areas by yourself until you know what you're doing.
"Power is a very weird affair. In order to have it and command it one
must have power to begin with. It's possible, however, to store it, little
by little, until one has enough to sustain oneself in a battle of power."
"What is a battle of power?"
"What happened to you last night was the beginning of a battle of
power. The scenes that you beheld were the seat of power. Someday they will
make sense to you; those scenes are most meaningful."
"Can you tell me their meaning yourself, don Juan?"
"No. Those scenes are your own personal conquest which you cannot share
with anyone. But what happened last night was only the beginning, a
skirmish. The real battle will take place when you cross that bridge. What's
on the other side?
Only you will know that. And only you will know what's at the end of
that trail through the forest. But all that is some thing that may or may
not happen to you. In order to journey through those unknown trails and
bridges one must have enough power of one's own."
"What happens if one doesn't have enough power?"
"Death is always waiting, and when the warrior's power wanes death
simply taps him. Thus, to venture into the unknown without any power is
stupid. One will only find death." I was not really listening. I kept on
playing with the idea that the dry meat may have been the agent that had
caused the hallucinations. It appeased me to indulge in that thought.
"Don't tax yourself trying to figure it out, " he said as if he were
reading my thoughts. "The world is a mystery. This, what you're looking at,
is not all there is to it. There is much more to the world, so much more, in
fact, that it is endless. So when you're trying to figure it out, all you're
really doing is trying to make the world familiar. You and I are right here,
in the world that you call real, simply because we both know it. You don't
know the world of power, therefore you cannot make it into a familiar
scene."
"You know that I really can't argue your point, " I said.
"But my mind can't accept it either."
He laughed and touched my head lightly.
"You're really crazy, " he said. "But that's all right. I know how
difficult it is to live like a warrior. If you would have followed my
instructions and performed all the acts I have taught you, you would by now
have enough power to cross that bridge. Enough power to see and to stop the
world."
"But why should I want power, don Juan?"
"You can't think of a reason now. However, if you would
store enough power, the power itself will find you a good reason.
Sounds crazy, doesn't it?"
"Why did you want power yourself, don Juan?"
"I'm like you. I didn't want it. I couldn't find a reason to have it. I
had all the doubts that you have and never followed the instructions I was
given, or I never thought I did; yet in spite of my stupidity I stored
enough power, and one day my personal power made the world collapse."
"But why would anyone wish to stop the world?"
"Nobody does, that's the point. It just happens. And once you know what
it is like to stop the world you realize there is a reason for it. You see,
one of the arts of the warrior is to collapse the world for a specific
reason and then restore it again in order to keep on living."
I told him that perhaps the surest way to help me would be to give me
an example of a specific reason for collapsing the world.
He remained silent for some time. He seemed to be thinking what to say.
"I can't tell you that, " he said. "It takes too much power to know
that. Someday you will live like a warrior, in spite of yourself; then
perhaps you will have stored enough personal power to answer that question
yourself.
"I have taught you nearly everything a warrior needs to know in order
to start off in the world, storing power by himself. Yet I know that you
can't do that and I have to be patient with you. I know for a fact that it
takes a lifelong struggle to be by oneself in the world of power."
Don Juan looked at the sky and the mountains. The sun was already on
its descent towards the west and rain clouds were rapidly forming on the
mountains. I did not know the time; I had forgotten to wind my watch. I
asked if he could tell the time of the day and he had such an attack of
laughter that he rolled off the slab into the bushes.
He stood up and stretched his arms, yawning. "It is early, " he said.
"We must wait until the fog gathers on top of the mountain and then you must
stand alone on this slab and thank the fog for its favors. Let it come and
envelop you. I'll be nearby to assist, if need be."
Somehow the prospect of staying alone in the fog terrified me. I felt
idiotic for reacting in such an irrational manner.
"You cannot leave these desolate mountains without saying your thanks,
" he said in a firm tone. "A warrior never turns his back to power without
atoning for the favors received."
He lay down on his back with his hands behind his head and covered his
face with his hat.
"How should I wait for the fog?" I asked. "What should I do?"
"Write!" he said through his hat. "But don't close your eyes or turn
your back to it." I tried to write but I could not concentrate. I stood up
and moved around restlessly. Don Juan lifted his hat and looked at me with
an air of annoyance. "Sit down!" he ordered me. He said that the battle of
power had not yet ended, and that I had to teach my spirit to be impassive.
Nothing of what I did should betray my feelings, unless I wanted to remain
trapped in those mountains.
He sat up and moved his hand in a gesture of urgency. He said that I
had to act as if nothing was out of the ordinary, because places of power,
such as the one in which we were, had the potential of draining people who
were disturbed. And thus one could develop strange and injurious ties with a
locale.
"Those ties anchor a man to a place of power, sometimes for a lifetime,
" he said. "And this is not the place for you. You did not find it yourself.
So tighten your belt and don't lose your pants."
His admonitions worked liked a spell on me. I wrote for hours without
interruption. Don Juan went back to sleep and did not wake up until the fog
was perhaps a hundred yards away, descending from the top of the mountain.
He stood up and examined the surroundings. I looked around without turning
my back. The fog had already invaded the lowlands, descending from the
mountains to my right. On my left side the scenery was clear; the wind,
however, seemed to be coming from my right and was pushing the fog into the
lowlands as if to surround us.
Don Juan whispered that I should remain impassive, standing where I was
without closing my eyes, and that I should not turn around until I was
completely surrounded by the fog; only then was it possible to start our
descent. He took cover at the foot of some rocks a few feet behind me.
The silence in those mountains was something magnificent and at the
same time awesome. The soft wind that was carrying the fog gave me the
sensation that the fog was hissing in my ears. Big chunks of fog came
downhill like solid clumps of whitish matter rolling down on me. I smelled
the fog. It was a peculiar mixture of a pungent and fragrant smell. And then
I was enveloped in it. I had the impression the fog was working on my
eyelids.
They felt heavy and I wanted to close my eyes. I was cold. My throat
itched and I wanted to cough but I did not dare. I lifted my chin up and
stretched my neck to ease the cough, and as I looked up I had the sensation
I could actually see the thickness of the fog bank. It was as if my eyes
could assess the thickness by going through it. My eyes began to close and I
could not fight off the desire to fall asleep. I felt I was going to
collapse on the ground any moment. At that instant don Juan jumped up and
grabbed me by the arms and shook me. The jolt was enough to restore my
lucidity.
He whispered in my ear that I had to run downhill as fast as I could.
He was going to follow behind because he did not want to get smashed by the
rocks that I might turn over in my path. He said that I was the leader,
since it was my battle of power, and that I had to be clear headed and
abandoned in order to guide us safely out of there.
"This is it, " he said in a loud voice. "If you don't have the mood of
a warrior, we may never leave the fog."
I hesitated for a moment. I was not sure I could find my way down from
those mountains. "Run, rabbit, run!" don Juan yelled and shoved me gently
down the slope.
A WARRIOR'S LAST STAND
Sunday, January 28, 1962
Around ten a.m. don Juan walked into his house. He had left at the
crack of dawn. I greeted him. He chuckled and in a clowning mood he shook
hands with me and greeted me ceremoniously.
"We're going to go on a little trip, " he said. "You're going to drive
us to a very special place in search of power." He unfolded two carrying
nets and placed two gourds filled with food in each of them, tied them with
a thin rope, and handed me a net.
We leisurely drove north some four hundred miles and then we left the
Pan American highway and took a gravel road towards the west. My car seemed
to have been the only car on the road for hours. As we kept on driving I
noticed that I could not see through my windshield. I strained desperately
to look at the surroundings but it was too dark and my windshield was
overlaid with crushed insects and dust.
I told don Juan that I had to stop to clean my windshield.
He ordered me to go on driving even if I had to crawl at two miles an
hour, sticking my head out of the window to see ahead. He said that we could
not stop until we had reached our destination.
At a certain place he told me to turn to the right. It was so dark and
dusty that even the headlights did not help much. I drove off the road with
great trepidation. I was afraid of the soft shoulders, but the dirt was
packed.
I drove for about one hundred yards at the lowest possible speed,
holding the door open to look out. Finally don Juan told me to stop. He said
that I had parked right behind a huge rock that would shield my car from
view.
I got out of the car and walked around, guided by the headlights. I
wanted to examine the surroundings because I had no idea where I was. But
don Juan turned off the lights. He said loudly that there was no time to
waste, that I should lock my car so we could start on our way.
He handed me my net with gourds. It was so dark that I stumbled and
nearly dropped them. Don Juan ordered me in a soft firm tone to sit down
until my eyes were accustomed to the darkness. But my eyes were not the
problem. Once I got out of my car I could see fairly well. What was wrong
was a peculiar nervousness that made me act as if I were absent minded. I
was glossing over everything.
"Where are we going?" I asked. "We're going to hike in total darkness
to a special place, " he said.
"What for?"
