wasn't after sketchy
descriptions. He wanted me to air the full impact of what was troubling
me.
"Let's have this talk, as they say in your world, by the
book," he said. "Let us enter into the realm of formal
talks."
Don Juan explained that the shamans of ancient Mexico had developed the idea of formal versus informal talks,
and used both of them as devices for teaching and guiding their disciples.
Formal talks were, for them, summations that they made from time to time of everything
that they had taught or said to their disciples. Informal talks
were daily elucidations in which things were explained
without reference to anything but the phenomenon itself under scrutiny.
"Sorcerers keep nothing to themselves," he continued. "To
empty themselves in this fashion is a sorcerers' maneuver. It leads them to
abandon the fortress of the self."
I began my story, telling don Juan that the circumstances of my life
have never permitted me to be introspective. As far back in my
past as I can remember, my daily life has been filled to the brim
with pragmatic problems that have clamored for immediate resolution. I remember
my favorite uncle telling me that he was appalled at having
found out that I had never received a gift for Christmas
or for my birthday. I had come to live in my father's family's home not too
long before he made that statement. He commiserated with me
about the unfairness of my situation. He even apologized, although it
had nothing to do with him.
"It is disgusting, my boy," he said, shaking with feeling.
"I want you to know that I am behind you one hundred
percent when-ever the moment comes to redress wrongdoings."
He insisted over and over that I had to forgive the people who had
wronged me. From what he said, I formed the impression that he wanted me to
confront my father with his finding and accuse him of indolence and neglect,
and then, of course, forgive him. He failed to see that I didn't feel wronged
at all. What he was asking me to do required an introspective nature that would
make me
respond to the barbs of psychological mistreatment once they were pointed out
to me. I assured my uncle that I was going
to think about it, but not at the moment, because at that very instant, my girlfriend, from the living room where
she was waiting for me, was signaling me desperately to hurry up.
1 never had the opportunity to think about it, but my uncle must have
talked to my father, because I got a gift from him, a package neatly wrapped
up, with ribbon and all, and a little card that said
"Sorry." I curiously and eagerly ripped the wrappings. There was a
cardboard box, and inside it there was a beautiful toy, a tiny boat
with a winding key attached to the steam pipe. It could be used by children to
play with while they took baths in the bathtub. My father had thoroughly
forgotten that I was already fifteen years old and, for all practical purposes,
a man.
Since I had reached my adult years still incapable of serious
introspection, it was quite a novelty when one day years later I found myself
in the throes of a strange emotional agitation, which seemed
to increase as time went by. I discarded it, attributing it to natural
processes of the mind or the body that enter into action
periodically, for no reason at all, or are perhaps triggered by
biochemical processes within the body itself. I thought nothing of it. However,
the agitation increased and its pressure forced me to believe that I
had arrived at a moment in life when what I needed was a
drastic change. There was something in me that demanded a rearrangement of my life.
This urge to rearrange everything was familiar. I had felt it in the past, but
it had been dormant for a long time.
I was committed to studying anthropology, and this commitment was so
strong that not to study anthropology was never part of my proposed
drastic change. It didn't occur to me to drop out of school
and do something else. The first thing that came to mind was that I needed to
descriptions. He wanted me to air the full impact of what was troubling
me.
"Let's have this talk, as they say in your world, by the
book," he said. "Let us enter into the realm of formal
talks."
Don Juan explained that the shamans of ancient Mexico had developed the idea of formal versus informal talks,
and used both of them as devices for teaching and guiding their disciples.
Formal talks were, for them, summations that they made from time to time of everything
that they had taught or said to their disciples. Informal talks
were daily elucidations in which things were explained
without reference to anything but the phenomenon itself under scrutiny.
"Sorcerers keep nothing to themselves," he continued. "To
empty themselves in this fashion is a sorcerers' maneuver. It leads them to
abandon the fortress of the self."
I began my story, telling don Juan that the circumstances of my life
have never permitted me to be introspective. As far back in my
past as I can remember, my daily life has been filled to the brim
with pragmatic problems that have clamored for immediate resolution. I remember
my favorite uncle telling me that he was appalled at having
found out that I had never received a gift for Christmas
or for my birthday. I had come to live in my father's family's home not too
long before he made that statement. He commiserated with me
about the unfairness of my situation. He even apologized, although it
had nothing to do with him.
"It is disgusting, my boy," he said, shaking with feeling.
"I want you to know that I am behind you one hundred
percent when-ever the moment comes to redress wrongdoings."
He insisted over and over that I had to forgive the people who had
wronged me. From what he said, I formed the impression that he wanted me to
confront my father with his finding and accuse him of indolence and neglect,
and then, of course, forgive him. He failed to see that I didn't feel wronged
at all. What he was asking me to do required an introspective nature that would
make me
respond to the barbs of psychological mistreatment once they were pointed out
to me. I assured my uncle that I was going
to think about it, but not at the moment, because at that very instant, my girlfriend, from the living room where
she was waiting for me, was signaling me desperately to hurry up.
1 never had the opportunity to think about it, but my uncle must have
talked to my father, because I got a gift from him, a package neatly wrapped
up, with ribbon and all, and a little card that said
"Sorry." I curiously and eagerly ripped the wrappings. There was a
cardboard box, and inside it there was a beautiful toy, a tiny boat
with a winding key attached to the steam pipe. It could be used by children to
play with while they took baths in the bathtub. My father had thoroughly
forgotten that I was already fifteen years old and, for all practical purposes,
a man.
Since I had reached my adult years still incapable of serious
introspection, it was quite a novelty when one day years later I found myself
in the throes of a strange emotional agitation, which seemed
to increase as time went by. I discarded it, attributing it to natural
processes of the mind or the body that enter into action
periodically, for no reason at all, or are perhaps triggered by
biochemical processes within the body itself. I thought nothing of it. However,
the agitation increased and its pressure forced me to believe that I
had arrived at a moment in life when what I needed was a
drastic change. There was something in me that demanded a rearrangement of my life.
This urge to rearrange everything was familiar. I had felt it in the past, but
it had been dormant for a long time.
I was committed to studying anthropology, and this commitment was so
strong that not to study anthropology was never part of my proposed
drastic change. It didn't occur to me to drop out of school
and do something else. The first thing that came to mind was that I needed to
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