Советы вдыхать в легкие мелкий порошек грибов через трубку , ни к чему хорошему привести не могут.
И чтобы развеять данные заблуждения, я выкладываю информацию, которую получил от разных людей и вразное время.
Основная часть информации по классификации грибов получена от мембера под ником Влник. Другая - от последователей Карлоса Кастанеды и также из архивных данныхъ людей, общавшихся с Кастанедой или состоявших с ним в переписке.
для начала - запощу большой, но необходимый материал на языке оригинала книги. А затем - последуют материалы на русском языке в сравнении.
Don Juan used, separately and on different occasions, three
hallucinogenic plants: peyote (Lophophora williamsii), Jimson
weed (Datura inoxia syn. D. meteloides), and a mushroom
(possibly Psilocybe mexicana). Since before their contact with
Europeans, American Indians have known the hallucinogenic
properties of these three plants. Because of their properties, the
plants have been widely employed for pleasure, for curing,
for witchcraft, and for attaining a state of ecstasy. In the specific
context of his teachings, Don Juan related the use of Datura
inoxia and Psilocybe mexicana to the acquisition of power, a
power he called an ‘ally’. He related the use of Lophophora
williamsii to the acquisition of wisdom, or the knowledge of the
right way to live. ‘How about the devil’s weed?’
‘I’ve already said that I must protect myself, following the
directions of my ally the smoke. And as far as I know, the
smoke can do anything. If you want to know about any point in
question, the smoke will tell you. And it will give you not only
knowledge, but also the means to proceed. It’s the most marvel-
lous ally a man could have.’
‘Is the smoke the best possible ally for everybody?’
70 The Teachings
‘It’s not the same for everybody. Many fear it and won’t
touch it, or even get close to it. The smoke is like everything
else; it wasn’t made for all of us.’
‘What kind of smoke is it, don Juan?’
‘The smoke of diviners!’
There was a noticeable reverence in his voice - a mood I had
never detected before.
‘I will begin by telling you exactly what my benefactor said
to me when he began to teach me about it. Although at that time,
like yourself now, I couldn’t possibly have understood. «The
devil’s weed is for those who bid for power. The smoke is for
those who want to watch and see.» And in my opinion, the smoke
is peerless. Once a man enters into its field, every other power is
at his command. It’s magnificent! Of course, it takes a lifetime.
It takes years alone to become acquainted with its two vital parts:
the pipe and the smoke mixture. The pipe was given to me by
my benefactor, and after so many years of fondling it, it has
become mine. It has grown into my hands. To turn it over to
your hands, for instance, will be a real task for me, and a great
accomplishment for you - if we succeed! The pipe will feel the
strain of being handled by someone else; and if one of us makes
a mistake there won’t be any way to prevent the pipe from
bursting open by its own force, or escaping from our hands to
shatter, even if it falls on a pile of straw. If that ever happens, it
would mean the end of us both. Particularly of me. The smoke
would turn against me in unbelievable ways.’
‘How could it turn against you if it’s your ally?’
My question seemed to have altered his flow of thoughts. He
didn’t speak for a long time.
‘The difficulty of the ingredients,’ he proceeded suddenly,
‘makes the smoke mixture one of the most dangerous substances
I know. No one can prepare it without being coached. It is deadly
poisonous to anyone except the smoke’s protege! Pipe and mix-
ture ought to be treated with intimate care. And the man attempt-
ing to learn must prepare himself by leading a hard, quiet life.
Its effects are so dreadful that only a very strong man can stand
the smallest puff. Everything is terrifying and confusing at the
The Teachings 71
outset, but every new puff makes things more precise. And sud-
denly the world opens up anew! Unimaginable! When this hap-
pens the smoke has become one’s ally and will resolve any ques-
tion by allowing one to enter into inconceivable worlds.
‘This is the smoke’s greatest property, its greatest gift. And
it performs its function without hurting in the least. I call the
smoke a true ally!’
As usual, we were sitting in front of his house, where the dirt
floor is always clean and packed hard; he suddenly got up and
went inside the house. After a few moments he returned with a
narrow bundle and sat down again.
‘This is my pipe,’ he said.
