05-01-2010, 12:00 AM
"The Power of Silence" - ©1987 by Carlos Castaneda
"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."
-----------------------------------------------------------
"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 don Juan's peculiar nature he 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."
"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."
-----------------------------------------------------------
"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 don Juan's peculiar nature he 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."