"To find out for sure whether or not you're capable of continuing to
hunt power."
I asked him if what he was proposing was a test, and if I failed the
test would he still talk to me and tell me about his knowledge. He listened
without interrupting. He said that what we were doing was not a test, that
we were waiting for an omen, and if the omen did not come the conclusion
would be that I had not succeeded in hunting power, in which case I would be
free from any further imposition, free to be as stupid as I wanted. He said
that no matter what happened he was my
friend and he would always talk to me.
Somehow I knew I was going to fail.
"The omen will not come, " I said jokingly. "I know it. I have a little
power." He laughed and patted me on the back gently. "Don't you worry," he
retorted. "The omen will come. I know it. I have more power than you." He
found his statement hilarious. He slapped his thighs and clapped his hands
and roared with laughter.
Don Juan tied my carrying net to my back and said that I should walk
one step behind him and step in his tracks as much as possible.
In a very dramatic tone he whispered, "This is a walk for power, so
everything counts." He said that if I would walk in his footsteps the power
that he was dissipating as he walked would be transmitted to me. I looked at
my watch; it was eleven p.m.
He made me line up like a soldier at attention. Then he pushed my right
leg to the front and made me stand as if I had just taken a step forward. He
lined up in front of me in the same position and then began to walk, after
repeating the instructions that I should try to match his footsteps to
perfection. He said in a clear whisper that I should not concern myself with
anything else except stepping in his tracks; I should not look ahead or to
the side but at the ground where he was walking.
He started off at a very relaxed pace. I had no trouble at all
following him; we were walking on relatively hard ground.
For about thirty yards I maintained his pace and I matched his steps
perfectly; then I glanced to the side for an instant and the next thing I
knew I had bumped into him. He giggled and assured me that I had not injured
his ankle at all when I had stepped on it with my big shoes, but if I were
going to keep on blundering one of us would be a cripple by morning. He
said, laughing, in a very low but firm voice, that he did not intend to get
hurt by my stupidity and lack of concentration and that if I stepped on him
again I would have to walk barefoot.
"I can't walk without shoes, " I said in a loud raspy voice. Don Juan
doubled up with laughter and we had to wait until he had stopped. He assured
me again that he had meant what he said. We were journeying to tap power and
things had to be perfect.
The prospect of walking in the desert without shoes scared me beyond
belief. Don Juan joked that my family were probably the type of farmers that
did not take off their shoes even to go to bed. He was right, of course. I
had never walked barefoot and to walk in the desert without shoes would have
been suicidal for me.
"This desert is oozing power, " don Juan whispered in my ear. "There is
no time for being timid." We started walking again. Don Juan kept an easy
pace.
After a while I noticed that we had left the hard ground and were
walking on soft sand. Don Juan's feet sank into it and left deep tracks.
We walked for hours before don Juan came to a halt. He did not stop
suddenly but warned me ahead of time that he was going to stop so I would
not bump into him. The terrain had become hard again and it seemed that we
were going up an incline.
Don Juan said that if I needed to go to the bushes I should do it,
because from then on we had a solid stretch without a single pause. I looked
at my watch; it was one a.m.
After a ten- or fifteen-minute rest don Juan made me line up and we
began to walk again. He was right, it was a dreadful stretch. I had never
done anything that demanded so much concentration. Don Juan's pace was so
fast and the tension of watching every step mounted to such heights that at
a given moment I could not feel that I was walking any more. I could not
feel my feet or my legs. It was as if I were walking on air and some force
were carrying me on and on. My concentration had been so total that I did
not notice the gradual change in light. Suddenly I became aware that I could
see don Juan in front of me. I could see his feet and his tracks instead of
half guessing as I had done most of the night.
At a given moment he unexpectedly jumped to the side and my momentum
carried me for about twenty yards further. As I slowed down my legs became
weak and started to shake until finally I collapsed on the ground. I looked
up at don Juan, who was calmly examining me. He did not seem to be tired. I
was panting for breath and soaked in cold perspiration.
Don Juan twirled me around in my lying position by pulling me by the
arm. He said that if I wanted to regain my strength I had to lie with my
head towards the east. Little by little I relaxed and rested my aching body.
Finally I had enough energy to stand up. I wanted to look at my watch, but
he prevented me by putting his hand over my wrist. He very gently turned me
around to face the east and said that there was no need for my confounded
timepiece, that we were on magical time, and that we were going to find out
for sure whether or not I was capable of pursuing power.
I looked around. We were on top of a very large high hill. I wanted to
walk towards something that looked like an edge or a crevice in the rock,
but don Juan jumped and held me down.
He ordered me imperatively to stay on the place I had fallen until the
sun had come out from behind some black mountain peaks a short distance
away.
He pointed to the east and called my attention to a heavy bank of
clouds over the horizon. He said that it would be a proper omen if the wind
blew the clouds away in time for the first rays of the sun to hit my body on
the hilltop.
He told me to stand still with my right leg in front, as if I were
walking, and not to look directly at the horizon but look without focusing.
My legs became very stiff and my calves hurt. It was an agonizing position
and my leg muscles were too sore to support me. I held on as long as I
could. I was about to collapse.
My legs were shivering uncontrollably when don Juan called the whole
thing off. He helped me to sit down.
The bank of clouds had not moved and we had not seen the sun rising
over the horizon. Don Juan's only comment was, "Too bad." I did not want to
ask right off what the real implications of my failure were, but knowing don
Juan, I was sure he had to follow the dictum of his omens. And there had
been no omen that morning. The pain in my calves vanished and I felt a wave
of. wellbeing. I began to trot in order to loosen up my muscles. Don Juan
told me very softly to run up an adjacent hill and gather some leaves from a
specific bush and rub my legs in order to alleviate the muscular pain.
From where I stood I could very plainly see a large lush green bush.
The leaves seemed to be very moist. I had used them before. I never felt
that they had helped me, but don Juan had always maintained that the effect
of really friendly plants was so subtle that one could hardly notice it, yet
they always produced the results they were supposed to. I ran down the hill
and up the other. When I got to the top I realized that the exertion had
almost been too much for me. I had a hard time catching my breath and my
stomach was upset. I squatted and then crouched over for a moment until I
felt relaxed. Then I stood up and reached over to pick the leaves he had
asked me to. But I could not find the bush. I looked around. I was sure I
was on the right spot, but there was nothing in that area of the hilltop
that even vaguely resembled that particular plant. Yet that had to be the
spot where I had seen it. Any other place would have been out of range for
anyone looking from where don Juan was standing.
I gave up the search and walked to the other hill. Don Juan smiled
benevolently as I explained my mistake. "Why do you call it a mistake?" he
asked. "Obviously the bush is not there, " I said.
"But you saw it, didn't you?"
"I thought I did."
"What do you see in its place now?"
"Nothing."
There was absolutely no vegetation on the spot where I thought I had
seen the plant. I attempted to explain what I had seen as a visual
distortion, a sort of mirage. I had really been exhausted, and because of my
exhaustion I may have easily believed I was seeing something that I expected
to be there but which was not there at all.
Don Juan chuckled softly and stared at me for a brief moment.
"I see no mistake, " he said. "The plant is there on that hilltop."
It was my turn to laugh. I scanned the whole area carefully. There were
no such plants in view and what I had experienced was, to the best of my
knowledge, a hallucination. Don Juan very calmly began to descend the hill
and signaled me to follow. We climbed together to the other hilltop and
stood right where I thought I had seen the bush.
I chuckled with the absolute certainty I was right. Don Juan also
chuckled.
"Walk to the other side of the hill, " don Juan said. "You'll find the
plant there."
I brought up the point that the other side of the hill had been outside
my field of vision, that a plant may be there, but that that did not mean
anything.
Don Juan signaled me with a movement of his head to follow him. He
walked around the top of the hill instead of going directly across, and
dramatically stood by a green bush without looking at it.
He turned and looked at me. It was a peculiarly piercing glance.
"There must be hundreds of such plants around here, " I said. Don Juan
very patiently descended the other side of the hill, with me trailing along.
We looked everywhere for a similar bush. But there was none in sight. We
covered about a quarter of a mile before we came upon another plant.
Without saying a word, don Juan led me back to the first hilltop. We
stood there for a moment and then he guided me on another excursion to look
for the plant but in the opposite direction. We combed the area and found
two more bushes, perhaps a mile away. They had grown together and stuck out
as a patch of intense rich green, more lush than all the other surrounding
bushes.
Don Juan looked at me with a serious expression. I did not know what to
think of it. "This is a very strange omen, " he said.
We returned to the first hilltop, making a wide detour in order to
approach it from a new direction. He seemed to be going out of his way to
prove to me that there were very few such plants around there. We did not
find any of them on our way. When we reached the hilltop we sat down in
complete silence. Don Juan untied his gourds.
"You'll feel better after eating, " he said. He could not hide his
delight. He had a beaming grin as he patted me on the head. I felt
disoriented. The new developments were disturbing, but I was too hungry and
tired to really ponder upon them.