He leaned over towards me and showed me a pipe he drew out
of a sheath made of green canvas. It was perhaps nine or ten
inches long. The stem was made of reddish wood; it was plain,
without ornamentation. The bowl also seemed to be made of
wood; but it was rather bulky in comparison with the thin stem.
It had a sleek finish and was dark grey, almost charcoal.
He held the pipe in front of my face. I thought he was handing
it over to me. I stretched out my hand to take it, but he quickly
drew it back.
‘This pipe was given to me by my benefactor,’ he said. ‘In
turn I will pass it on to you. But first you must get to know it.
Every time you come here I will give it to you. Begin by touching
it. Hold it very briefly, at first, until you and the pipe get used to
each other. Then put it in your pocket, or perhaps inside your
shirt. And finally put it to your mouth. All this should be done
little by little in a slow, careful way. When the bond has been
established [la amistad esta hecha] you will smoke from it. If
you follow my advice and don’t rush, the smoke may become
your preferred ally too.’
He handed me the pipe, but without letting go of it. I stretched
my right arm towards it.
‘With both hands,’ he said.
I touched the pipe with both hands for a very brief moment.
He did not extend it to me all the way so that I could grasp it,
but only far enough for me to touch it. Then he pulled it back.
72 The Teachings
‘The first step is to like the pipe. That takes time!’
‘Can the pipe dislike me?’
‘No. The pipe cannot dislike you, but you must learn to
like it so that when the time of smoking comes for you, the pipe
will help you to be unafraid.’
‘What do you smoke, don Juan?’
‘This!’
He opened his collar and exposed to view a small bag he kept
under his shirt, which hung from his neck like a medallion. He
brought it out, untied it, and very carefully poured some of its
contents into the palm of his hand.
As far as I could tell, the mixture looked like finely shredded
tea leaves, varying in colour from dark brown to light green,
with a few specks of bright yellow.
He returned the mixture to the bag, closed the bag, tied it with
a leather string, and put it under his shirt again.
‘What kind of mixture is it?’
‘There are lots of things in it. To get all the ingredients is a
very difficult undertaking. One must travel afar. The little mush-
rooms [los honguitos] needed to prepare the mixture grow only
at certain times of the year, and only in certain places.’
‘Do you have a different mixture for each type of aid you
need?’
‘No! There is only one smoke, and there is no other like it.’
He pointed to the bag hanging against his chest, and lifted the
pipe which was resting between his legs.
‘These two are one! One cannot go without the other. This
pipe and the secret of this mixture belonged to my benefactor.
They were handed down to him in the same way my benefactor
gave them to me. The mixture, although difficult to prepare, is
replenishable. Its secret lies in its ingredients, and in the way they
are treated and mixed. The pipe, on the other hand, is a lifetime
affair. It must be looked after with infinite care. It is hardy and
strong, but it should never be struck or knocked about. It should
be handled with dry hands, never when the hands are sweaty,
and should be used only when one is alone. And no one, abso-
lutely no one, should ever see it, unless you mean to give it to
The Teachings 73
somebody. That is what my benefactor taught me, and that is
the way I have dealt with the pipe all my life.’
‘What would happen if you should lose or break the pipe?’
He shook his head, very slowly, and looked at me.
‘I would die!’
‘Are all the sorcerers’ pipes like yours?’
‘Not all of them have pipes like mine. But I know some men
who do.’
‘Can you yourself make a pipe like this one, don Juan?’ I
insisted. ‘Suppose you did not have it, how could you give me
one if you wanted to do so?’
‘If I didn’t have the pipe, I could not, nor would I, want to
give one. I would give you something else instead.’
He seemed to be somehow cross at me. He placed his pipe very
carefully inside the sheath, which must have been lined with a
soft material because the pipe, which fitted tightly, slid in very
smoothly. He went inside the house to put his pipe away.
‘Are you angry at me, don Juan?’ I asked when he returned.
He seemed surprised at my question.
‘No! I’m never angry at anybody! No human being can do
anything important enough for that. You get angry at people
when you feel that their acts are important. I don’t feel that way
any longer.’ Saturday, 27 January 1962
As soon as I got to his house this morning don Juan told me he
was going to show me how to prepare the smoke mixture. We
walked to the hills and went quite a way into one of the canyons.
