By Carlos Castaneda
"A guy of data is free...he has no honor, no dignity, no family members, no domestic, no state, 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 global of "non-ordinary truth" and the tricky and hazardous highway a guy needs to go back and forth to turn into "a guy of knowledge." but at the carry of that international, demanding 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 a global 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
I've seen the Huichol Indians eating it. They acted as if they had rabies. They frothed and puked and pissed all over the place. You could get epilepsy from taking that confounded thing. That's what Mr. Salas, the government engineer, told me once. " "That's being worse than animals," Bajea added solemnly. "You saw only what you wanted to see about the Huichol Indians, Genaro," don Juan said. "For one thing, you never took the trouble of finding out from them what it's like to get acquainted with Mescalito.
I made out the vague silhouette of two people standing under a small tree; it was Lucio and one of his friends, who were waiting for me and guided me to the house with a flashlight. Lucio's house was a flimsy, two-room, dirt-floor, wattle-and-daub construction. It was perhaps twenty feet long and supported by relatively thin beams of the mesquite tree. It had, as all the houses of the Yaquis have, a flat, thatched roof and a nine-foot-wide ramada, which is a sort of awning over the entire front part of the house.
Those are the lights on the head of death," he said softly. "Death puts them on like a hat and then shoots off on a gallop. " A chill ran up my back. After a while I looked in the rear-view mirror again, but the lights were not there any more. I told don Juan that the car must have stopped or turned off the road. He did not look back; he just stretched his arms and yawned. "No," he said. "Death never stops. " We arrived in northeastern Mexico June 13. Two old Indian women, who looked alike and seemed to be sisters, and four girls were gathered at the door of a small adobe house.
A Separate Reality: Further Conversations with Don Juan by Carlos Castaneda