Stopping the World: Our Internal Dialogue.
In May of 1971, I paid don Juan the last visit of my apprenticeship. I went to see him on that occasion in the same spirit I had gone to see him during the ten years of our association; that is to say, I was once again seeking the amenity of his company. His friend don Genaro, a Mazatec Indian sorcerer, was with him. I had seen both of them during my previous visit six months earlier. I was considering whether or not to ask them if they had been together all that time, when don Genaro explained that he liked the northern desert so much that he had returned just in time to see me. Both of them laughed as if they knew a secret.
“I came back just for you, ” don Genaro said.
“That’s true,” don Juan echoed.
I reminded don Genaro that the last time I had been there, his attempts to help me to “stop the world” had been disastrous for me. That was my friendly way of letting him know that I was afraid of him. He laughed uncontrollably, shaking his body and kicking his legs like a child. Don Juan avoided looking at me and also laughed. “You’re not going to try to help me anymore, are you, don Genaro?” I asked.
My question threw both of them into spasms of laughter. Don Genaro rolled on the ground, laughing, then lay on his stomach and began to swim on the floor. When I saw him doing that I knew I was lost. At that moment my body somehow became aware that I had arrived at the end. I did not know what that end was. My personal tendency to dramatization and my previous experience with don Genaro made me believe that it might be the end of my life. During my last visit to them, don Genaro had attempted to push me to the brink of “stopping the world.” His efforts had been so bizarre and direct that don Juan himself had had to tell me to leave. Don Genaro’s demonstrations of “power” were so extraordinary and so baffling that they forced me to a total re-evaluation of myself. I went home, reviewed the notes that I had taken in the very beginning of my apprenticeship, and a whole new feeling mysteriously set in on me, although I had not been fully aware of it until I saw don Genaro swimming on the floor.
The act of swimming on the floor, which was congruous with other strange and bewildering acts he had performed in front of my very eyes, started as he was lying face down. He was first laughing so hard that his body shook as in a convulsion, then he began kicking, and finally the movement of his legs became coordinated with a paddling movement of his arms, and don Genaro started to slide on the ground as if he were lying on a board fitted with ball bearings. He changed directions various times and covered the entire area of the front of don Juan’s house, manoeuvring around me and don Juan.
Don Genaro had clowned in front of me before, and every time he had done it don Juan had asserted that I had been on the brink of “seeing.” My failure to “see” was a result of my insistence on trying to explain every one of don Genaro’s actions from a rational point of view. This time I was on guard and when he began to swim I did not attempt to explain or understand the event. I simply watched him. Yet I could not avoid the sensation of being dumbfounded. He was actually sliding on his stomach and chest. My eyes began to cross as I watched him. I felt a surge of apprehension. I was convinced that if I did not explain what was happening I would “see,” and that thought filled me with an extraordinary anxiety. My nervous anticipation was so great that in some way I was back at the same point, locked once more in some rational endeavour.
Don Juan must have been watching me. He suddenly tapped me; I automatically turned to face him, and for an instant I took my eyes away from don Genaro. When I looked at him again he was standing by me with his head slightly tilted and his chin almost resting on my right shoulder. I had a delayed startled reaction. I looked at him for a second and then I jumped back. His expression of feigned surprise was so comical that I laughed hysterically. I could not help being aware, however, that my laughter was unusual. My body shook with nervous spasms originating from the middle part of my stomach. Don Genaro put his hand on my stomach and the convulsion- like ripples ceased.
“This little Carlos is always so exaggerated!” he exclaimed as if he were a fastidious man. Then he added, imitating don Juan’s voice and mannerisms, “Don’t you know that a warrior never laughs that way?”
His caricature of don Juan was so perfect that I laughed even harder. Then both of them left together and were gone for over two hours, until about midday. When they returned they sat in the area in front of don Juan’s house. They did not say a word. They seemed to be sleepy, tired, almost absent-minded. They stayed motionless for a long time, yet they seemed to be so comfortable and relaxed. Don Juan’s mouth was slightly opened, as if he were really asleep, but his hands were clasped over his lap and his thumbs moved rhythmically. I fretted and changed sitting positions for a while, then I began to feel a soothing placidity. I must have fallen asleep. Don Juan’s chuckle woke me up. I opened my eyes. Both of them were staring at me.
“If you don’t talk, you fall asleep,” don Juan said, laughing.
“I’m afraid I do,” I said.
Don Genaro lay on his back and began to kick his legs in the air. I thought for a moment that he was going to start his disturbing clowning again, but he went back right away to his cross-legged sitting position.
“There is something you ought to be aware of by now,” don Juan said. “I call it the cubic centimeter of chance. All of us, whether or not we are warriors, have a cubic centimeter of chance that pops out in front of our eyes from time to time. The difference between an average man and a warrior is that the warrior is aware of this, and one of his tasks is to be alert, deliberately waiting, so that when his cubic centimeter pops out he has the necessary speed, the prowess to pick it up.