He stopped next to a tall, slender bush whose colour contrasted
markedly with that of the surrounding vegetation. The chapar-
ral around the bush was yellowish, but the bush was bright
green.
‘From this little tree you must take the leaves and the flowers,’
he said. ‘The right time to pick them is All Souls’ Day [el dia de
las animas].’
He took out his knife and chopped off the end of a thin
branch. He chose another similar branch and also chopped off
its tip. He repeated this operation until he had a handful of
branch tips. Then he sat down on the ground.
‘Look here,’ he said. ‘I have cut all the branches above the
fork made by two or more leaves and the stem. Do you see? They
are all the same. I have used only the tip of each branch, where the
leaves are fresh and tender. Now we must look for a shaded
place.’
We walked until he seemed to have found what he was looking
for. He took a long string from his pocket and tied it to the
trunk and the lower branches of two bushes, making a kind of
clothesline on which he hung the branch tips upside down. He
arranged them along the string in a neat fashion; hooked by the
fork between the leaves and the stem, they resembled a long row
of green horsemen.
The Teachings 81
‘One must see that the leaves dry in the shade,’ he said. ‘The
place must be secluded and difficult to get to. That way the
leaves are protected. They must be left to dry in a place where it
would be almost impossible to find them. After they have dried,
they must be put in a bundle and sealed.’
He picked up the leaves from the string and threw them into
the nearby shrubs. Apparently he had intended only to show me
the procedure.
We continued walking and he picked three different flowers,
saying they were part of the ingredients and were supposed to be
gathered at the same time. But the flowers had to be put in
separate clay pots and dried in darkness; a lid had to be placed on
each pot so the flowers would turn mouldy inside the container.
He said the function of the leaves and the flowers was to sweeten
the smoke mixture.
We came out of the canyon and walked towards the riverbed.
After a long detour we returned to his house. Late in the evening
we sat in his own room, a thing he rarely allowed me to do, and
he told me about the final ingredient of the mixture, the mush-
rooms.
‘The real secret of the mixture lies in the mushrooms,’ he
said. ‘They are the most difficult ingredient to collect. The
trip to the place where they grow is long and dangerous, and to
select the right variety is even more perilous. There are other
kinds of mushrooms growing alongside which are of no use;
they would spoil the good ones if they were dried together. It
takes time to know the mushrooms well in order not to make a
mistake. Serious harm will result from using the wrong kind -
harm to the man and to the pipe. I know of men who have
dropped dead from using the foul smoke.
‘As soon as the mushrooms are picked they are put inside a
gourd, so there is no way to recheck them. You see, they have
to be torn to shreds in order to make them go through the narrow
neck of the gourd.’
‘How long do you keep the mushrooms inside the gourd?’
‘For a year. All the other ingredients are also sealed for a
year. Then equal parts of them are measured and ground
82 The Teachings
separately into a very fine powder. The little mushrooms don’t
have to be ground because they become a very fine dust by them-
selves; all one needs to do is to mash the chunks. Four parts of
mushrooms are added to one part of all the other ingredients
together. Then they are all mixed and put into a bag like mine.’
He pointed to the little sack hanging under his shirt.
‘Then all the ingredients are gathered again, and after they
have been put to dry you are ready to smoke the mixture you have
just prepared. In your own case, you will smoke next year. And
the year after that, the mixture will be all yours because you will
have gathered it by yourself. The first time you smoke I will
light the pipe for you. You will smoke all the mixture in the
bowl and wait. The smoke will come. You will feel it. It will set
you free to see anything you want to see. Properly speaking, it
is a matchless ally. But whoever seeks it must have an intent
and a will beyond reproach. He needs them because he has to
intend and will his return, or the smoke will not let him come
back. Second, he must intend and will to remember whatever
the smoke allowed him to see, otherwise it will be nothing more
than a piece of fog in his mind.’
Friday, 6 July 1962
Don Juan and I started on a trip late in the afternoon of Saturday
23 June. He said we were going to look for honguitos (mush-
rooms) in the state of Chihuahua. He said it was going to be a
long, hard trip. He was right. We arrived in a little mining town
in northern Chihuahua at 10:00 p.m. on Wednesday 27 June.
