was not even curious about the use of the word nagual. He knew that nagual meant sorcerer, yet he was unable to take in the total implication of the nagual Julian’s words. Or perhaps, somehow, he understood it perfectly, although his conscious mind did not.
The young man stared at him for a moment and then said that don Juan’s actual job would involve being his personal valet and assistant. There would be no pay for this, but excellent room and board. From time to time there would be other small jobs for don Juan, jobs requiring special attention. He was to be in charge of either doing the jobs himself or seeing that they got done. For these special services he would be paid small amounts of money which would be put into an account kept for him by the other members of the household. Thus, should he ever want to leave, there would be a small amount of cash to tide him over.
The young man stressed that don Juan should not consider himself a prisoner, but that if he stayed he would have to work. And still more important than the work were the three requirements he had to fulfill. He had to make a serious effort to learn everything the women taught him. His conduct with all the members of the household must be exemplary, which meant that he would have to examine his behavior and attitude toward them every minute of the day.
And he was to address the young man, in direct conversation, as nagual, and when talking of him, to refer to him as the nagual Julian.
Don Juan accepted the terms grudgingly. But although he instantly plunged into his habitual sulkiness and moroseness, he learned his work quickly. What he didn’t understand was what was expected of him in matters of attitude and behavior. And even though he could not have put his finger on a concrete instance, he honestly believed that he was being lied to and exploited.
As his moroseness got the upper hand, he entered into a permanent sulk and hardly said a word to anyone.
It was then that the nagual Julian assembled all the members of his household and explained to them that even though he badly needed an assistant, he would abide by their decision. If they didn’t like the morose and unappealing attitude of his new orderly, they had the right to say so. If the majority disapproved of don Juan’s behavior, the young man would have to leave and take his chances with whatever was waiting for him outside, be it a monster or his own fabrication.
The nagual Julian then led them to the front of the house and challenged don Juan to show them the monstrous man. Don Juan pointed him out, but no one else saw him. Don Juan ran frantically from one person to another, insisting that the monster was there, imploring them to help him. They ignored his pleas and called him crazy.
It was then that the nagual Julian put don Juan’s fate to a vote. The unsociable man didn’t choose to vote. He shrugged his shoulders and walked away. All the women spoke out against don Juan’s staying. They argued that he was simply too morose and bad-tempered. During the heat of the argument, however, the nagual Julian completely changed his attitude and became don Juan’s defender. He suggested that the women might be misjudging the poor young man, that he was perhaps not crazy at all and maybe actually did see a monster. He said that perhaps his moroseness was the result of his worries. And a great fight ensued. Tempers flared, and in no time the women were yelling at the nagual.
Don Juan heard the argument but was past caring. He knew they were going to throw him out and that the monstrous man would certainly capture him and take him into slavery. In his utter helplessness he began to weep.
His despair and his tears swayed some of the enraged women. The leader of the women proposed another choice: a three-week trial period during which don Juan’s actions and attitude would be evaluated daily by all the women. She warned don Juan that if there was one single complaint about his attitude during that time, he would be kicked out for good.
Don Juan recounted how the nagual Julian in a fatherly manner took him aside and proceeded to drive a wedge of fear into him. He whispered to don Juan that he knew for a fact that the monster not only existed but was roaming the property. Nevertheless, because of certain previous agreements with the women, agreements he could not divulge, he was not permitted to tell the women what he knew. He urged don Juan to stop demonstrating his stubborn, morose personality and pretend to be the opposite.
“Pretend to be happy and satisfied,” he said to don Juan. “If you don’t, the women will kick you out. That prospect alone should be enough to scare you. Use that fear as a real driving force. It’s the only thing you have.”
Any hesitation or second thoughts that don Juan might have had were instantly dispelled at the sight of the monstrous man. As the monster waited impatiently at the invisible line, he seemed aware of how precarious don Juan’s position was. It was as if the monster were ravenously hungry, anxiously anticipating a feast.
The nagual Julian drove his wedge of fear a bit deeper.
“If I were you,” he told don Juan, “I would behave like an angel. I’d act any way these women want me to, as long as it kept me from that hellish beast.”
“Then you do see the monster?” don Juan asked.
“Of course I do,” he replied. “And I also see that if you leave, or if the women kick you out, the monster will capture you and put you in chains. That will change your attitude for sure. Slaves don’t have any choice but to behave well with their masters. They say that the pain inflicted by a monster like that is beyond anything.”