After eating I felt very sleepy. Don Juan urged me to use the technique
of looking without focusing in order to find a suitable spot to sleep on the
hilltop where I had seen the bush. I selected one. He picked up the debris
from the spot and made a circle with it the size of my body. Very gently he
pulled some fresh branches from the bushes and swept the area inside the
circle. He only went through the motions of sweeping, he did not really
touch the ground with the branches. He then removed all the surface rocks
from the area inside the circle and placed them in the center after
meticulously sorting them by size into two piles of equal number.
"What are you doing with those rocks?" I asked.
"They are not rocks, " he said. "They are strings. They will hold your
spot suspended." He took the smaller rocks and marked the circumference of
the circle with them. He spaced them evenly and with the aid of a stick he
secured each rock firmly in the ground as if he were a mason. He did not let
me come inside the circle but told me to walk around and watch what he did.
He counted eighteen rocks, following a counterclockwise direction.
"Now run down to the bottom of the hill and wait, " he said. "And I
will come to the edge and see if you are standing in the appropriate spot."
"What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to toss each of these strings to you, " he said, pointing to
the pile of bigger rocks. "And you have to place them in the ground at the
spot I will indicate in the same manner I have placed the other ones.
"You must be infinitely careful. When one is dealing with power, one
has to be perfect. Mistakes are deadly here. Each of these is a string, a
string that could kill us if we leave it around loose; so you simply can't
make any mistakes. You must fix your gaze on the spot where I, will throw
the string. If you get distracted by anything at all, the string will become
an ordinary rock and you won't be able to tell it apart from the other rocks
lying around."
I suggested that it would be easier if I carried the "strings" downhill
one at a time.
Don Juan laughed and shook his head negatively. "These are strings, "
he insisted. "And they have to be tossed by me and have to be picked up by
you." It took hours to fulfill the task. The degree of concentration needed
was excruciating. Don Juan reminded me every time to be attentive and focus
my gaze. He was right in doing so. To pick out a specific rock that came
hurtling downhill, displacing other rocks in its way, was indeed a maddening
affair.
When I had completely closed the circle and walked to the top, I
thought I was about to drop dead. Don Juan had picked some small branches
and had matted the circle. He handed me some leaves and told me to put them
inside my pants, against the skin of my umbilical region. He said that they
would keep me warm and I would not need a blanket to sleep. I tumbled down
inside the circle. The branches made a fairly soft bed and I fell asleep
instantly.
It was late afternoon when I woke up. It was windy and cloudy. The
clouds overhead were compact cumulus clouds, but towards the west they were
thin cirrus clouds and the sun shone on the land from time to time.
Sleeping had renewed me. I felt invigorated and happy. The wind did not
bother me. I was not cold. I propped my head up with my arms and looked
around. I had not noticed before but the hilltop was quite high. The view
towards the west was impressive. I could see a vast area of low hills and
then the desert. There was a range of dark brown mountain peaks towards the
north and east, and towards the south an endless expanse of land and hills
and distant blue mountains.
I sat up. Don Juan was not anywhere in sight. I had a sudden attack of
fear. I thought he may have left me there alone, and I did not know the way
back to my car. I lay down again on the mat of branches and strangely enough
my apprehension vanished. I again experienced a sense of quietness, an
exquisite sense of well being. It was an extremely new sensation to me; my
thoughts seemed to have been turned off. I was happy. I felt healthy. A very
quiet ebullience filled me. A soft wind was blowing from the west and swept
over my entire body without making me cold. I felt it on my face and around
my ears, like a gentle wave of warm water that bathed me and then receded
and bathed me again. It was a strange state of being that had no parallel in
my busy and dislocated
life. I began to weep, not out of sadness or self-pity but out of some
ineffable, inexplicable joy.
I wanted to stay in that spot forever and I may have, had don Juan not
come and yanked me out of the place.
"You've had enough rest, " he said as he pulled me up. He led me very
calmly on a walk around the periphery of the hilltop. We walked slowly and
in complete silence. He seemed to be interested in making me observe the
scenery all around us. He pointed to clouds and mountains with a movement of
his eyes or with a movement of his chin.
The scenery in the late afternoon was superb. It evoked sensations of
awe and despair in me. It reminded me of sights in my childhood. We climbed
to the highest point of the hilltop, a peak of igneous rock, and sat down
comfortably with our backs against the rock, facing the south. The endless
expanse of land towards the south was truly majestic.
"Fix all this in your memory, " don Juan whispered in my ear. "This
spot is yours. This morning you saw, and that was the omen. You found this
spot by seeing. The omen was unexpected, but it happened. You are going to
hunt power whether you like it or not. It is not a human decision, not yours
or mine.
"Now, properly speaking, this hilltop is your place, your beloved
place; all that is around you is under your care. You must look after
everything here and everything will in turn look after you."
In a joking way I asked if everything was mine. He said yes in a very
serious tone. I laughed and told him that what we were doing reminded me of
the story of how the Spaniards that conquered the New World had divided the
land in the name of their king. They used to climb to the top of a mountain
and claim all the land they could see in any specific direction.
"That's a good idea, " he said. "I'm going to give you all the land you
can see, not in one direction but all around you." He stood up and pointed
with his extended hand, turning his body around to cover a complete circle.
"All this land is yours, " he said. I laughed out loud.
He giggled and asked me, "Why not? Why can't I give you this land?"
"You don't own this land, " I said.
"So what? The Spaniards didn't own it either and yet they divided it
and gave it away. So why can't you take possession of it in the same vein?"
I scrutinized him to see if I could detect the real mood behind his
smile. He had an explosion of laughter and nearly fell of the rock.
"All this land, as far as you can see, is yours, " he went on, still
smiling. "Not to use but to remember. This hilltop, however, is yours to use
for the rest of your life. I am giving it to you because you have found it
yourself. It is yours. Accept it."
I laughed, but don Juan seemed to be very serious. Except for his funny
smile, he appeared to actually believe that he could give me that hilltop.
"Why not?" he asked as if he were reading my thoughts. "I accept it, " I
said half in jest. His smile disappeared. He squinted his eyes as he looked
at me.
"Every rock and pebble and bush on this hill, especially on the top, is
under your care, " he said. "Every worm that lives here is your friend. You
can use them and they can use you."
We remained silent for a few minutes. My thoughts were unusually
scarce. I vaguely felt that his sudden change of mood was foreboding to me,
but I was not afraid or apprehensive. I just did not want to talk any more.
Somehow, words seemed to be inaccurate and their meanings difficult to
pinpoint. I had never felt that way about talking, and upon realizing my
unusual mood I hurriedly began to talk.
"But what can I do with this hill, don Juan?"
"Fix every feature of it in your memory. This is the place where you
will come in dreaming. This is the place where you will meet with powers,
where secrets will someday be revealed to you.
"You are hunting power and this is your place, the place where you will
store your resources.
"It doesn't make sense to you now. So let it be a piece of nonsense for
the time being."
We climbed down the rock and he led me to a small bowl like depression
on the west side of the hilltop. We sat down and ate there. Undoubtedly
there was something indescribably pleasant for me on that hilltop. Eating,
like resting, was an unknown exquisite sensation.
The light of the setting sun had a rich, almost copperish, glow, and
everything in the surroundings seemed to be dabbed with a golden hue. I was
given totally to observing the scenery; I did not even want to think.
Don Juan spoke to me almost in a whisper. He told me to watch every
detail of the surroundings, no matter how small or seemingly trivial.
Especially the features of the scenery that were most prominent in a
westerly direction. He said that I should look at the sun without focusing
on it until it had disappeared over the horizon.
The last minutes of light, right before the sun hit a blanket of low
clouds or fog, were, in a total sense, magnificent. It was as if the sun
were inflaming the earth, kindling it like a bonfire. I felt a sensation of
redness in my face.
"Stand up!" don Juan shouted as he pulled me up. He jumped away from me
and ordered me in an imperative but urging voice to trot on the spot where I
was standing. As I jogged on the same spot, I began to feel a warmth
invading my body. It was a copperish warmth. I felt it in my palate and in
the "roof" of my eyes. It was as if the top part of my head were burning
with a cool fire that radiated a copperish glow.
Something in myself made me trot faster and faster as the sun began to
disappear. At a given moment I truly felt I was so light that I could have
flown away. Don Juan very firmly grabbed my right wrist. The sensation
caused by the pressure of his hand brought back a sense of sobriety and
composure.
I plunked down on the ground and he sat down by me. After a few minutes
rest he quietly stood up, tapped me on the shoulder, and signaled me to
follow him. We climbed back again to the peak of igneous rock where we had
sat before. The rock shielded us from the cold wind. Don Juan broke the
silence.
"It was a fine omen, " he said. "How strange! It happened at the end of
the day. You and I are so different. You are more a creature of the night. I
prefer the young brilliancy of the morning. Or rather the brilliancy of the
morning sun seeks me, but it shies away from you. On the other hand, the
dying sun bathed you. Its flames scorched you without burning you.