We walked from the place I had parked the car at the outskirts of
town, to the house of his friends, a Tarahumara Indian and his
wife. We slept there.
7
Collecting the ingredients and preparing them for the smoke
mixture formed a yearly cycle. The first year don Juan taught me
the procedure. In December of 1962, the second year, when the
cycle was renewed, don Juan merely directed me; I collected the
ingredients myself, prepared them, and put them away until the
next year.
In December 1963, a new cycle started for the third time. Don
Juan then showed me how to combine the dried ingredients I
had collected and prepared the year before. He put the smoking
mixture into a small leather bag, and we set out once again to
collect the different components for the following year.
Don Juan seldom mentioned the ‘little smoke’ during the
year that elapsed between the two gatherings. Every time I went
to see him, however, he gave me his pipe to hold, and the pro-
cedure of ‘getting familiar’ with the pipe developed in the way
he had described. He put the pipe in my hands very gradually.
He demanded absolute and careful concentration on that ac-
tion, and gave me very explicit directions. Any fumbling with
the pipe would inevitably result in his or my death, he said.
As soon as we had finished the third collecting and preparing
cycle, don Juan began to talk about the smoke as an ally for the
first time in more than a year.
Monday, 23 December 1963
We were driving back to his house after collecting some yellow
flowers for the mixture. They were one of the necessary ingredi-
ents. I made the remark that this year we did not follow the
same order in collecting the ingredients as we had the year be-
The Teachings 131
fore. He laughed and said the smoke was not moody or petty, as
the devil’s weed was. For the smoke, the order of collecting was
unimportant; all that was required was that the man using the
mixture had to be accurate and exact.
I asked don Juan what we were going to do with the mixture
he had prepared and given me to keep. He replied that it was
mine, and added that I had to use it as soon as possible. I asked
how much of it was needed each time. The small bag he had
given me contained approximately three times the amount a
small tobacco bag would hold. He told me I would have to use
all the contents of my bag in one year, and how much I needed
each time I smoked was a personal matter.
I wanted to know what would happen if I never finished the
bag. Don Juan said that nothing would happen; the smoke did
not require anything. He himself did not need to smoke any
more, and yet he made a new mixture each year. He then cor-
rected himself and said that he rarely had to smoke. I asked what
he did with the unused mixture, but he did not answer. He said
the mixture was no longer good if not used in one year.
At this point we got into a long argument. I did not phrase my
questions correctly and his answers seemed confusing. I wanted
to know if the mixture would lose its hallucinogenic properties,
or power, after a year, thus making the yearly cycle necessary;
but he insisted that the mixture would not lose its power at any
time. The only thing that happened, he said, was that a man did
not need it any more because he had made a new supply; he had
to dispose of the remaining old mixture in a specific way, which
don Juan did not want to reveal to me at that point.
Tuesday, 24 December 1963
‘You said, don Juan, you don’t have to smoke any more.’
‘Yes, because the smoke is my ally I don’t need to smoke any
more. I can call him any time, any place.’
‘Do you mean he comes to you even if you do not smoke?’
‘I mean I go to him freely.’
‘Will I be able to do that, too?’
‘If you succeed in getting him as your ally, you will.’
132 The Teachings
Tuesday, 31 December 1963
On Thursday 26 December I had my first experience with don
Juan’s ally, the smoke. All day I drove him around and did
chores for him. We returned to his house in the late afternoon. I
mentioned that we had had nothing to eat all day. He was com-
pletely unconcerned over that; instead he began to tell me it was
imperative for me to become familiar with the smoke. He said I
had to experience it myself to realize how important it was as an
ally.
Without giving me an opportunity to say anything, don Juan
told me he was going to light his pipe for me, right then. I tried
to dissuade him, arguing that I did not believe I was ready. I
told him I felt I had not handled the pipe for a long enough
time. But he said there was not much time left for me to learn,
and I had to use the pipe very soon. He brought the pipe out of
its sack and fondled it. I sat on the floor next to him and frantic-
ally tried to get sick and pass out - to do anything to put off this
unavoidable step.
