By Carlos Castaneda
"A guy of data is free...he has no honor, no dignity, no kinfolk, no domestic, no state, yet simply existence to be lived."--don JuanIn 1961 a tender anthropologist subjected himself to a rare apprenticeship to deliver again a desirable glimpse of a Yaqui Indian's global of "non-ordinary truth" and the tough and hazardous highway a guy needs to commute to develop into "a guy of knowledge." but at the convey of that global, hard to all that we think, he drew back.Then in 1968, Carlos Castaneda lower 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
Don Juan answered that I was not, and that I had really come to Sonora to see him. "Carlos is learning about Mescalito, and I'm teaching him," don Juan said. All of them looked at me and smiled politely. Bajea, the woodcutter, a small, thin man with sharp features, looked at me fixedly for a moment and then said that the storekeeper had accused me of being a spy from an American company that was planning to do mining in the Yaqui land. They all reacted as if they were indignant at such an accusation.
The way you act," he said, "one would think that diarrhea is lurking out there, waiting for you to step out of the car to jump you. " Don Juan's tone was so serious that I began to laugh. Then we drove in silence for a long time. When we arrived at a highway stop for trucks called Los Vidrios— Glass—it was already quite dark. " "Pork meat," a woman shouted back from inside. "I hope for your sake that the pig was run down on the road today," don Juan said to me, laughing. We got out of the car.
I looked at his face; the light had also enhanced the deep wrinkles on his neck and forehead, and made him look darker and older. I looked at the other men; under the greenish-white light of the gasoline lantern all of them looked tired and old. Lucio addressed the whole group in Spanish and said in a loud voice that we were going to drink one bottle of bacanora that I had brought for him from Hermosillo. He went into the other room, brought out a bottle, uncorked it, and gave it to me along with a small tin cup.