03-26-2014, 12:02 AM
FROM CARLOS CASTANEDA'S BOOK A SEPARATE REALITY:
"Take Sacateca, he's a man of knowledge and his predilection is dancing. So he dances and knows."
"Is the predilection of a man of knowledge something he does in order to know?"
"Yes, that is correct."
"But how could dancing help Sacateca to know?"
"One can say that Sacateca dances with all he has."
"Does he dance like I dance? I mean like dancing?"
"Let's say that he dances like I see and not like you may dance."
"Does he also see the way you see?"
"Yes, but he also dances."
"How does Sacateca dance?"
"It's hard to explain that. It is a peculiar way of dancing he does when he wants to know. But all I can say about it is that, unless you understand the ways of a man who knows, it is impossible to talk about dancing or seeing."
Have you seen him doing his dancing?"
"Yes. However, it is not possible for everyone who looks at his dancing to see that it is his peculiar way of knowing."
I knew Sacateca, or at least I knew who he was. We had met and once I had bought him a beer. He was very polite and told me I should feel free to stop at his house anytime I wanted to. I toyed for a long time with the idea of visiting him but I did not tell don Juan. On the afternoon of May 14, 1962, I drove up to Sacateca's house; he had given me directions how to get there and I had no trouble finding it. It was on a corner and had a fence all around it. The gate was closed. I walked around it to see if I could peek inside the house. It appeared to be deserted.
"Don Elias," I called out loud. The chickens got frightened and scattered about cackling furiously. A small dog came to the fence. I expected it to bark at me; instead, it just sat there looking at me. I called out once again and the chickens had another burst of cackling.
An old woman came out of the house. I asked her to call don Elias.
"He's not here," she said.
"Where can I find him?"
"He's in the fields."
"Where in the fields?"
"I don't know. Come back in the late afternoon. Hell be here around five."
"Are you don Elias wife?"
"Yes, I'm his wife," she said and smiled.
I tried to ask her about Sacateca but she excused herself and said that she did not speak Spanish well. I got into my car and drove away.
I returned to the house around six o'clock. I drove to the door and yelled Sacateca's name. This time he came out of the house. I turned on my tape recorder, which in its brown leather case looked like a camera hanging from my shoulder. He seemed to recognize me.
"Oh, it's you," he said, smiling. "How's Juan?"
"He's fine. But how are you, don Elias?"
He did not answer. He seemed to be nervous. Overtly he was very composed, but I felt that he was ill at ease.
"Has Juan sent you here on some sort of errand?"
"No. I came here by myself."
"What in the world for?"
His question seemed to betray very bona fide surprise.
"I just wanted to talk to you," I said, hoping to sound as casual as possible. "Don Juan has told me marvelous things about you and I got curious and wanted to ask you a few questions."
Sacateca was standing in front of me. His body was lean and wiry. He was wearing khaki pants and shirt. His eyes were half-closed; he seemed to be sleepy or perhaps drunk. His mouth was open a bit and his lower lip hung. I noticed that he was breathing deeply and seemed to be almost snoring. The thought came to me that Sacateca was undoubtedly plastered out of his mind. But that thought seemed to be very incongruous because only a few minutes before, when he came out of his house, he had been very alert and aware of my presence.
"What do you want to talk about?" he finally said.
His voice was tired; it was as though his words dragged after each other. I felt very uneasy. It was as if his tiredness was contagious and pulling me.
"Nothing in particular," I answered. "I just came to chat with you in a friendly way. You once asked me to come to your house."
"Yes, I did, but it's not the same now."
"Why isn't it the same?"
"Don't you talk with Juan?"
"Yes, I do."
"Then what do you want with me?"
"I thought maybe I could ask you some questions?"
"Ask Juan. Isn't he teaching you?"
"He is, but just the same I would like to ask you about what he is teaching me, and have your opinion. This way I'll be able to know what to do."
"Why do you want to do that? Don't you trust Juan?"
"I do."
"Then why don't you ask him to tell you what you want to know?"
"I do. And he tells me. But if you could also tell me about what don Juan is teaching me, perhaps I will understand better."
"Juan can tell you everything. He alone can do that. Don't you understand that?"
"I do, but then I'd like to talk with people like you, don Elias. One does not find a man of knowledge every day."
"Juan is a man of knowledge."
"I know that."
"Then why are you talking to me?"
"I said I came to be friends,"
"No, you didn't. There is something else about you this time."