How strange!"
"Why is it strange?"
"I've never seen it happen. The omen, when it happens, has always been
in the realm of the young sun."
"Why is it that way, don Juan?"
"This is not the time to talk about it," he said cuttingly.
"Knowledge is power. It takes a long time to harness enough power to
even talk about it." I tried to insist, but he changed the topic abruptly.
He asked me about my progress in "dreaming."
I had begun to dream about specific places, such as the school and the
houses of a few friends.
"Were you at those places during the day or during the night?" he
asked.
My dreams corresponded to the time of the day when I ordinarily was
accustomed to being at those places - in the school during the day, at my
friends' houses at night.
He suggested that I should try "dreaming" while I took a nap during the
daytime and find out if I could actually visualize the chosen place as it
was at the time I was "dreaming."
If I were "dreaming" at night, my visions of the locale should be of
night time. He said that what one experiences in "dreaming" has to be
congruous with the time of the day when "dreaming" was taking place;
otherwise the visions one might have were not "dreaming" but ordinary
dreams.
"In order to help yourself you should pick a specific object that
belongs to the place you want to go and focus your attention on if, " he
went on. "On this hilltop here, for instance, you now have a specific bush
that you must observe until it has a place in your memory. You can come back
here while dreaming simply by recalling that bush, or by recalling this rock
where we are sitting, or by recalling any other thing here. It is easier to
travel in dreaming when you can focus on a place of power, such as this one.
But if you don't want to come here you may use any other place. Perhaps the
school where you go is a place of power for you. Use it. Focus your
attention on any object there and then find it in dreaming.
"From the specific object you recall, you must go back to your hands
and then to another object and so on.
"But now you must focus your attention on everything that exists on
this hilltop, because this is the most important place of your life."
He looked at me as if judging the effect of his words. "This is the
place where you will die, " he said in a soft voice.
I fidgeted nervously, changing sitting positions, and he smiled. "I
will have to come with you over and over to this hilltop, " he said. "And
then you will have to come by yourself until you're saturated with it, until
the hilltop is oozing you.
You will know the time when you are filled with it. This hilltop, as it
is now, will then be the place of your last dance."
"What do you mean by my last dance, don Juan?"
"This is the site of your last stand, " he said. "You will die here no
matter where you are. Every warrior has a place to die. A place of his
predilection which is soaked with unforgettable memories, where powerful
events left their mark, a place where he has witnessed marvels, where
secrets have been revealed to him, a place where he has stored his personal
power.
"A warrior has the obligation to go back to that place of his
predilection every time he taps power in order to store it there. He either
goes there by means of walking or by means of dreaming.
"And finally, one day when his time on earth is up and he feels the tap
of his death on his left shoulder, his spirit, which is always ready, flies
to the place of his predilection and there the warrior dances to his death.
"Every warrior has a specific form, a specific posture of power, which
he develops throughout his life. It is a sort of dance. A movement that he
does under the influence of his personal power.
"If a dying warrior has limited power, his dance is short; if his power
is grandiose, his dance is magnificent. But regardless of whether his power
is small or magnificent, death must stop to witness his last stand on earth.
Death cannot overtake the warrior who is recounting the toil of his life for
the last time until he has finished his dance."
Don Juan's words made me shiver. The quietness, the twilight, the
magnificent scenery, all seemed to have been placed there as props for the
image of a warrior's last dance of power.
"Can you teach me that dance even though I am not a warrior?" I asked.
"Any man that hunts power has to learn that dance, " he said. "Yet I
cannot teach you now. Soon you may have a worthy opponent and I will show
you then the first movement of power. You must add the other movements
yourself as you go on living. Every new one must be obtained during a
struggle of power. So, properly speaking, the posture, the form of a
warrior, is the story of his life, a dance that grows as he grows in
personal power."
"Does death really stop to see a warrior dance?"
"A warrior is only a man. A humble man. He cannot change the designs of
his death. But his impeccable spirit, which has stored power after
stupendous hardships, can certainly hold his death for a moment, a moment
long enough to let him rejoice for the last time in recalling his power. We
may say that that is a gesture which death has with those who have an
impeccable spirit."
I experienced an overwhelming anxiety and I talked just to alleviate
it. I asked him if he had known warriors that had died, and in what way
their last dance had affected their dying.
"Cut it out, " he said dryly. "Dying is a monumental affair. It is more
than kicking your legs and becoming stiff."
"Will I too dance to my death, don Juan?"
"Certainly. You are hunting personal power even though you don't live
like a warrior yet. Today the sun gave you an omen. Your best production in
your life's work will be done towards the end of the day. Obviously you
don't like the youthful brilliancy of early light. Journeying in the morning
doesn't appeal to you. But your cup of tea is the dying sun, old yellowish,
and mellow. You don't like the heat, you like the glow.
"And thus you will dance to your death here, on this hilltop, at the
end of the day. And in your last dance you will tell of your struggle, of
the battles you have won and of those you have lost; you will tell of your
joys and bewilderments upon encountering personal power. Your dance will
tell about the secrets and about the marvels you have stored. And your death
will sit here and watch you.
"The dying sun will glow on you without burning, as it has done today.
The wind will be soft and mellow and your hilltop will tremble. As you reach
the end of your dance you will look at the sun, for you will never see it
again in waking or in dreaming, and then your death will point to the south.
To the vastness."
THE GAIT OF POWER
Saturday, April 8, 1962
"Is death a personage, don Juan?" I asked as I sat down on the porch.
There was an air of bewilderment in don Juan's look. He was holding a bag of
groceries I had brought him. He carefully placed them on the ground and sat
down in front of me. I felt encouraged and explained that I wanted to know
if death was a person, or like a person, when it watched a warrior's last
dance.
"What difference does it make?" don Juan asked.
I told him that the image was fascinating to me and I wanted to know
how he had arrived at it. How he knew that that was so. "It's all very
simple, " he said. "A man of knowledge knows that death is the last witness
because he sees."
"Do you mean that you have witnessed a warrior's last dance yourself?"
"No. One cannot be such a witness. Only death can do that. But I have
seen my own death watching me and I have danced to it as though I were
dying. At the end of my dance death did not point in any direction, and my
place of predilection did not shiver saying goodbye to me. So my time on
earth was not up yet and I did not die. When all that took place, I had
limited power and I did not understand the designs of my own death, thus I
believed I was dying."
"Was your death like a person?"
"You're a funny bird. You think you are going to understand by asking
questions. I don't think you will, but who am I to say?
"Death is not like a person. It is rather a presence. But one may also
choose to say that it is nothing and yet it is everything. One will be right
on every count. Death is whatever one wishes.
"I am at ease with people, so death is a person for me. I am also given
to mysteries, so death has hollow eyes for me. I can look through them. They
are like two windows and yet they move, like eyes move. And so I can say
that death with its hollow eyes looks at a warrior while he dances for the
last time on earth."
"But is that so only for you, don Juan, or is it the same for other
warriors?"
"It is the same for every warrior that has a dance of power, and yet it
is not. Death witnesses a warrior's last dance, but the manner in which a
warrior sees his death is a personal matter. It could be anything-a bird, a
light, a person, a bush, a pebble, a piece of fog, or an unknown presence."
Don Juan's images of death disturbed me. I could not find adequate
words to voice my questions and I stammered. He stared at me, smiling, and
coaxed me to speak up. I asked him if the manner in which a warrior saw his
death depended on the way he had been brought up. I used the Yuma and Yaqui
Indians as examples. My own idea was that culture determined the way in
which one would envision death.
"It doesn't matter how one was brought up, " he said.
"What determines the way one does anything is personal power. A man is
only the sum of his personal power, and that sum determines how he lives and
how he dies."
"What is personal power?"
"Personal power is a feeling, " he said. "Something like being lucky.
Or one may call it a mood. Personal power is something that one acquires
regardless of one's origin. I already have told you that a warrior is a
hunter of power, and that I am teaching you how to hunt and store it. The
difficulty with you, which is the difficulty with all of us, is to be
convinced.
You need to believe that personal power can be used and that it is
possible to store it, but you haven't been convinced so far."
I told him that he had made his point and that I was as convinced as I
would ever be. He laughed. "That is not the type of conviction I am talking
about," he said.
He tapped my shoulder with two or three soft punches and added with a
cackle, "I don't need to be humored, you know."
I felt obliged to assure him that I was serious.
"I don't doubt it, " he said. "But to be convinced means that you can
act by yourself. It will still take you a great deal of effort to do that.
Much more has to be done. You have just begun."
He was quiet for a moment. His face acquired a placid expression.
"It's funny the way you sometimes remind me of myself," he went on. "I
too did not want to take the path of a warrior. I believed that all that
work was for nothing, and since we are all going to die what difference
would it make to be a warrior? I was wrong. But I had to find that out for
"Power is a very weird affair. In order to have it and command it one
must have power to begin with. It's possible, however, to store it, little
by little, until one has enough to sustain oneself in a battle of power."