The room was almost dark. Don Juan had lighted the kero-
sene lamp and placed it in a corner. Usually the lamp kept the
room in a relaxing semi-darkness, its yellowish light always
soothing. This time, however, the light seemed dim and un-
usually red; it was unnerving. He untied his small bag of mix-
ture without removing it from the cord fastened around his
neck. He brought the pipe close to him, put it inside his shirt,
and poured some of the mixture into the bowl. He made me
watch the procedure, pointing out that if some of the mixture
spilled it would fall inside his shirt.
Don Juan filled three-fourths of the bowl, then tied the bag
with one hand while holding the pipe in the other. He picked up
a small clay dish, handed it to me, and asked me to get some
small charcoals from the fire outside. I went to the back of the
house and scooped a bunch of charcoals from the adobe stove. I
hurried back to his room. I felt deep anxiety. It was like a pre-
monition.
I sat next to don Juan and gave him the dish. He looked at it
and calmly said the charcoals were too big. He wanted smaller
The Teachings 133
ones that would fit inside the pipe bowl. I went back to the stove
and got some. He took the new dish of charcoals and put it be-
fore him. He was sitting with his legs crossed and tucked under
him. He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye and leaned
forward until his chin nearly touched the charcoals. He held the
pipe in his left hand, and with an extremely swift movement of
his right hand picked up a burning piece of charcoal and put it
into the bowl of the pipe; then he sat up straight and, holding the
pipe with both hands, put it to his mouth and puffed three times.
He stretched his arms to me and told me in a forceful whisper
to take the pipe with both hands and smoke.
The thought of refusing the pipe and running away crossed
my mind for an instant; but don Juan demanded again - still in
a whisper - that I take the pipe and smoke. I looked at him. His
eyes were fixed on me. But his stare was friendly, concerned. It
was clear that I had made the choice a long time before; there
was no alternative but to do what he said.
I took the pipe and nearly dropped it. It was hot! I put it to
my mouth with extreme care because I imagined its heat would
be intolerable on my lips. But I felt no heat at all.
Don Juan told me to inhale. The smoke flowed into my
mouth, and seemed to circulate there. It was heavy! I felt as
though I had a mouthful of dough. The simile occurred to me
although I had never had a mouthful of dough. The smoke was
also like menthol, and the inside of my mouth suddenly became
cold. It was a refreshing sensation. ‘Again! Again!’ I heard don
Juan whispering. I felt the smoke seep inside my body freely,
almost without my control. I needed no more urging from don
Juan. Mechanically I kept inhaling.
Suddenly don Juan leaned over and took the pipe from my
hands. He tapped the ashes gently on the dish with the char-
coals, then he wet his finger with saliva and rotated it inside the
bowl to clean its sides. He blew through the stem repeatedly. I
saw him put the pipe back into its sheath. His actions held my
interest.
When he had finished cleaning the pipe and putting it away,
he stared at me, and I realized for the first time that my whole
134 The Teachings
body was numb, mentholated. My face felt heavy and my jaws
hurt. I could not keep my mouth closed, but there was no saliva
flow. My mouth was burning dry, and yet I was not thirsty. I
began to sense an unusual heat all over my head. A cold heat!
My breath seemed to cut my nostrils and upper lip every time I
exhaled. But it didn’t burn; it hurt like a piece of ice.
Don Juan sat next to me, to my right, and without moving
held the pipe sheath against the floor as though keeping it down
by force. My hands were heavy. My arms sagged, pulling my
shoulders down. My nose was running. I wiped it with the back
of my hand, and my upper lip was rubbed off! I wiped my face,
and all the flesh was wiped off! I was melting! I felt as if my
flesh was actually melting. I jumped to my feet and tried to grab
hold of something - anything - with which to support myself. I
was experiencing a terror I had never felt before. I held onto a
pole that don Juan keeps stuck on the floor in the centre of his
room. I stood there for a moment, then I turned to look at him.
He was still sitting motionless, holding his pipe, staring at me.
My breath was painfully hot (or cold?). It was choking me. I
bent my head forward to rest it on the pole, but apparently I
missed it, and my head kept on moving downward beyond the
point where the pole was. I stopped when I was nearly down to
the floor. I pulled myself up. The pole was there in front of my
eyes! I tried again to rest my head on it. I tried to control my-
self and to be aware, and kept my eyes open as I leaned forward
to touch the pole with my forehead. It was a few inches from my
eyes, but as I put my head against it I had the queerest feeling
that I was going right through it.