I wanted to explain myself and all I could do was mumble incoherently. Sacateca did not say anything. He seemed to listen attentively. His eyes were half-closed again but I felt he was peering at me. He nodded almost imperceptibly. Then his lids opened and I saw his eyes. He seemed to be looking past me. He casually tapped the floor with the tip of his right foot, just behind his left heel. His legs were slightly arched; his arms were limp against his sides. Then he lifted his-right arm; his hand was open with the palm turned perpendicular to the ground; his fingers were extended and pointing toward me. He let his hand wobble a couple of times before he brought it to my face level. He held it in that position for an instant and then he said a few words to me. His voice was very clear, yet the words dragged.
After a moment he dropped his hand to his side and remained motionless, taking a strange position. He was standing, resting on the ball of his left foot. His right foot was crossed behind the heel of the left foot and he was tapping the floor rhythmically and gently with the tip of his right foot
I felt an unwarranted apprehension, a form of restlessness. My thoughts seemed to be dissociated. I was thinking unrelated nonsensical thoughts that had nothing to do with what was going on. I noticed my discomfort and tried to steer my thoughts back to the situation at hand, but I couldn't in spite of a great struggle. It was as if some force was keeping me from concentrating or thinking relevant thoughts.
Sacateca had not said a word, and I didn't know what else to say or do. Quite automatically, I turned around and left.
Later on I felt compelled to tell don Juan about my encounter with Sacateca. Don Juan roared with laughter.
"What really took place there?" I asked.
"Sacateca danced!" don Juan said. "He saw you, then he danced."
"What did he do to me? I felt very cold and dizzy."
"He apparently didn't like you and stopped you by tossing a word at you."
"How could he possibly do that?" I exclaimed incredulously.
"Very simple; he stopped you with his will."
"What did you say?"
"He stopped you with his will!"
The explanation did not suffice. His statements sounded like gibberish to me. I tried to probe him further, but he could not explain the event to my satisfaction.
Obviously that event or any event that occurred within this alien system of sensible interpretation could be explained or understood only in terms of the units of meaning proper to that system. This work is, therefore, a reportage and should be read as a reportage. The system I recorded was incomprehensible to me, thus the pretense to anything other than reporting about it would be misleading and impertinent. In this respect I have adopted the phenomenological method and have striven to deal with sorcery solely as phenomena that were presented to me. I, as the perceiver, recorded what I perceived, and at the moment of recording I endeavored to suspend judgment.
MY COMMENT:
I have empirically verified much of what Castaneda's don Juan taught as indeed valid when dealing with Mother Nature. His knowledge about the nature of reality is indeed correct and I STRONGLY DOUBT Castaneda made the character of don Juan up! He would have had to have been a literary genius and, from my studies, I believe Castaneda was indeed as he portrayed himself in his books: a person who could NEVER make up such an intricate philosophy about dealing directly with the natural world.
I am a musical, dancing sorcerer warrior
I AM THE REAL THING!!!
Coupled with being an advanced bodybuilding martial artist as well
My ability to 'see' in don Juanian manner grows stronger and more reliable all the time. It is the direct byproduct of being to stop my Internal dialogue at will and being on great terms with Death. Without being able to do these two very important things there is little to be gained on the true spiritual path. You will have no direct experiences with the Spirit unless you take power plants and those revelations can be quite engulfing, but tend to proverbially evaporate, like a dream, leaving you with a possibly irreparably damaged consciousness and no permanent progress. Power plants can 'point the way', but THEY are NOT the way.
Sadly, many rock stars found this out the hard way and are dead or completely burnt out now
I've learned...
THERE ARE NO FREE RIDES WITH THE SPIRIT
IF YOU DON'T PUT IN THE PROPER WORK
YOU WILL HAVE NO SPIRITUAL PROGRESS!!!
The goal to reach for, I have learned, is to impress the Spirit into giving you 'Gifts of the Spirit'. Such sacred gifts are essential to growing strong in the Spirit very, very quickly. If you are living in a way in which the Spirit finds detestable you're literally out of luck UNLESS you show signs of really wanting to please the Spirit by the way you think, talk and live.
VIRTUE IS THE NATURE OF THE UNIVERSE
AND THE UNIVERSE CAN RESPOND WITH TREMENDOUS LOVING AFFECTION
TO THE PROPERLY GRATEFUL AND APPRECIATIVE!!!