"What is a battle of power?"
"What happened to you last night was the beginning of a battle of
power. The scenes that you beheld were the seat of power. Someday they will
make sense to you; those scenes are most meaningful."
"Can you tell me their meaning yourself, don Juan?"
"No. Those scenes are your own personal conquest which you cannot share
with anyone. But what happened last night was only the beginning, a
skirmish. The real battle will take place when you cross that bridge. What's
on the other side?
Only you will know that. And only you will know what's at the end of
that trail through the forest. But all that is some thing that may or may
not happen to you. In order to journey through those unknown trails and
bridges one must have enough power of one's own."
"What happens if one doesn't have enough power?"
"Death is always waiting, and when the warrior's power wanes death
simply taps him. Thus, to venture into the unknown without any power is
stupid. One will only find death." I was not really listening. I kept on
playing with the idea that the dry meat may have been the agent that had
caused the hallucinations. It appeased me to indulge in that thought.
"Don't tax yourself trying to figure it out, " he said as if he were
reading my thoughts. "The world is a mystery. This, what you're looking at,
is not all there is to it. There is much more to the world, so much more, in
fact, that it is endless. So when you're trying to figure it out, all you're
really doing is trying to make the world familiar. You and I are right here,
in the world that you call real, simply because we both know it. You don't
know the world of power, therefore you cannot make it into a familiar
scene."
"You know that I really can't argue your point, " I said.
"But my mind can't accept it either."
He laughed and touched my head lightly.
"You're really crazy, " he said. "But that's all right. I know how
difficult it is to live like a warrior. If you would have followed my
instructions and performed all the acts I have taught you, you would by now
have enough power to cross that bridge. Enough power to see and to stop the
world."
"But why should I want power, don Juan?"
"You can't think of a reason now. However, if you would
store enough power, the power itself will find you a good reason.
Sounds crazy, doesn't it?"
"Why did you want power yourself, don Juan?"
"I'm like you. I didn't want it. I couldn't find a reason to have it. I
had all the doubts that you have and never followed the instructions I was
given, or I never thought I did; yet in spite of my stupidity I stored
enough power, and one day my personal power made the world collapse."
"But why would anyone wish to stop the world?"
"Nobody does, that's the point. It just happens. And once you know what
it is like to stop the world you realize there is a reason for it. You see,
one of the arts of the warrior is to collapse the world for a specific
reason and then restore it again in order to keep on living."
I told him that perhaps the surest way to help me would be to give me
an example of a specific reason for collapsing the world.
He remained silent for some time. He seemed to be thinking what to say.
"I can't tell you that, " he said. "It takes too much power to know
that. Someday you will live like a warrior, in spite of yourself; then
perhaps you will have stored enough personal power to answer that question
yourself.
"I have taught you nearly everything a warrior needs to know in order
to start off in the world, storing power by himself. Yet I know that you
can't do that and I have to be patient with you. I know for a fact that it
takes a lifelong struggle to be by oneself in the world of power."
Don Juan looked at the sky and the mountains. The sun was already on
its descent towards the west and rain clouds were rapidly forming on the
mountains. I did not know the time; I had forgotten to wind my watch. I
asked if he could tell the time of the day and he had such an attack of
laughter that he rolled off the slab into the bushes.
He stood up and stretched his arms, yawning. "It is early, " he said.
"We must wait until the fog gathers on top of the mountain and then you must
stand alone on this slab and thank the fog for its favors. Let it come and
envelop you. I'll be nearby to assist, if need be."
Somehow the prospect of staying alone in the fog terrified me. I felt
idiotic for reacting in such an irrational manner.
"You cannot leave these desolate mountains without saying your thanks,
" he said in a firm tone. "A warrior never turns his back to power without
atoning for the favors received."
He lay down on his back with his hands behind his head and covered his
face with his hat.
"How should I wait for the fog?" I asked. "What should I do?"
"Write!" he said through his hat. "But don't close your eyes or turn
your back to it." I tried to write but I could not concentrate. I stood up
and moved around restlessly. Don Juan lifted his hat and looked at me with
an air of annoyance. "Sit down!" he ordered me. He said that the battle of
power had not yet ended, and that I had to teach my spirit to be impassive.
Nothing of what I did should betray my feelings, unless I wanted to remain
trapped in those mountains.
He sat up and moved his hand in a gesture of urgency. He said that I
had to act as if nothing was out of the ordinary, because places of power,
such as the one in which we were, had the potential of draining people who
were disturbed. And thus one could develop strange and injurious ties with a
locale.
"Those ties anchor a man to a place of power, sometimes for a lifetime,
" he said. "And this is not the place for you. You did not find it yourself.
So tighten your belt and don't lose your pants."
His admonitions worked liked a spell on me. I wrote for hours without
interruption. Don Juan went back to sleep and did not wake up until the fog
was perhaps a hundred yards away, descending from the top of the mountain.
He stood up and examined the surroundings. I looked around without turning
my back. The fog had already invaded the lowlands, descending from the
mountains to my right. On my left side the scenery was clear; the wind,
however, seemed to be coming from my right and was pushing the fog into the
lowlands as if to surround us.
Don Juan whispered that I should remain impassive, standing where I was
without closing my eyes, and that I should not turn around until I was
completely surrounded by the fog; only then was it possible to start our
descent. He took cover at the foot of some rocks a few feet behind me.
The silence in those mountains was something magnificent and at the
same time awesome. The soft wind that was carrying the fog gave me the
sensation that the fog was hissing in my ears. Big chunks of fog came
downhill like solid clumps of whitish matter rolling down on me. I smelled
the fog. It was a peculiar mixture of a pungent and fragrant smell. And then
I was enveloped in it. I had the impression the fog was working on my
eyelids.
They felt heavy and I wanted to close my eyes. I was cold. My throat
itched and I wanted to cough but I did not dare. I lifted my chin up and
stretched my neck to ease the cough, and as I looked up I had the sensation
I could actually see the thickness of the fog bank. It was as if my eyes
could assess the thickness by going through it. My eyes began to close and I
could not fight off the desire to fall asleep. I felt I was going to
collapse on the ground any moment. At that instant don Juan jumped up and
grabbed me by the arms and shook me. The jolt was enough to restore my
lucidity.
He whispered in my ear that I had to run downhill as fast as I could.
He was going to follow behind because he did not want to get smashed by the
rocks that I might turn over in my path. He said that I was the leader,
since it was my battle of power, and that I had to be clear headed and
abandoned in order to guide us safely out of there.
"This is it, " he said in a loud voice. "If you don't have the mood of
a warrior, we may never leave the fog."
I hesitated for a moment. I was not sure I could find my way down from
those mountains. "Run, rabbit, run!" don Juan yelled and shoved me gently
down the slope.
A WARRIOR'S LAST STAND
Sunday, January 28, 1962
Around ten a.m. don Juan walked into his house. He had left at the
crack of dawn. I greeted him. He chuckled and in a clowning mood he shook
hands with me and greeted me ceremoniously.
"We're going to go on a little trip, " he said. "You're going to drive
us to a very special place in search of power." He unfolded two carrying
nets and placed two gourds filled with food in each of them, tied them with
a thin rope, and handed me a net.
We leisurely drove north some four hundred miles and then we left the
Pan American highway and took a gravel road towards the west. My car seemed
to have been the only car on the road for hours. As we kept on driving I
noticed that I could not see through my windshield. I strained desperately
to look at the surroundings but it was too dark and my windshield was
overlaid with crushed insects and dust.
I told don Juan that I had to stop to clean my windshield.
He ordered me to go on driving even if I had to crawl at two miles an
hour, sticking my head out of the window to see ahead. He said that we could
not stop until we had reached our destination.
At a certain place he told me to turn to the right. It was so dark and
dusty that even the headlights did not help much. I drove off the road with
great trepidation. I was afraid of the soft shoulders, but the dirt was
packed.
I drove for about one hundred yards at the lowest possible speed,
holding the door open to look out. Finally don Juan told me to stop. He said
that I had parked right behind a huge rock that would shield my car from
view.
I got out of the car and walked around, guided by the headlights. I
wanted to examine the surroundings because I had no idea where I was. But
don Juan turned off the lights. He said loudly that there was no time to
waste, that I should lock my car so we could start on our way.
He handed me my net with gourds. It was so dark that I stumbled and
nearly dropped them. Don Juan ordered me in a soft firm tone to sit down
until my eyes were accustomed to the darkness. But my eyes were not the
problem. Once I got out of my car I could see fairly well. What was wrong
was a peculiar nervousness that made me act as if I were absent minded. I
was glossing over everything.
"Where are we going?" I asked. "We're going to hike in total darkness
to a special place, " he said.
"What for?"
"To find out for sure whether or not you're capable of continuing to
hunt power."