In a desperate search for a rational explanation I concluded
that my eyes were distorting depth, and that the pole must have
been ten feet away, even though I saw it directly in front of my
face. I then conceived a logical, rational way to check the posi-
tion of the pole. I began moving sideways around it, one little
step at a time. My argument was that in walking around the pole
in that way I couldn’t possibly make a circle more than five feet
in diameter; if the pole was really ten feet away from me, or be-
yond my reach, a moment would come when I would have my
The Teachings 135
back to it. I trusted that at that moment the pole would vanish,
because in reality it would be behind me.
I then proceeded to circle the pole, but it remained in front of
my eyes as I went around it. In a fit of frustration I grabbed it
with both hands, but my hands went through it. I was grabbing
the air. I carefully calculated the distance between the pole and
myself. I figured it must be three feet. That is, my eyes perceived
it as three feet. I played for a moment with the perception of
depth by moving my head from one side to the other, focusing
each eye in turn on the pole and then on the background. Ac-
cording to my way of judging depth, the pole was unmistakably
before me, possibly three feet away. Stretching out my arms to
protect my head, I charged with all my strength. The sensation
was the same - I went through the pole. This time I went all the
way to the floor. I stood up again. And standing up was perhaps
the most unusual of all the acts I performed that night. I thought
myself up! In order to get up I did not use my muscles and
skeletal frame in the way I am accustomed to doing, because
I no longer had control over them. I knew it the instant I hit
the ground. But my curiosity about the pole was so strong I
‘thought myself up’ in a kind of reflex action. And before I fully
realized I could not move, I was up.
I called to don Juan for help. At one moment I yelled fran-
tically at the top of my voice, but don Juan did not move. He
kept on looking at me, sideways, as though he didn’t want to
turn his head to face me fully. I took a step toward him, but in-
stead of moving forward I staggered backward and fell against
the wall. I knew I had rammed against it with my back, yet it did
not feel hard; I was completely suspended in a soft, spongy sub-
stance - it was the wall. My arms were stretched out laterally,
and slowly my whole body seemed to sink into the wall. I could
only look forward into the room. Don Juan was still watching
me, but he made no move to help me. I made a supreme effort to
jerk my body out of the wall, but it only sank deeper and deeper.
In the midst of indescribable terror, I felt that the spongy wall
was closing in on my face. I tried to shut my eyes but they were
fixed open.
136 The Teachings
I don’t remember what else happened. Suddenly don Juan
was in front of me, a short distance away. We were in the other
room. I saw his table and the dirt stove with the fire burning, and
with the comer of my eye I distinguished the fence outside the
house. I could see everything very clearly. Don Juan had brought
the kerosene lantern and hung it from the beam in the middle of
the room. I tried to look in a different direction, but my eyes
were set to see only straight forward. I couldn’t distinguish, or
feel, any pan of my body. My breathing was undetectable. But
my thoughts were extremely lucid. I was clearly aware of what-
ever was taking place in front of me. Don Juan walked towards
me, and my clarity of mind ended. Something seemed to stop
inside me. There were no more thoughts. I saw don Juan coming
and I hated him. I wanted to tear him apart. I could have killed
him then, but I could not move. At first I vaguely sensed a
pressure on my head, but it also disappeared. There was only one
thing left - an overwhelming anger at don Juan. I saw him only a
few inches from me. I wanted to claw him apart. I felt I was
groaning. Something in me began to convulse. I heard don Juan
talking to me. His voice was soft and soothing, and, I felt, in-
finitely pleasing. He came even closer and started to recite a
Spanish lullaby.
‘Lady Saint Ana, why does the baby cry? For an apple he has
lost. I will give you one. I will give you two. One for the boy and
one for you [?Senora Santa Ana, porque llora el nino? Por una
manzana que se le ha perdido. Yo le dare una. Yo le dare dos.
Una para el nino y otra para vos]’ A warmth pervaded me. It
was a warmth of heart and feelings. Don Juan’s words were a
distant echo. They recalled the forgotten memories of child-
hood.