Don Juan knew that his only hope was to make himself as congenial as he possibly could. The fear of falling prey to that monstrous man was indeed a powerful psychological force.
Don Juan told me that by some quirk in his own nature he was boorish only with the women; he never behaved badly in the presence of the nagual Julian. For some reason that don Juan could not determine, in his mind the nagual was not someone he could attempt to affect either consciously or subconsciously.
The other member of the household, the unsociable man, was of no consequence to don Juan. Don Juan had formed an opinion the moment he met him, and had discounted him. He thought that the man was weak, indolent, and overpowered by those beautiful women. Later on, when he was more aware of the nagual’s personality, he knew that the man was definitely overshadowed by the glitter of the others.
As time passed, the nature of leadership and authority among them became evident to don Juan. He was surprised and somehow delighted to realize that no one was better or higher than another. Some of them performed functions of which the others were incapable, but that did not make them superior. It simply made them different. However, the ultimate decision in everything was automatically the nagual Julian’s, and he apparently took great pleasure in expressing his decisions in the form of bestial jokes he played on everyone.
There was also a mystery woman among them. They referred to her as Talia, the nagual woman. Nobody told don Juan who she was, or what being the nagual woman meant. It was made clear to him, however, that one of the seven women was Talia. They all talked so much about her that don Juan’s curiosity was aroused to tremendous heights. He asked so many questions that the woman who was the leader of the other women told him that she would teach him to read and write so that he might make better use of his deductive abilities. She said that he must learn to write things down rather than committing them to memory. In this fashion he would accumulate a huge collection of facts about Talia, facts that he ought to read and study until the truth became evident.
Perhaps anticipating the cynical retort he had in mind, she argued that, although it might seem an absurd endeavor, finding out who Talia was was one of the most difficult and rewarding tasks anyone could undertake.
That, she said, was the fun part. She added more seriously that it was imperative for don Juan to learn basic bookkeeping in order to help the nagual manage the property.
Immediately she started daily lessons and in one year don Juan had progressed so rapidly and extensively that he was able to read, write, and keep account books.
Everything had occurred so smoothly that he didn’t notice the changes in himself, the most remarkable of which was a sense of detachment. As far as he was concerned, he retained his impression that nothing was happening in the house, simply because he still was unable to identify with the members of the household. Those people were mirrors that did not yield reflection.
“I took refuge in that house for nearly three years,” don Juan went on. “Countless things happened to me during that time, but I didn’t think they were really important. Or at least I had chosen to consider them unimportant. I was convinced that for three years all I had done was hide, shake with fear, and work like a mule.”
Don Juan laughed and told me that at one point, at the urging of the nagual Julian, he agreed to learn sorcery so that he might rid himself of the fear that consumed him each time he saw the monster keeping vigil. But although the nagual Julian talked to him a great deal, he seemed more interested in playing jokes on him. So he believed it was fair and accurate to say that he didn’t learn anything even loosely related to sorcery, simply because it was apparent that nobody in that house knew or practiced sorcery.
One day, however, he found himself walking purposefully, but without any volition on his part, toward the invisible line that held the monster at bay. The monstrous man was, of course, watching the house as usual. But that day, instead of turning back and running to seek shelter inside the house, don Juan kept walking. An incredible surge of energy made him advance with no concern for his safety.
A feeling of total detachment allowed him to face the monster that had terrorized him for so many years.
Don Juan expected the monster to lurch out and grab him by the throat, but that thought no longer created any terror in him. From a distance of a few inches he stared at the monstrous man for an instant and then stepped over the line. And the monster didn’t attack him, as don Juan had always feared he would, but became blurry. He lost his definition and turned into a misty whiteness, a barely perceptible patch of fog.
Don Juan advanced toward the fog and it receded as if in fear. He chased the patch of fog over the fields until he knew there was nothing left of the monster. He knew then that there had never been one. He could not, however, explain what he had feared. He had the vague sensation that although he knew exactly what the monster was, something was preventing him from thinking about it. He immediately thought that that rascal, the nagual Julian, knew the truth about what was happening. Don Juan would not have put it past the nagual Julian to play that kind of trick.
Before confronting him, don Juan gave himself the pleasure of walking unescorted all over the property. Never before had he been able to do that. Whenever he had needed to venture beyond that invisible line, he had been escorted by a member of the household. That had put a serious constraint on his mobility. The two or three times he had attempted to walk unescorted, he had found that he risked annihilation at the hands of the monstrous being.