“Chance, good luck, personal power, or whatever you may call it, is a peculiar state of affairs. It is like a very small stick that comes out in front of us and invites us to pluck it. Usually we are too busy, or too preoccupied, or just too stupid and lazy to realize that that is our cubic centimeter of luck. A warrior, on the other hand, is always alert and tight and has the spring, the gumption necessary to grab it.”
“Is your life very tight?” don Genaro asked me abruptly.
“I think it is,” I said with conviction.
“Do you think that you can pluck your cubic centimeter of luck?” don Juan asked me with a tone of incredulity.
“I believe I do that all the time,” I said.
“I think you are only alert about things you know,” don Juan said.
“Maybe I’m kidding myself, but I do believe that nowadays I am more aware than at any other time in my life,” I said and really meant it.
Don Genaro nodded his head in approval. “Yes,” he said softly, as if talking to himself. “Little Carlos is really tight, and absolutely alert.”
I felt that they were humoring me. I thought that perhaps my assertion about my alleged condition of tightness may have annoyed them.
“I didn’t mean to brag,” I said.
Don Genaro arched his eyebrows and enlarged his nostrils.
He glanced at my notebook and pretended to be writing.
“I think Carlos is tighter than ever,” don Juan said to don Genaro.
“Maybe he’s too tight,” don Genaro snapped.
“He may very well be,” don Juan conceded.
I did not know what to interject at that point so I remained quiet.
“Do you remember the time when I jammed your car?” don Juan asked casually.
His question was abrupt and unrelated to what we had been talking about. He was referring to a time when I could not start the engine of my car until he said I could. I remarked that no one could forget such an event. “That was nothing,” don Juan asserted in a factual tone. “Nothing at all. True, Genaro?”
“True,” don Genaro said indifferently.
“What do you mean?” I said in a tone of protest. “What you did that day was something truly beyond my comprehension.”
“That’s not saying much,” don Genaro retorted.
They both laughed loudly and then don Juan patted me on the back.
“Genaro can do something much better than jamming your car,” he went on. “True, Genaro?”
“True,” don Genaro replied, puckering up his lips like a child.
“What can he do?” I asked, trying to sound unruffled.
“Genaro can take your whole car away!” don Juan exclaimed in a booming voice; and then he added in the same tone, “True, Genaro?”
“True!” don Genaro retorted in the loudest human tone I had ever heard.
I jumped involuntarily. My body was convulsed by three or four nervous spasms.
“What do you mean; he can take my whole car away?” I asked.
“What did I mean, Genaro?” don Juan asked.
“You meant that I can get into his car, turn the motor on, and drive away,” don Genaro replied with unconvincing seriousness.
“Take the car away, Genaro,” don Juan urged him in a joking tone.
“It’s done!” don Genaro said, frowning and looking at me askew. I noticed that as he frowned his eyebrows rippled, making the look in his eyes mischievous and penetrating.
“All right!” don Juan said calmly. “Let’s go down there and examine the car.”
“Yes!” don Genaro echoed. “Let’s go down there and examine the car.”
They stood up, very slowly. For an instant I did not know what to do, but don Juan signalled me to stand up. We began walking up the small hill in front of don Juan’s house. Both of them flanked me, don Juan to my right and don Genaro to my left. They were perhaps six or seven feet ahead of me, always within my full field of vision.
“Let’s examine the car,” don Genaro said again.
Don Juan moved his hands as if he were spinning an invisible thread; don Genaro did likewise and repeated, “Let’s examine the car.”
They walked with a sort of bounce. Their steps were longer than usual, and their hands moved as though they were whipping or batting some invisible objects in front of them. I had never seen don Juan clowning like that and felt almost embarrassed to look at him. We reached the top and I looked down to the area at the foot of the hill, some fifty yards away, where I had parked my car. My stomach contracted with a jolt. The car was not there! I ran down the hill. My car was not anywhere in sight. I experienced a moment of great confusion. I was disoriented. My car had been parked there since I had arrived early in the morning. Perhaps half an hour before, I had come down to get a new pad of writing paper. At that time I had thought of leaving the windows open because of the excessive heat, but the number of mosquitoes and other flying insects that abounded in the area had made me change my mind, and I had left the car locked as usual.
I looked all around again. I refused to believe that my car was gone. I walked to the edge of the cleared area. Don Juan and don Genaro joined me and stood by me, doing exactly what I was doing, peering into the distance to see if the car was somewhere in sight. I had a moment of euphoria that gave way to a disconcerting sense of annoyance. They seemed to have noticed it and began to walk around me, moving their hands as if they were rolling dough in them.