The violence I had felt before disappeared. The resentment
changed into a longing - a joyous affection for don Juan. He said
I must struggle not to fall asleep; that I no longer had a body
and was free to turn into anything I wanted. He stepped back.
My eyes were at a normal level as though I were standing in
front of him. He extended both his arms towards me and told
me to come inside them.
The Teachings 137
Either I moved forward, or he came closer to me. His hands
were almost on my face - on my eyes, although I did not feel
them. ‘Get inside my chest,’ I heard him say. I felt I was en-
gulfing him. It was the same sensation of the sponginess of the
wall.
Then I could hear only his voice commanding me to look and
see. I could not distinguish him any more. My eyes were ap-
parently open for I saw flashes of light on a red field; it was as
though I was looking at a light through my closed eyelids. Then
my thoughts were turned on again. They came back in a fast
barrage of images - faces, scenery. Scenes without any coherence
popped up and disappeared. It was like a fast dream in which
images overlap and change. Then the thoughts began to diminish
in number and intensity, and soon they were gone again. There
was only an awareness of affection, of being happy. I couldn’t
distinguish any shapes or light. All of a sudden I was pulled up.
I distinctly felt I was being lifted. And I was free, moving with
tremendous lightness and speed in water or air. I swam like an
eel; I contorted and twisted and soared up and down at will. I
felt a cold wind blowing all around me, and I began to float like
a feather back and forth, down, and down, and down.
Saturday, 28 December 1963
I woke up yesterday late in the afternoon. Don Juan told me I
had slept peacefully for nearly two days. I had a splitting head-
ache. I drank some water and got sick. I felt tired, extremely
tired, and after eating I went back to sleep.
Today I felt perfectly relaxed again. Don Juan and I talked
about my experience with the little smoke. Thinking that he
wanted me to tell the whole story the way I always did, I began
to describe my impressions, but he stopped me and said it was
not necessary. He told me I had really not done anything, and
that I had fallen asleep right away, so there was nothing to talk
about.
‘How about the way I felt? Isn’t that important at all?’ I in-
sisted.
‘No, not with the smoke. Later on, when you learn how
138 The Teachings
to travel, we will talk; when you learn how to get into things.
‘Does one really «get into» things?’
‘Don’t you remember? You went into and through that wall.’
‘I think I really went out of my mind.’
‘No, you didn’t.’
‘Did you behave the same way I did when you smoked for the
first time, don Juan?’
‘No, it wasn’t the same. We have different characters.’
‘How did you behave?’
Don Juan did not answer. I rephrased the question and asked
it again. But he said he did not remember his experiences, and
that my question was comparable to asking a fisherman how he
felt the first time he fished.
He said the smoke as an ally was unique, and I reminded him
that he had also said Mescalito was unique. He argued that each
was unique, but that they differed in quality.
‘Mescalito is a protector because he talks to you and can guide
your acts,’ he said. ‘Mescalito teaches the right way to live. And
you can see him because he is outside you. The smoke, on the
other hand, is an ally. It transforms you and gives you power
without ever showing its presence. You can’t talk to it. But you
know it exists because it takes your body away and makes you as
light as air. Yet you never see it. But it is there giving you power
to accomplish unimaginable things, such as when it takes your
body away.’
‘I really felt I had lost my body, don Juan.’
‘You did.’
‘You mean, I really didn’t have a body?’
‘What do you think yourself?’
‘Well, I don’t know. All I can tell you is what I felt.’
‘That is all there is in reality - what you felt.’
‘But how did you see me, don Juan? How did I appear to
you?’
‘How I saw you does not matter. It is like the time when you
grabbed the pole. You felt it was not there and you went around
it to make sure it was there. But when you jumped at it you felt
again that it was not really there.’
The Teachings 139
‘But you saw me as I am now, didn’t you?’
‘No! You were NOT as you are now!’
‘True! I admit that. But I had my body, didn’t I, although I
couldn’t feel it?’
‘No! Goddammit! You did not have a body like the body you
have today!’
‘What happened to my body then?’
‘I thought you understood. The little smoke took your body.’
‘But where did it go?’
‘How in hell do you expect me to know that?’