Filled with a strange vigor, don Juan went into the house, but instead of celebrating his new freedom and power, he assembled the entire household and angrily demanded that they explain their lies. He accused them of making him work as their slave by playing on his fear of a nonexistent monster.
The women laughed as if he were telling the funniest joke. Only the nagual Julian seemed contrite, especially when don Juan, his voice cracking with resentment, described his three years of constant fear. The nagual Julian broke down and wept openly as don Juan demanded an apology for the shameful way he had been exploited.
“But we told you the monster didn’t exist,” one of the women said.
Don Juan glared at the nagual Julian, who cowered meekly.
“He knew the monster existed,” don Juan yelled, pointing an accusing finger at the nagual.
But at the same time he was aware he was talking nonsense, because the nagual Julian had originally told him that the monster didn’t exist.
“The monster didn’t exist,” don Juan corrected himself, shaking with rage. “It was one of his tricks.”
The nagual Julian, weeping uncontrollably, apologized to don Juan, while the women howled with laughter. Don Juan had never seen them laughing so hard.
“You knew all along that there was never any monster. You lied to me,” he accused the nagual Julian, who, with his head down and his eyes filled with tears, admitted his guilt.
“I have certainly lied to you,” he mumbled. “There was never any monster. What you saw as a monster was simply a surge of energy. Your fear made it into a monstrosity.”
“You told me that that monster was going to devour me. How could you have lied to me like that?” don Juan shouted at him.
“Being devoured by that monster was symbolic,” the nagual Julian replied softly. “Your real enemy is your stupidity. You are in mortal danger of being devoured by that monster now.”
Don Juan yelled that he didn’t have to put up with silly statements. And he insisted they reassure him there were no longer any restrictions on his freedom to leave.
“You can go any time you want,” the nagual Julian said curtly.
“You mean I can go right now?” don Juan asked.
“Do you want to?” the nagual asked.
“Of course, I want to leave this miserable place and the miserable bunch of liars who live here,” don Juan shouted.
The nagual Julian ordered that don Juan’s savings be paid him in full, and with shining eyes wished him happiness, prosperity, and wisdom.
The women didn’t want to say goodbye to him. They stared at him until he lowered his head to avoid their burning eyes.
Don Juan put his money in his pocket and without a backward glance walked out, glad his ordeal was over. The outside world was a question mark to him. He yearned for it. Inside that house he had been removed from it. He was young, strong. He had money in his pocket and a thirst for living.
He left them without saying thank you. His anger, bottled up by his fear for so long, was finally able to surface. He had even learned to like them—and now he felt betrayed. He wanted to run as far away from that place as he could.
In the city, he had his first unpleasant encounter. Traveling was very difficult and very expensive. He learned that if he wanted to leave the city at once he would not be able to choose his destination, but would have to wait for whatever muleteers were willing to take him. A few days later he left with a reputable muleteer for the port of Mazatlan.
“Although I was only twenty-three years old at the time,” don Juan said, “I felt I had lived a full life. The only thing I had not experienced was sex. The nagual Julian had told me that it was the fact I had not been with a woman that gave me my strength and endurance, and that he had little time left to set things up before the world would catch up with me.”
“What did he mean, don Juan?” I asked.
“He meant that I had no idea about the kind of hell I was heading for,” don Juan replied, “and that he had very little time to set up my barricades, my silent protectors.”
“What’s a silent protector, don Juan?” I asked.
“It’s a lifesaver,” he said. “A silent protector is a surge of inexplicable energy that comes to a warrior when nothing else works.
“My benefactor knew what direction my life would take once I was no longer under his influence. So he struggled to give me as many sorcerers’ options as possible. Those sorcerers’ options were to be my silent protectors.”
“What are sorcerer’s options?” I asked.
“Positions of the assemblage point,” he replied, “the infinite number of positions which the assemblage point can reach. In each and every one of those shallow or deep shifts, a sorcerer can strengthen his new continuity.”
He reiterated that everything he had experienced either with his benefactor or while under his guidance had been the result of either a minute or a considerable shift of his assemblage point. His benefactor had made him experience countless sorcerers’ options, more than the number that would normally be necessary, because he knew that don Juan’s destiny would be to be called upon to explain what sorcerers were and what they did.
“The effect of those shifts of the assemblage point is cumulative,” he continued. “It weighs on you whether you understand it or not. That accumulation worked for me, at the end.
