The sorcerer’s 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 utilising 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 sorcerer’s symbolic but final death – don Juan said – and in that field at 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 towards 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 but the eagle did not let me go through to freedom. It was as if it told me to go back, and try again.
I ascended the heights of blackness and descended again to the light of the earth and then I found myself in a shallow grave at the edge of the field covered with rocks and dirt.
Don Juan said that he knew instantly what to do. After digging himself out, he rearranged the grave to look as though a body were still there, and slipped away. He felt strong and determined. He knew that he had to return to his benefactor’s house but before he started on his return journey he wanted to see his family and explain to them that he was a sorcerer and for, for that reason, he couldn’t stay with them.
He wanted to explain that his downfall had been not knowing that sorcerers can never make a bridge to join the people of the world but, if people desire to do so, they have to make a bridge to join the sorcerer.
I went home – don Juan continued – but the house was empty. The shocked neighbors told me that farm workers had come earlier with the news that I had dropped dead at work, and my wife and her children had left.
How long were you dead don Juan? – I asked.
A whole day, apparently – he said.
Don Juan’s smile played on his lips. His eyes seemed to be made of shiny obsidian: He was watching my reaction… waiting for my comments.
What became of your family don Juan? – I asked
Aha, the question of a sensible man – he remarked – for a moment I thought you were going to ask me about my death.
I confessed that I had been about to, but that I knew he was seeing my question as I formulated it in my mind, and just to be contrary I asked something else. I didn’t mean it as a joke, but it made him laugh.
My family disappeared that day – he said – my wife was a survivor… she had to be, with the conditions we lived under; since I had been waiting for my death, she believed I had gotten what I wanted. There was nothing for her to do there, so she left. I missed the children, and I consoled myself with the thought that it wasn’t my fate to be with them, however sorcerers have a peculiar bent: they live exclusively in the twilight of a feeling, best described by the words “…and yet”…
When everything is crumbling down around them, sorcerers accept that the situation is terrible and then immediately escape to the twilight of “…and yet…”. I did that with those feelings for the children and the woman. With great discipline, especially on the part of the oldest boy, they had recapitulated their lives with me: only the spirit could decide the outcome of that affection.
He reminded me that he had taught me how warriors acted in such situations: they did their utmost, and then, without any remorse or regrets, they relaxed and let the spirit decide the outcome.
What was the decision of the spirit don Juan? – I asked.
He scrutinized me without answering. I knew he was completely aware of my motive for asking… I had experienced a similar affection and a similar loss.
The decision of the spirit is another basic core – he said – sorcery stories are built around it. We’ll talk about that specific decision when we get to discussing that basic core. Now, wasn’t there a question about my death you wanted to ask?
If they thought you were dead, why the shallow grave? – I asked – why didn’t they dig a real grave and bury you?
That’s more like you – he said, laughing – I asked the same question myself and I realized that all those farmworkers 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 collect 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 that 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.
from "The Power of Silence" by Carlos Castaneda
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