I asked him if what he was proposing was a test, and if I failed the
test would he still talk to me and tell me about his knowledge. He listened
without interrupting. He said that what we were doing was not a test, that
we were waiting for an omen, and if the omen did not come the conclusion
would be that I had not succeeded in hunting power, in which case I would be
free from any further imposition, free to be as stupid as I wanted. He said
that no matter what happened he was my
friend and he would always talk to me.
Somehow I knew I was going to fail.
"The omen will not come, " I said jokingly. "I know it. I have a little
power." He laughed and patted me on the back gently. "Don't you worry," he
retorted. "The omen will come. I know it. I have more power than you." He
found his statement hilarious. He slapped his thighs and clapped his hands
and roared with laughter.
Don Juan tied my carrying net to my back and said that I should walk
one step behind him and step in his tracks as much as possible.
In a very dramatic tone he whispered, "This is a walk for power, so
everything counts." He said that if I would walk in his footsteps the power
that he was dissipating as he walked would be transmitted to me. I looked at
my watch; it was eleven p.m.
He made me line up like a soldier at attention. Then he pushed my right
leg to the front and made me stand as if I had just taken a step forward. He
lined up in front of me in the same position and then began to walk, after
repeating the instructions that I should try to match his footsteps to
perfection. He said in a clear whisper that I should not concern myself with
anything else except stepping in his tracks; I should not look ahead or to
the side but at the ground where he was walking.
He started off at a very relaxed pace. I had no trouble at all
following him; we were walking on relatively hard ground.
For about thirty yards I maintained his pace and I matched his steps
perfectly; then I glanced to the side for an instant and the next thing I
knew I had bumped into him. He giggled and assured me that I had not injured
his ankle at all when I had stepped on it with my big shoes, but if I were
going to keep on blundering one of us would be a cripple by morning. He
said, laughing, in a very low but firm voice, that he did not intend to get
hurt by my stupidity and lack of concentration and that if I stepped on him
again I would have to walk barefoot.
"I can't walk without shoes, " I said in a loud raspy voice. Don Juan
doubled up with laughter and we had to wait until he had stopped. He assured
me again that he had meant what he said. We were journeying to tap power and
things had to be perfect.
The prospect of walking in the desert without shoes scared me beyond
belief. Don Juan joked that my family were probably the type of farmers that
did not take off their shoes even to go to bed. He was right, of course. I
had never walked barefoot and to walk in the desert without shoes would have
been suicidal for me.
"This desert is oozing power, " don Juan whispered in my ear. "There is
no time for being timid." We started walking again. Don Juan kept an easy
pace.
After a while I noticed that we had left the hard ground and were
walking on soft sand. Don Juan's feet sank into it and left deep tracks.
We walked for hours before don Juan came to a halt. He did not stop
suddenly but warned me ahead of time that he was going to stop so I would
not bump into him. The terrain had become hard again and it seemed that we
were going up an incline.
Don Juan said that if I needed to go to the bushes I should do it,
because from then on we had a solid stretch without a single pause. I looked
at my watch; it was one a.m.
After a ten- or fifteen-minute rest don Juan made me line up and we
began to walk again. He was right, it was a dreadful stretch. I had never
done anything that demanded so much concentration. Don Juan's pace was so
fast and the tension of watching every step mounted to such heights that at
a given moment I could not feel that I was walking any more. I could not
feel my feet or my legs. It was as if I were walking on air and some force
were carrying me on and on. My concentration had been so total that I did
not notice the gradual change in light. Suddenly I became aware that I could
see don Juan in front of me. I could see his feet and his tracks instead of
half guessing as I had done most of the night.
At a given moment he unexpectedly jumped to the side and my momentum
carried me for about twenty yards further. As I slowed down my legs became
weak and started to shake until finally I collapsed on the ground. I looked
up at don Juan, who was calmly examining me. He did not seem to be tired. I
was panting for breath and soaked in cold perspiration.
Don Juan twirled me around in my lying position by pulling me by the
arm. He said that if I wanted to regain my strength I had to lie with my
head towards the east. Little by little I relaxed and rested my aching body.
Finally I had enough energy to stand up. I wanted to look at my watch, but
he prevented me by putting his hand over my wrist. He very gently turned me
around to face the east and said that there was no need for my confounded
timepiece, that we were on magical time, and that we were going to find out
for sure whether or not I was capable of pursuing power.
I looked around. We were on top of a very large high hill. I wanted to
walk towards something that looked like an edge or a crevice in the rock,
but don Juan jumped and held me down.
He ordered me imperatively to stay on the place I had fallen until the
sun had come out from behind some black mountain peaks a short distance
away.
He pointed to the east and called my attention to a heavy bank of
clouds over the horizon. He said that it would be a proper omen if the wind
blew the clouds away in time for the first rays of the sun to hit my body on
the hilltop.
He told me to stand still with my right leg in front, as if I were
walking, and not to look directly at the horizon but look without focusing.
My legs became very stiff and my calves hurt. It was an agonizing position
and my leg muscles were too sore to support me. I held on as long as I
could. I was about to collapse.
My legs were shivering uncontrollably when don Juan called the whole
thing off. He helped me to sit down.
The bank of clouds had not moved and we had not seen the sun rising
over the horizon. Don Juan's only comment was, "Too bad." I did not want to
ask right off what the real implications of my failure were, but knowing don
Juan, I was sure he had to follow the dictum of his omens. And there had
been no omen that morning. The pain in my calves vanished and I felt a wave
of. wellbeing. I began to trot in order to loosen up my muscles. Don Juan
told me very softly to run up an adjacent hill and gather some leaves from a
specific bush and rub my legs in order to alleviate the muscular pain.
From where I stood I could very plainly see a large lush green bush.
The leaves seemed to be very moist. I had used them before. I never felt
that they had helped me, but don Juan had always maintained that the effect
of really friendly plants was so subtle that one could hardly notice it, yet
they always produced the results they were supposed to. I ran down the hill
and up the other. When I got to the top I realized that the exertion had
almost been too much for me. I had a hard time catching my breath and my
stomach was upset. I squatted and then crouched over for a moment until I
felt relaxed. Then I stood up and reached over to pick the leaves he had
asked me to. But I could not find the bush. I looked around. I was sure I
was on the right spot, but there was nothing in that area of the hilltop
that even vaguely resembled that particular plant. Yet that had to be the
spot where I had seen it. Any other place would have been out of range for
anyone looking from where don Juan was standing.
I gave up the search and walked to the other hill. Don Juan smiled
benevolently as I explained my mistake. "Why do you call it a mistake?" he
asked. "Obviously the bush is not there, " I said.
"But you saw it, didn't you?"
"I thought I did."
"What do you see in its place now?"
"Nothing."
There was absolutely no vegetation on the spot where I thought I had
seen the plant. I attempted to explain what I had seen as a visual
distortion, a sort of mirage. I had really been exhausted, and because of my
exhaustion I may have easily believed I was seeing something that I expected
to be there but which was not there at all.
Don Juan chuckled softly and stared at me for a brief moment.
"I see no mistake, " he said. "The plant is there on that hilltop."
It was my turn to laugh. I scanned the whole area carefully. There were
no such plants in view and what I had experienced was, to the best of my
knowledge, a hallucination. Don Juan very calmly began to descend the hill
and signaled me to follow. We climbed together to the other hilltop and
stood right where I thought I had seen the bush.
I chuckled with the absolute certainty I was right. Don Juan also
chuckled.
"Walk to the other side of the hill, " don Juan said. "You'll find the
plant there."
I brought up the point that the other side of the hill had been outside
my field of vision, that a plant may be there, but that that did not mean
anything.
Don Juan signaled me with a movement of his head to follow him. He
walked around the top of the hill instead of going directly across, and
dramatically stood by a green bush without looking at it.
He turned and looked at me. It was a peculiarly piercing glance.
"There must be hundreds of such plants around here, " I said. Don Juan
very patiently descended the other side of the hill, with me trailing along.
We looked everywhere for a similar bush. But there was none in sight. We
covered about a quarter of a mile before we came upon another plant.
Without saying a word, don Juan led me back to the first hilltop. We
stood there for a moment and then he guided me on another excursion to look
for the plant but in the opposite direction. We combed the area and found
two more bushes, perhaps a mile away. They had grown together and stuck out
as a patch of intense rich green, more lush than all the other surrounding
bushes.
Don Juan looked at me with a serious expression. I did not know what to
think of it. "This is a very strange omen, " he said.
We returned to the first hilltop, making a wide detour in order to
approach it from a new direction. He seemed to be going out of his way to
prove to me that there were very few such plants around there. We did not
find any of them on our way. When we reached the hilltop we sat down in
complete silence. Don Juan untied his gourds.
"You'll feel better after eating, " he said. He could not hide his
delight. He had a beaming grin as he patted me on the head. I felt
disoriented. The new developments were disturbing, but I was too hungry and
tired to really ponder upon them.