“Very soon after I came into contact with the nagual, my point of assemblage moved so profoundly that I was capable of seeing. I saw an energy field as a monster. And the point kept on moving until I saw the monster as what it really was: an energy field. I had succeeded in seeing, and I didn’t know it. I thought I had done nothing, had learned nothing. I was stupid beyond belief.”
“You were too young, don Juan,” I said. “You couldn’t have done otherwise.”
He laughed. He was on the verge of replying, when he seemed to change his mind. He shrugged his shoulders and went on with his account.
Don Juan said that when he arrived in Mazatlan he was practically a seasoned muleteer, and was offered a permanent job running a mule train. He was very satisfied with the arrangements. The idea that he would be making the trip between Durango and Mazatlan pleased him no end. There were two things, however, that bothered him: first, that he had not yet been with a woman, and second, a strong but unexplainable urge to go north. He didn’t know why. He knew only that somewhere to the north something was waiting for him. The feeling persisted so strongly that in the end he was forced to refuse the security of a permanent job so he could travel north.
His superior strength and a new and unaccountable cunning enabled him to find jobs even where there were none to be had, as he steadily worked his way north to the state of Sinaloa. And there his journey ended. He met a young widow, like himself a Yaqui Indian, who had been the wife of a man to whom don Juan was indebted.
He attempted to repay his indebtedness by helping the widow and her children, and without being aware of it, he fell into the role of husband and father.
His new responsibilities put a great burden on him. He lost his freedom of movement and even his urge to journey farther north. He felt compensated for that loss, however, by the profound affection he felt for the woman and her children.
“I experienced moments of sublime happiness as a husband and father,” don Juan said. “But it was at those moments when I first noticed that something was terribly wrong. I realized that I was losing the feeling of detachment, the aloofness I had acquired during my time in the nagual Julian’s house. Now I found myself identifying with the people who surrounded me.”
Don Juan said that it took about a year of unrelenting abrasion to make him lose every vestige of the new personality he had acquired at the nagual’s house. He had begun with a profound yet aloof affection for the woman and her children. This detached affection allowed him to play the role of husband and father with abandon and gusto. As time went by, his detached affection turned into a desperate passion that made him lose his effectiveness.
Gone was his feeling of detachment, which was what had given him the power to love. Without that detachment, he had only mundane needs, desperation, and hopelessness: the distinctive features of the world of everyday life. Gone as well was his enterprise. During his years at the nagual’s house, he had acquired a dynamism that had served him well when he set out on his own.
But the most draining pain was knowing that his physical energy had waned. Without actually being in ill health, one day he became totally paralyzed. He didn’t feel pain. He didn’t panic. It was as if his body had understood that he would get the peace and quiet he so desperately needed only if it ceased to move.
As he lay helpless in bed, he did nothing but think. And he came to realize that he had failed because he didn’t have an abstract purpose. He knew that the people in the nagual’s house were extraordinary because they pursued freedom as their abstract purpose. He didn’t understand what freedom was, but he knew that it was the opposite of his own concrete needs.
His lack of an abstract purpose had made him so weak and ineffective that he was incapable of rescuing his adopted family from their abysmal poverty. Instead, they had pulled him back to the very misery, sadness, and despair which he himself had known prior to encountering the nagual.
As he reviewed his life, he became aware that the only time he had not been poor and had not had concrete needs was during his years with the nagual. Poverty was the state of being that had reclaimed him when his concrete needs overpowered him.
For the first time since he had been shot and wounded so many years before, don Juan fully understood that the nagual Julian was indeed the nagual, the leader, and his benefactor. He understood what it was his benefactor had meant when he said to him that there was no freedom without the nagual’s intervention. There was now no doubt in don Juan’s mind that his benefactor and all the members of his benefactor’s household were sorcerers. But what don Juan understood with the most painful clarity was that he had thrown away his chance to be with them.
When the pressure of his physical helplessness seemed unendurable, his paralysis ended as mysteriously as it had begun. One day he simply got out of bed and went to work. But his luck didn’t get any better. He could hardly make ends meet.
Another year passed. He didn’t prosper, but there was one thing in which he succeeded beyond his expectations: he made a total recapitulation of his life. He understood then why he loved and could not leave those children, and why he could not stay with them, and he also understood why he could neither act one way nor the other.
Don Juan knew that he had reached a complete impasse, and that to die like a warrior was the only action congruous with what he had learned at his benefactor’s house. So every night, after a frustrating day of hardship and meaningless toil, he patiently waited for his death to come.