I strongly suggest you respect yourselves, people
Time is much shorter than you may think!!!
"Take Sacateca, he's a man of knowledge and his predilection is dancing. So he dances and knows."
"Is the predilection of a man of knowledge something he does in order to know?"
"Yes, that is correct."
"But how could dancing help Sacateca to know?"
"One can say that Sacateca dances with all he has."
"Does he dance like I dance? I mean like dancing?"
"Let's say that he dances like I see and not like you may dance."
"Does he also see the way you see?"
"Yes, but he also dances."
"How does Sacateca dance?"
"It's hard to explain that. It is a peculiar way of dancing he does when he wants to know. But all I can say about it is that, unless you understand the ways of a man who knows, it is impossible to talk about dancing or seeing."
Have you seen him doing his dancing?"
"Yes. However, it is not possible for everyone who looks at his dancing to see that it is his peculiar way of knowing."
I knew Sacateca, or at least I knew who he was. We had met and once I had bought him a beer. He was very polite and told me I should feel free to stop at his house anytime I wanted to. I toyed for a long time with the idea of visiting him but I did not tell don Juan. On the afternoon of May 14, 1962, I drove up to Sacateca's house; he had given me directions how to get there and I had no trouble finding it. It was on a corner and had a fence all around it. The gate was closed. I walked around it to see if I could peek inside the house. It appeared to be deserted.
"Don Elias," I called out loud. The chickens got frightened and scattered about cackling furiously. A small dog came to the fence. I expected it to bark at me; instead, it just sat there looking at me. I called out once again and the chickens had another burst of cackling.
An old woman came out of the house. I asked her to call don Elias.
"He's not here," she said.
"Where can I find him?"
"He's in the fields."
"Where in the fields?"
"I don't know. Come back in the late afternoon. Hell be here around five."
"Are you don Elias wife?"
"Yes, I'm his wife," she said and smiled.
I tried to ask her about Sacateca but she excused herself and said that she did not speak Spanish well. I got into my car and drove away.
I returned to the house around six o'clock. I drove to the door and yelled Sacateca's name. This time he came out of the house. I turned on my tape recorder, which in its brown leather case looked like a camera hanging from my shoulder. He seemed to recognize me.
"Oh, it's you," he said, smiling. "How's Juan?"
"He's fine. But how are you, don Elias?"
He did not answer. He seemed to be nervous. Overtly he was very composed, but I felt that he was ill at ease.
"Has Juan sent you here on some sort of errand?"
"No. I came here by myself."
"What in the world for?"
His question seemed to betray very bona fide surprise.
"I just wanted to talk to you," I said, hoping to sound as casual as possible. "Don Juan has told me marvelous things about you and I got curious and wanted to ask you a few questions."
Sacateca was standing in front of me. His body was lean and wiry. He was wearing khaki pants and shirt. His eyes were half-closed; he seemed to be sleepy or perhaps drunk. His mouth was open a bit and his lower lip hung. I noticed that he was breathing deeply and seemed to be almost snoring. The thought came to me that Sacateca was undoubtedly plastered out of his mind. But that thought seemed to be very incongruous because only a few minutes before, when he came out of his house, he had been very alert and aware of my presence.
"What do you want to talk about?" he finally said.
His voice was tired; it was as though his words dragged after each other. I felt very uneasy. It was as if his tiredness was contagious and pulling me.
"Nothing in particular," I answered. "I just came to chat with you in a friendly way. You once asked me to come to your house."
"Yes, I did, but it's not the same now."
"Why isn't it the same?"
"Don't you talk with Juan?"
"Yes, I do."
"Then what do you want with me?"
"I thought maybe I could ask you some questions?"
"Ask Juan. Isn't he teaching you?"
"He is, but just the same I would like to ask you about what he is teaching me, and have your opinion. This way I'll be able to know what to do."
"Why do you want to do that? Don't you trust Juan?"
"I do."
"Then why don't you ask him to tell you what you want to know?"
"I do. And he tells me. But if you could also tell me about what don Juan is teaching me, perhaps I will understand better."
"Juan can tell you everything. He alone can do that. Don't you understand that?"
"I do, but then I'd like to talk with people like you, don Elias. One does not find a man of knowledge every day."
"Juan is a man of knowledge."
"I know that."
"Then why are you talking to me?"
"I said I came to be friends,"
"No, you didn't. There is something else about you this time."