It was useless to persist in trying to get a ‘rational’ explana-
tion. I told him I did not want to argue or to ask stupid ques-
tions, but if I accepted the idea that it was possible to lose my
body I would lose all my rationality.
He said that I was exaggerating, as usual, and that I did not,
nor was I going to, lose anything because of the little smoke.
Tuesday, 28 January 1964
I asked don Juan what he thought of the idea of giving the
smoke to anyone who wanted the experience.
He indignantly replied that to give the smoke to anyone would
be just the same as killing him, for he would have no one to guide
him. I asked don Juan to explain what he meant. He said I was
there, alive and talking to him, because he had brought me back.
He had restored my body. Without him I would never have
awakened.
‘How did you restore my body, don Juan?’
‘You will learn that later, but you will have to learn to do it
all by yourself. That is the reason I want you to learn as much
as you can while I am still around. You have wasted enough
time asking stupid questions about nonsense. But perhaps it is
not in your destiny to learn all about the little smoke.’
‘Well, what shall I do, then?’
‘Let the smoke teach you as much as you can learn.’
‘Does the smoke also teach?’
‘Of course it teaches.’
‘Does it teach as Mescalito does?’
140 The Teachings
‘No, it is not a teacher as Mescalito is. It does not show the
same things.’
‘But what does the smoke teach, then?’
‘It shows you how to handle its power, and to learn that you
must take it as many times as you can.’
‘Your ally is very frightening, don Juan. It was unlike any-
thing I ever experienced before. I thought I had lost my mind.’
For some reason this was the most poignant image that came
to my mind. I viewed the total event from the peculiar stand of
having had other hallucinogenic experiences from which to draw
a comparison, and the only thing that occurred to me, over and
over again, was that with the smoke one loses one’s mind.
Don Juan discarded my simile, saying that what I felt was its
unimaginable power. And to handle that power, he said, one has
to live a strong life. The idea of the strong life not only pertains
to the preparation period, but also entails the attitude of the
man after the experience. He said the smoke is so strong one can
match it only with strength; otherwise, one’s life would be shat-
tered to bits.
I asked him if the smoke had the same effect on everyone. He
said it produced a transformation, but not in everyone.
‘Then, what is the special reason the smoke produced the
transformation in me?’ I asked.
‘That, I think, is a very silly question. You have followed
obediently every step required. It is no mystery that the smoke
transformed you.’
I asked him again to tell me about my appearance. I wanted to
know how I looked, for the image of a bodiless being he had
planted in my mind was understandably unbearable.
He said that to tell the truth he was afraid to look at me; he
felt the same way his benefactor must have felt when he saw don
Juan smoking for the first time.
‘Why were you afraid? Was I that frightening?’ I asked.
‘I had never seen anyone smoking before.’
‘Didn’t you see your benefactor smoke?’
‘No.’
‘You have never seen even yourself?’
The Teachings 141
‘How could I?’
‘You could smoke in front of a mirror.’
He did not answer, but stared at me and shook his head. I
asked him again if it was possible to look into a mirror. He said
it would be possible, although it would be useless because one
would probably die of fright, if of nothing else.
I said, ‘Then one must look frightful.’
‘I have wondered all my life about the same thing,’ he said.
‘Yet I did not ask, nor did I look into a mirror. I did not even
think of that.’
‘How can I find out then?’
‘You will have to wait, the same way I did, until you give the
smoke to someone else - if you ever master it, of course. Then
you will see how a man looks. That is the rule.’
‘What would happen if I smoked in front of a camera and
took a picture of myself?’
‘I don’t know. The smoke would probably turn against you.
But I suppose you find it so harmless you feel you can play with
it.’
I told him I did not mean to play, but that he had told me
before that the smoke did not require steps, and I thought there
would be no harm in wanting to know how one looked. He cor-
rected me, saying that he had meant there was no necessity to
follow a specific order, as there is with the devil’s weed; all that
was needed with the smoke was the proper attitude, he said.
From that point of view one had to be exact in following the
rule. He gave me an example, explaining that it did not matter
what ingredient for the mixture was picked first, so long as the
amount was correct.
I asked if there would be any harm in my telling others about
my experience. He replied that the only secrets never to be re-
vealed were how to make the mixture, how to move around, and
how to return; other matters concerning the subject were of no
importance.