After eating I felt very sleepy. Don Juan urged me to use the technique
of looking without focusing in order to find a suitable spot to sleep on the
hilltop where I had seen the bush. I selected one. He picked up the debris
from the spot and made a circle with it the size of my body. Very gently he
pulled some fresh branches from the bushes and swept the area inside the
circle. He only went through the motions of sweeping, he did not really
touch the ground with the branches. He then removed all the surface rocks
from the area inside the circle and placed them in the center after
meticulously sorting them by size into two piles of equal number.
"What are you doing with those rocks?" I asked.
"They are not rocks, " he said. "They are strings. They will hold your
spot suspended." He took the smaller rocks and marked the circumference of
the circle with them. He spaced them evenly and with the aid of a stick he
secured each rock firmly in the ground as if he were a mason. He did not let
me come inside the circle but told me to walk around and watch what he did.
He counted eighteen rocks, following a counterclockwise direction.
"Now run down to the bottom of the hill and wait, " he said. "And I
will come to the edge and see if you are standing in the appropriate spot."
"What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to toss each of these strings to you, " he said, pointing to
the pile of bigger rocks. "And you have to place them in the ground at the
spot I will indicate in the same manner I have placed the other ones.
"You must be infinitely careful. When one is dealing with power, one
has to be perfect. Mistakes are deadly here. Each of these is a string, a
string that could kill us if we leave it around loose; so you simply can't
make any mistakes. You must fix your gaze on the spot where I, will throw
the string. If you get distracted by anything at all, the string will become
an ordinary rock and you won't be able to tell it apart from the other rocks
lying around."
I suggested that it would be easier if I carried the "strings" downhill
one at a time.
Don Juan laughed and shook his head negatively. "These are strings, "
he insisted. "And they have to be tossed by me and have to be picked up by
you." It took hours to fulfill the task. The degree of concentration needed
was excruciating. Don Juan reminded me every time to be attentive and focus
my gaze. He was right in doing so. To pick out a specific rock that came
hurtling downhill, displacing other rocks in its way, was indeed a maddening
affair.
When I had completely closed the circle and walked to the top, I
thought I was about to drop dead. Don Juan had picked some small branches
and had matted the circle. He handed me some leaves and told me to put them
inside my pants, against the skin of my umbilical region. He said that they
would keep me warm and I would not need a blanket to sleep. I tumbled down
inside the circle. The branches made a fairly soft bed and I fell asleep
instantly.
It was late afternoon when I woke up. It was windy and cloudy. The
clouds overhead were compact cumulus clouds, but towards the west they were
thin cirrus clouds and the sun shone on the land from time to time.
Sleeping had renewed me. I felt invigorated and happy. The wind did not
bother me. I was not cold. I propped my head up with my arms and looked
around. I had not noticed before but the hilltop was quite high. The view
towards the west was impressive. I could see a vast area of low hills and
then the desert. There was a range of dark brown mountain peaks towards the
north and east, and towards the south an endless expanse of land and hills
and distant blue mountains.
I sat up. Don Juan was not anywhere in sight. I had a sudden attack of
fear. I thought he may have left me there alone, and I did not know the way
back to my car. I lay down again on the mat of branches and strangely enough
my apprehension vanished. I again experienced a sense of quietness, an
exquisite sense of well being. It was an extremely new sensation to me; my
thoughts seemed to have been turned off. I was happy. I felt healthy. A very
quiet ebullience filled me. A soft wind was blowing from the west and swept
over my entire body without making me cold. I felt it on my face and around
my ears, like a gentle wave of warm water that bathed me and then receded
and bathed me again. It was a strange state of being that had no parallel in
my busy and dislocated
life. I began to weep, not out of sadness or self-pity but out of some
ineffable, inexplicable joy.
I wanted to stay in that spot forever and I may have, had don Juan not
come and yanked me out of the place.
"You've had enough rest, " he said as he pulled me up. He led me very
calmly on a walk around the periphery of the hilltop. We walked slowly and
in complete silence. He seemed to be interested in making me observe the
scenery all around us. He pointed to clouds and mountains with a movement of
his eyes or with a movement of his chin.
The scenery in the late afternoon was superb. It evoked sensations of
awe and despair in me. It reminded me of sights in my childhood. We climbed
to the highest point of the hilltop, a peak of igneous rock, and sat down
comfortably with our backs against the rock, facing the south. The endless
expanse of land towards the south was truly majestic.
"Fix all this in your memory, " don Juan whispered in my ear. "This
spot is yours. This morning you saw, and that was the omen. You found this
spot by seeing. The omen was unexpected, but it happened. You are going to
hunt power whether you like it or not. It is not a human decision, not yours
or mine.
"Now, properly speaking, this hilltop is your place, your beloved
place; all that is around you is under your care. You must look after
everything here and everything will in turn look after you."
In a joking way I asked if everything was mine. He said yes in a very
serious tone. I laughed and told him that what we were doing reminded me of
the story of how the Spaniards that conquered the New World had divided the
land in the name of their king. They used to climb to the top of a mountain
and claim all the land they could see in any specific direction.
"That's a good idea, " he said. "I'm going to give you all the land you
can see, not in one direction but all around you." He stood up and pointed
with his extended hand, turning his body around to cover a complete circle.
"All this land is yours, " he said. I laughed out loud.
He giggled and asked me, "Why not? Why can't I give you this land?"
"You don't own this land, " I said.
"So what? The Spaniards didn't own it either and yet they divided it
and gave it away. So why can't you take possession of it in the same vein?"
I scrutinized him to see if I could detect the real mood behind his
smile. He had an explosion of laughter and nearly fell of the rock.
"All this land, as far as you can see, is yours, " he went on, still
smiling. "Not to use but to remember. This hilltop, however, is yours to use
for the rest of your life. I am giving it to you because you have found it
yourself. It is yours. Accept it."
I laughed, but don Juan seemed to be very serious. Except for his funny
smile, he appeared to actually believe that he could give me that hilltop.
"Why not?" he asked as if he were reading my thoughts. "I accept it, " I
said half in jest. His smile disappeared. He squinted his eyes as he looked
at me.
"Every rock and pebble and bush on this hill, especially on the top, is
under your care, " he said. "Every worm that lives here is your friend. You
can use them and they can use you."
We remained silent for a few minutes. My thoughts were unusually
scarce. I vaguely felt that his sudden change of mood was foreboding to me,
but I was not afraid or apprehensive. I just did not want to talk any more.
Somehow, words seemed to be inaccurate and their meanings difficult to
pinpoint. I had never felt that way about talking, and upon realizing my
unusual mood I hurriedly began to talk.
"But what can I do with this hill, don Juan?"
"Fix every feature of it in your memory. This is the place where you
will come in dreaming. This is the place where you will meet with powers,
where secrets will someday be revealed to you.
"You are hunting power and this is your place, the place where you will
store your resources.
"It doesn't make sense to you now. So let it be a piece of nonsense for
the time being."
We climbed down the rock and he led me to a small bowl like depression
on the west side of the hilltop. We sat down and ate there. Undoubtedly
there was something indescribably pleasant for me on that hilltop. Eating,
like resting, was an unknown exquisite sensation.
The light of the setting sun had a rich, almost copperish, glow, and
everything in the surroundings seemed to be dabbed with a golden hue. I was
given totally to observing the scenery; I did not even want to think.
Don Juan spoke to me almost in a whisper. He told me to watch every
detail of the surroundings, no matter how small or seemingly trivial.
Especially the features of the scenery that were most prominent in a
westerly direction. He said that I should look at the sun without focusing
on it until it had disappeared over the horizon.
The last minutes of light, right before the sun hit a blanket of low
clouds or fog, were, in a total sense, magnificent. It was as if the sun
were inflaming the earth, kindling it like a bonfire. I felt a sensation of
redness in my face.
"Stand up!" don Juan shouted as he pulled me up. He jumped away from me
and ordered me in an imperative but urging voice to trot on the spot where I
was standing. As I jogged on the same spot, I began to feel a warmth
invading my body. It was a copperish warmth. I felt it in my palate and in
the "roof" of my eyes. It was as if the top part of my head were burning
with a cool fire that radiated a copperish glow.
Something in myself made me trot faster and faster as the sun began to
disappear. At a given moment I truly felt I was so light that I could have
flown away. Don Juan very firmly grabbed my right wrist. The sensation
caused by the pressure of his hand brought back a sense of sobriety and
composure.
I plunked down on the ground and he sat down by me. After a few minutes
rest he quietly stood up, tapped me on the shoulder, and signaled me to
follow him. We climbed back again to the peak of igneous rock where we had
sat before. The rock shielded us from the cold wind. Don Juan broke the
silence.
"It was a fine omen, " he said. "How strange! It happened at the end of
the day. You and I are so different. You are more a creature of the night. I
prefer the young brilliancy of the morning. Or rather the brilliancy of the
morning sun seeks me, but it shies away from you. On the other hand, the
dying sun bathed you. Its flames scorched you without burning you.
