By Carlos Castaneda
"A guy of information is free...he has no honor, no dignity, no relations, no domestic, no nation, yet in simple terms lifestyles to be lived."--don JuanIn 1961 a tender anthropologist subjected himself to a unprecedented apprenticeship to deliver again a desirable glimpse of a Yaqui Indian's international of "non-ordinary fact" and the tricky and hazardous highway a guy needs to shuttle to turn into "a guy of knowledge." but at the deliver of that global, difficult to all that we think, he drew back.Then in 1968, Carlos Castaneda back to Mexico, to don Juan and his hallucinogenic medicines, and to an international of expertise no guy from our Western civilization had ever entered sooner than.
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Additional resources for A Separate Reality: Further Conversations with Don Juan
They both thought the incident was very funny. Eligio, in the meantime, had not said a word. He was withdrawn, as usual. He did not even laugh. " I asked. "No. Not me. " Lucio and Benigno found the statement utterly funny and roared again. " "My grandfather is too old to know anything," Lucio said with great conviction. "Yeah, he's too old," Benigno echoed. I thought the opinion the two young men had of don Juan was childish and unfounded. I felt it was my duty to defend his character and I told them that in my judgment don Juan was then, as he had been in the past, a great sorcerer, perhaps even the greatest of all.
The smoke takes you to where the ally is, and when you become one with the ally you don't ever have to smoke again. From then on you can summon your ally at will and make him do anything you want. "The allies are neither good nor evil, but are put to use by the sorcerers for whatever purpose they see fit. I like the little smoke as an ally because it doesn't demand much of me. " "How does an ally look to you, don Juan? " "Real people look like luminous eggs when you see them. Non-people always look like people.
And then I saw my mother. It was not the thought of my mother, the way I think of her ordinarily. This was a clear vision of her, standing by me. I felt desperate. I was trembling and wanted to escape. The vision of my mother was too disturbing, too alien to what I was pursuing in that peyote meeting. There was apparently no conscious way to avoid it. Perhaps I could have opened my eyes if I really wanted the vision to vanish, but instead I examined it in detail. My examination was more than merely looking at her; it was a compulsive scrutiny and assessment.