He was so utterly convinced of his end that his wife and her children waited with him—in a gesture of solidarity, they too wanted to die. All four sat in perfect immobility, night after night, without fail, and recapitulated their lives while they waited for death.
Don Juan had admonished them with the same words his benefactor had used to admonish him.
“Don’t wish for it,” his benefactor had said. “Just wait until it comes. Don’t try to imagine what death is like. Just be there to be caught in its flow.”
The time spent quietly strengthened them mentally, but physically their emaciated bodies told of their losing battle.
One day, however, don Juan thought his luck was beginning to change. He found temporary work with a team of farm laborers during the harvest season. But the spirit had other designs for him. A couple of days after he started work, someone stole his hat. It was impossible for him to buy a new one, but he had to have one to work under the scorching sun.
He fashioned a protection of sorts by covering his head with rags and handfuls of straw. His coworkers began to laugh and taunt him. He ignored them. Compared to the lives of the three people who depended on his labor, how he looked had little meaning for him. But the men didn’t stop. They yelled and laughed until the foreman, fearing that they would riot, fired don Juan.
A wild rage overwhelmed don Juan’s sense of sobriety and caution. He knew he had been wronged. The moral right was with him. He let out a chilling, piercing scream, and grabbed one of the men, and lifted him over his shoulders, meaning to crack his back. But he thought of those hungry children. He thought of their disciplined little bodies as they sat with him night after night awaiting death. He put the man down and walked away.
Don Juan said that he sat down at the edge of the field where the men were working, and all the despair that had accumulated in him finally exploded. It was a silent rage, but not against the people around him. He raged against himself. He raged until all his anger was spent.
“I sat there in view of all those people and began to weep,” don Juan continued. “They looked at me as if I were crazy, which I really was, but I didn’t care. I was beyond caring.
“The foreman felt sorry for me and came over to give a word of advice. He thought I was weeping for myself. He couldn’t have possibly known that I was weeping for the spirit.”
Don Juan said that a silent protector came to him after his rage was spent. It was in the form of an unaccountable surge of energy that left him with the clear feeling that his death was imminent. He knew that he was not going to have time to see his adopted family again. He apologized to them in a loud voice for not having had the fortitude and wisdom necessary to deliver them from their hell on earth.
The farm workers continued to laugh and mock him. He vaguely heard them. Tears swelled in his chest as he addressed and thanked the spirit for having placed him in the nagual’s path, giving him an undeserved chance to be free. He heard the howls of the uncomprehending men. He heard their insults and yells as if from within himself. They had the right to ridicule him. He had been at the portals of eternity and had been unaware of it.
“I understood how right my benefactor had been,” don Juan said. “My stupidity was a monster and it had already devoured me. The instant I had that thought, I knew that anything I could say or do was useless. I had lost my chance. Now, I was only clowning for those men. The spirit could not possibly have cared about my despair. There were too many of us—men with our own petty private hells, born of our stupidity—for the spirit to pay attention.
“I knelt and faced the southeast. I thanked my benefactor again and told the spirit I was ashamed. So ashamed. And with my last breath I said goodbye to a world which could have been wonderful if I had had wisdom. An immense wave came for me then. I felt it, first. Then I heard it, and finally I saw it coming for me from the southeast, over the fields. It overtook me and its blackness covered me. And the light of my life was gone. My hell had ended. I was finally dead! I was finally free!”
Don Juan’s story devastated me. He ignored all my efforts to talk about it. He said that at another time and in another setting we were going to discuss it. He demanded instead that we get on with what he had come to do: elucidate the mastery of awareness.
A couple of days later, as we were coming down from the mountains, he suddenly began to talk about his story. We had sat down to rest. Actually, I was the one who had stopped to catch my breath. Don Juan was not even breathing hard.
“The sorcerers’ struggle for assuredness is the most dramatic struggle there is,” don Juan said. “It’s painful and costly. Many, many times it has actually cost sorcerers their lives.”
He explained that in order for any sorcerer to have complete certainty about his actions, or about his position in the sorcerers’ world, or to be capable of utilizing intelligently his new continuity, he must invalidate the continuity of his old life. Only then can his actions have the necessary assuredness to fortify and balance the tenuousness and instability of his new continuity.
“The sorcerer seers of modern times call this process of invalidation the ticket to impeccability, or the sorcerers’ symbolic but final death,” don Juan said. “And in that field in Sinaloa, I got my ticket to impeccability. I died there. The tenuousness of my new continuity cost me my life.”