How strange!"
"Why is it strange?"
"I've never seen it happen. The omen, when it happens, has always been
in the realm of the young sun."
"Why is it that way, don Juan?"
"This is not the time to talk about it," he said cuttingly.
"Knowledge is power. It takes a long time to harness enough power to
even talk about it." I tried to insist, but he changed the topic abruptly.
He asked me about my progress in "dreaming."
I had begun to dream about specific places, such as the school and the
houses of a few friends.
"Were you at those places during the day or during the night?" he
asked.
My dreams corresponded to the time of the day when I ordinarily was
accustomed to being at those places - in the school during the day, at my
friends' houses at night.
He suggested that I should try "dreaming" while I took a nap during the
daytime and find out if I could actually visualize the chosen place as it
was at the time I was "dreaming."
If I were "dreaming" at night, my visions of the locale should be of
night time. He said that what one experiences in "dreaming" has to be
congruous with the time of the day when "dreaming" was taking place;
otherwise the visions one might have were not "dreaming" but ordinary
dreams.
"In order to help yourself you should pick a specific object that
belongs to the place you want to go and focus your attention on if, " he
went on. "On this hilltop here, for instance, you now have a specific bush
that you must observe until it has a place in your memory. You can come back
here while dreaming simply by recalling that bush, or by recalling this rock
where we are sitting, or by recalling any other thing here. It is easier to
travel in dreaming when you can focus on a place of power, such as this one.
But if you don't want to come here you may use any other place. Perhaps the
school where you go is a place of power for you. Use it. Focus your
attention on any object there and then find it in dreaming.
"From the specific object you recall, you must go back to your hands
and then to another object and so on.
"But now you must focus your attention on everything that exists on
this hilltop, because this is the most important place of your life."
He looked at me as if judging the effect of his words. "This is the
place where you will die, " he said in a soft voice.
I fidgeted nervously, changing sitting positions, and he smiled. "I
will have to come with you over and over to this hilltop, " he said. "And
then you will have to come by yourself until you're saturated with it, until
the hilltop is oozing you.
You will know the time when you are filled with it. This hilltop, as it
is now, will then be the place of your last dance."
"What do you mean by my last dance, don Juan?"
"This is the site of your last stand, " he said. "You will die here no
matter where you are. Every warrior has a place to die. A place of his
predilection which is soaked with unforgettable memories, where powerful
events left their mark, a place where he has witnessed marvels, where
secrets have been revealed to him, a place where he has stored his personal
power.
"A warrior has the obligation to go back to that place of his
predilection every time he taps power in order to store it there. He either
goes there by means of walking or by means of dreaming.
"And finally, one day when his time on earth is up and he feels the tap
of his death on his left shoulder, his spirit, which is always ready, flies
to the place of his predilection and there the warrior dances to his death.
"Every warrior has a specific form, a specific posture of power, which
he develops throughout his life. It is a sort of dance. A movement that he
does under the influence of his personal power.
"If a dying warrior has limited power, his dance is short; if his power
is grandiose, his dance is magnificent. But regardless of whether his power
is small or magnificent, death must stop to witness his last stand on earth.
Death cannot overtake the warrior who is recounting the toil of his life for
the last time until he has finished his dance."
Don Juan's words made me shiver. The quietness, the twilight, the
magnificent scenery, all seemed to have been placed there as props for the
image of a warrior's last dance of power.
"Can you teach me that dance even though I am not a warrior?" I asked.
"Any man that hunts power has to learn that dance, " he said. "Yet I
cannot teach you now. Soon you may have a worthy opponent and I will show
you then the first movement of power. You must add the other movements
yourself as you go on living. Every new one must be obtained during a
struggle of power. So, properly speaking, the posture, the form of a
warrior, is the story of his life, a dance that grows as he grows in
personal power."
"Does death really stop to see a warrior dance?"
"A warrior is only a man. A humble man. He cannot change the designs of
his death. But his impeccable spirit, which has stored power after
stupendous hardships, can certainly hold his death for a moment, a moment
long enough to let him rejoice for the last time in recalling his power. We
may say that that is a gesture which death has with those who have an
impeccable spirit."
I experienced an overwhelming anxiety and I talked just to alleviate
it. I asked him if he had known warriors that had died, and in what way
their last dance had affected their dying.
"Cut it out, " he said dryly. "Dying is a monumental affair. It is more
than kicking your legs and becoming stiff."
"Will I too dance to my death, don Juan?"
"Certainly. You are hunting personal power even though you don't live
like a warrior yet. Today the sun gave you an omen. Your best production in
your life's work will be done towards the end of the day. Obviously you
don't like the youthful brilliancy of early light. Journeying in the morning
doesn't appeal to you. But your cup of tea is the dying sun, old yellowish,
and mellow. You don't like the heat, you like the glow.
"And thus you will dance to your death here, on this hilltop, at the
end of the day. And in your last dance you will tell of your struggle, of
the battles you have won and of those you have lost; you will tell of your
joys and bewilderments upon encountering personal power. Your dance will
tell about the secrets and about the marvels you have stored. And your death
will sit here and watch you.
"The dying sun will glow on you without burning, as it has done today.
The wind will be soft and mellow and your hilltop will tremble. As you reach
the end of your dance you will look at the sun, for you will never see it
again in waking or in dreaming, and then your death will point to the south.
To the vastness."
THE GAIT OF POWER
Saturday, April 8, 1962
"Is death a personage, don Juan?" I asked as I sat down on the porch.
There was an air of bewilderment in don Juan's look. He was holding a bag of
groceries I had brought him. He carefully placed them on the ground and sat
down in front of me. I felt encouraged and explained that I wanted to know
if death was a person, or like a person, when it watched a warrior's last
dance.
"What difference does it make?" don Juan asked.
I told him that the image was fascinating to me and I wanted to know
how he had arrived at it. How he knew that that was so. "It's all very
simple, " he said. "A man of knowledge knows that death is the last witness
because he sees."
"Do you mean that you have witnessed a warrior's last dance yourself?"
"No. One cannot be such a witness. Only death can do that. But I have
seen my own death watching me and I have danced to it as though I were
dying. At the end of my dance death did not point in any direction, and my
place of predilection did not shiver saying goodbye to me. So my time on
earth was not up yet and I did not die. When all that took place, I had
limited power and I did not understand the designs of my own death, thus I
believed I was dying."
"Was your death like a person?"
"You're a funny bird. You think you are going to understand by asking
questions. I don't think you will, but who am I to say?
"Death is not like a person. It is rather a presence. But one may also
choose to say that it is nothing and yet it is everything. One will be right
on every count. Death is whatever one wishes.
"I am at ease with people, so death is a person for me. I am also given
to mysteries, so death has hollow eyes for me. I can look through them. They
are like two windows and yet they move, like eyes move. And so I can say
that death with its hollow eyes looks at a warrior while he dances for the
last time on earth."
"But is that so only for you, don Juan, or is it the same for other
warriors?"
"It is the same for every warrior that has a dance of power, and yet it
is not. Death witnesses a warrior's last dance, but the manner in which a
warrior sees his death is a personal matter. It could be anything-a bird, a
light, a person, a bush, a pebble, a piece of fog, or an unknown presence."
Don Juan's images of death disturbed me. I could not find adequate
words to voice my questions and I stammered. He stared at me, smiling, and
coaxed me to speak up. I asked him if the manner in which a warrior saw his
death depended on the way he had been brought up. I used the Yuma and Yaqui
Indians as examples. My own idea was that culture determined the way in
which one would envision death.
"It doesn't matter how one was brought up, " he said.
"What determines the way one does anything is personal power. A man is
only the sum of his personal power, and that sum determines how he lives and
how he dies."
"What is personal power?"
"Personal power is a feeling, " he said. "Something like being lucky.
Or one may call it a mood. Personal power is something that one acquires
regardless of one's origin. I already have told you that a warrior is a
hunter of power, and that I am teaching you how to hunt and store it. The
difficulty with you, which is the difficulty with all of us, is to be
convinced.
You need to believe that personal power can be used and that it is
possible to store it, but you haven't been convinced so far."
I told him that he had made his point and that I was as convinced as I
would ever be. He laughed. "That is not the type of conviction I am talking
about," he said.
He tapped my shoulder with two or three soft punches and added with a
cackle, "I don't need to be humored, you know."
I felt obliged to assure him that I was serious.
"I don't doubt it, " he said. "But to be convinced means that you can
act by yourself. It will still take you a great deal of effort to do that.
Much more has to be done. You have just begun."
He was quiet for a moment. His face acquired a placid expression.
"It's funny the way you sometimes remind me of myself," he went on. "I
too did not want to take the path of a warrior. I believed that all that
work was for nothing, and since we are all going to die what difference
would it make to be a warrior? I was wrong. But I had to find that out for