I wanted to explain myself and all I could do was mumble incoherently. Sacateca did not say anything. He seemed to listen attentively. His eyes were half-closed again but I felt he was peering at me. He nodded almost imperceptibly. Then his lids opened and I saw his eyes. He seemed to be looking past me. He casually tapped the floor with the tip of his right foot, just behind his left heel. His legs were slightly arched; his arms were limp against his sides. Then he lifted his-right arm; his hand was open with the palm turned perpendicular to the ground; his fingers were extended and pointing toward me. He let his hand wobble a couple of times before he brought it to my face level. He held it in that position for an instant and then he said a few words to me. His voice was very clear, yet the words dragged.
After a moment he dropped his hand to his side and remained motionless, taking a strange position. He was standing, resting on the ball of his left foot. His right foot was crossed behind the heel of the left foot and he was tapping the floor rhythmically and gently with the tip of his right foot
I felt an unwarranted apprehension, a form of restlessness. My thoughts seemed to be dissociated. I was thinking unrelated nonsensical thoughts that had nothing to do with what was going on. I noticed my discomfort and tried to steer my thoughts back to the situation at hand, but I couldn't in spite of a great struggle. It was as if some force was keeping me from concentrating or thinking relevant thoughts.
Sacateca had not said a word, and I didn't know what else to say or do. Quite automatically, I turned around and left.
Later on I felt compelled to tell don Juan about my encounter with Sacateca. Don Juan roared with laughter.
"What really took place there?" I asked.
"Sacateca danced!" don Juan said. "He saw you, then he danced."
"What did he do to me? I felt very cold and dizzy."
"He apparently didn't like you and stopped you by tossing a word at you."
"How could he possibly do that?" I exclaimed incredulously.
"Very simple; he stopped you with his will."
"What did you say?"
"He stopped you with his will!"
The explanation did not suffice. His statements sounded like gibberish to me. I tried to probe him further, but he could not explain the event to my satisfaction.
Obviously that event or any event that occurred within this alien system of sensible interpretation could be explained or understood only in terms of the units of meaning proper to that system. This work is, therefore, a reportage and should be read as a reportage. The system I recorded was incomprehensible to me, thus the pretense to anything other than reporting about it would be misleading and impertinent. In this respect I have adopted the phenomenological method and have striven to deal with sorcery solely as phenomena that were presented to me. I, as the perceiver, recorded what I perceived, and at the moment of recording I endeavored to suspend judgment.
MY COMMENT:
I have empirically verified much of what Castaneda's don Juan taught as indeed valid when dealing with Mother Nature. His knowledge about the nature of reality is indeed correct and I STRONGLY DOUBT Castaneda made the character of don Juan up! He would have had to have been a literary genius and, from my studies, I believe Castaneda was indeed as he portrayed himself in his books: a person who could NEVER make up such an intricate philosophy about dealing directly with the natural world.
I am a musical, dancing sorcerer warrior
I AM THE REAL THING!!!
Coupled with being an advanced bodybuilding martial artist as well
My ability to 'see' in don Juanian manner grows stronger and more reliable all the time. It is the direct byproduct of being to stop my Internal dialogue at will and being on great terms with Death. Without being able to do these two very important things there is little to be gained on the true spiritual path. You will have no direct experiences with the Spirit unless you take power plants and those revelations can be quite engulfing, but tend to proverbially evaporate, like a dream, leaving you with a possibly irreparably damaged consciousness and no permanent progress. Power plants can 'point the way', but THEY are NOT the way.
Sadly, many rock stars found this out the hard way and are dead or completely burnt out now
I've learned...
THERE ARE NO FREE RIDES WITH THE SPIRIT
IF YOU DON'T PUT IN THE PROPER WORK
YOU WILL HAVE NO SPIRITUAL PROGRESS!!!
The goal to reach for, I have learned, is to impress the Spirit into giving you 'Gifts of the Spirit'. Such sacred gifts are essential to growing strong in the Spirit very, very quickly. If you are living in a way in which the Spirit finds detestable you're literally out of luck UNLESS you show signs of really wanting to please the Spirit by the way you think, talk and live.
VIRTUE IS THE NATURE OF THE UNIVERSE
AND THE UNIVERSE CAN RESPOND WITH TREMENDOUS LOVING AFFECTION
TO THE PROPERLY GRATEFUL AND APPRECIATIVE!!!
I strongly suggest you respect yourselves, people
Time is much shorter than you may think!!!