“But did you die, don Juan, or did you just faint?” I asked, trying not to sound cynical.
“I died in that field,” he said. “I felt my awareness flowing out of me and heading toward the Eagle. But as I had impeccably recapitulated my life, the Eagle did not swallow my awareness. The Eagle spat me out. Because my body was dead in the field, the Eagle did not let me go through to freedom. It was as if it told me to go back and try again.
“I ascended the heights of blackness and descended again to the light of the earth. And then I found myself in a shallow grave at the edge of the field, covered with rocks and dirt.”
Don Juan said that he knew instantly what to do. After digging himself out he rearranged the grave to look as if a body were still there, and slipped away. He felt strong and determined. He knew that he had to return to his benefactor’s house. But, before he started on his return journey, he wanted to see his family and explain to them that he was a sorcerer and for that reason he could not stay with them. He wanted to explain that his downfall had been not knowing that sorcerers can never make a bridge to join the people of the world. But, if people desire to do so, they have to make a bridge to join sorcerers.
“I went home,” don Juan continued, “but the house was empty. The shocked neighbors told me that farm workers had come earlier with the news that I had dropped dead at work, and my wife and her children had left.”
“How long were you dead, don Juan?” I asked.
“A whole day, apparently,” he said.
Don Juan’s smile played on his lips. His eyes seemed to be made of shiny obsidian. He was watching my reaction, waiting for my comments.
“What became of your family, don Juan?” I asked.
“Ah, the question of a sensible man,” he remarked. “For a moment I thought you were going to ask me about my death!”
I confessed that I had been about to, but that I knew he was seeing my question as I formulated it in my mind, and just to be contrary I asked something else. I didn’t mean it as a joke, but it made him laugh.
“My family disappeared that day,” he said. “My wife was a survivor. She had to be, with the conditions we lived under. Since I had been waiting for my death, she believed I had gotten what I wanted. There was nothing for her to do there, so she left.
“I missed the children and I consoled myself with the thought that it wasn’t my fate to be with them. However, sorcerers have a peculiar bent. They live exclusively in the twilight of a feeling best described by the words ‘and yet. . .’ When everything is crumbling down around them, sorcerers accept that the situation is terrible, and then immediately escape to the twilight of ‘and yet. . .’
“I did that with my feelings for those children and the woman. With great discipline—especially on the part of the oldest boy—they had recapitulated their lives with me. Only the spirit could decide the outcome of that affection.”
He reminded me that he had taught me how warriors acted in such situations. They did their utmost, and then, without any remorse or regrets, they relaxed and let the spirit decide the outcome.
“What was the decision of the spirit, don Juan?” I asked.
He scrutinized me without answering. I knew he was completely aware of my motive for asking. I had experienced a similar affection and a similar loss.
“The decision of the spirit is another basic core,” he said. “Sorcery stories are built around it. We’ll talk about that specific decision when we get to discussing that basic core.
“Now, wasn’t there a question about my death you wanted to ask?”
“If they thought you were dead, why the shallow grave?” I asked. “Why didn’t they dig a real grave and bury you?”
“That’s more like you,” he said laughing. “I asked the same question myself and I realized that all those farm workers were pious people. I was a Christian. Christians are not buried just like that, nor are they left to rot like dogs. I think they were waiting for my family to come and claim the body and give it a proper burial. But my family never came.”
“Did you go and look for them, don Juan?” I asked.
“No. Sorcerers never look for anyone,” he replied. “And I was a sorcerer. I had paid with my life for the mistake of not knowing I was a sorcerer, and that sorcerers never approach anyone.
“From that day on, I have only accepted the company or the care of people or warriors who are dead, as I am.”
Don Juan said that he went back to his benefactor’s house, where all of them knew instantly what he had discovered. And they treated him as if he had not left at all.
The nagual Julian commented that because of his peculiar nature don Juan had taken a long time to die.
“My benefactor told me then that a sorcerer’s ticket to freedom was his death,” don Juan went on. “He said that he himself had paid with his life for that ticket to freedom, as had everyone else in his household. And that now we were equals in our condition of being dead.”
“Am I dead too, don Juan?” I asked.
“You are dead,” he said. “The sorcerers’ grand trick, however, is to be aware that they are dead. Their ticket to impeccability must be wrapped in awareness. In that wrapping, sorcerers say, their ticket is kept in mint condition.
“For sixty years, I’ve kept mine in mint condition.”
(Carlos Castaneda, The Power of Silence)