“What do you think happened to the car, Genaro?” don Juan asked in a meek tone.
“I drove it away,” don Genaro said and made the most astounding motion of shifting gears and steering. He bent his legs as though he were sitting, and remained in that position for a few moments, obviously sustained only by the muscles of his legs; then he shifted his weight to his right leg and stretched his left foot to mimic the action on the clutch. He made the sound of a motor with his lips; and finally, to top everything, he pretended to have hit a bump in the road and bobbed up and down, giving me the complete sensation of an inept driver that bounces without letting go of the steering wheel.
Don Genaro’s pantomime was stupendous. Don Juan laughed until he was out of breath. I wanted to join them in their mirth but I was unable to relax. I felt threatened and ill at ease. An anxiety that had no precedence in my life possessed me. I felt I was burning up inside and began kicking small rocks on the ground and ended up hurling them with an unconscious and unpredictable fury. It was as if the wrath was actually outside of myself and had suddenly enveloped me. Then the feeling of annoyance left me, as mysteriously as it had hit me. I took a deep breath and felt better. I did not dare to look at don Juan. My display of anger embarrassed me, but at the same time I wanted to laugh. Don Juan came to my side and patted me on the back. Don Genaro put his arm on my shoulder.
“It’s all right!” don Genaro said. “Indulge yourself. Punch yourself in the nose and bleed. Then you can get a rock and knock your teeth out. It’ll feel good! And if that doesn’t help, you can mash your balls with the same rock on that big boulder over there.”
Don Juan giggled.
I told them that I was ashamed of myself for having behaved so poorly. I did not know what had gotten into me. Don Juan said that he was sure I knew exactly what was going on, that I was pretending not to know, and that it was the act of pretending that made me angry.
Don Genaro was unusually comforting; he patted my back repeatedly.
“It happens to all of us,” don Juan said.
“What do you mean by that, don Juan?” don Genaro asked, imitating my voice, mocking my habit of asking don Juan questions.
Don Juan said some absurd things like “When the world is upside down we are right side up, but when the world is right side up we are upside down. Now when the world and we are right side up, we think we are upside down. . . .” He went on and on, talking gibberish while don Genaro mimicked my taking notes. He wrote on an invisible pad, enlarging his nostrils as he moved his hand, keeping his eyes wide open and fixed on don Juan. Don Genaro had caught on to my efforts to write without looking at my pad in order to avoid altering the natural flow of conversation. His portrayal was genuinely hilarious.
I suddenly felt very at ease, happy. Their laughter was soothing. For a moment I let go and had a belly laugh. But then my mind entered into a new state of apprehension, confusion, and annoyance. I thought that whatever was taking place there was impossible; in fact, it was inconceivable according to the logical order by which I am accustomed to judge the world at hand. Yet, as the perceiver, I perceived that my car was not there.
The thought occurred to me, as it always had happened when don Juan had confronted me with inexplicable phenomena, that I was being tricked by ordinary means. My mind had always, under stress, involuntarily and consistently repeated the same construct. I began to consider how many confederates don Juan and don Genaro would have needed in order to lift my car and remove it from where I had parked it. I was absolutely sure that I had compulsively locked the doors; the handbrake was on; it was in gear; and the steering wheel was locked. In order to move it they would have had to lift it up bodily. That task would have required a labor force that I was convinced neither of them could have brought together. Another possibility was that someone in agreement with them had broken into my car, wired it, and driven it away. To do that would have required a specialized knowledge that was beyond their means. The only other possible explanation was that perhaps they were mesmerizing me. Their movements were so novel to me and so suspicious that I entered into a spin of rationalizations. I thought that if they were hypnotizing me I was then in a state of altered consciousness.
In my experience with don Juan I had noticed that in such states one is incapable of keeping a consistent mental record of the passage of time. There had never been an enduring order, in matters of passage of time, in all the states of nonordinary reality I had experienced, and my conclusion was that if I kept myself alert a moment would come when I would lose my order of sequential time. As if, for example, I were looking at a mountain at a given moment, and then in my next moment of awareness I found myself looking at a valley in the opposite direction, but without remembering having turned around. I felt that if something of that nature would happen to me I could then explain what was taking place with my car as, perhaps, a case of hypnosis. I decided that the only thing I could do was to watch every detail with excruciating thoroughness.
“Where’s my car?” I asked, addressing both of them.
“Where’s the car, Genaro?” don Juan asked with a look of utmost seriousness.
Don Genaro began turning over small rocks and looking underneath them. He worked feverishly over the whole flat area where I had parked my car. He actually turned over every rock. At times he would pretend to get angry and he would hurl the rock into the bushes. Don Juan seemed to enjoy the scene beyond words. He giggled and chuckled and was almost oblivious to my presence.
Don Genaro had just finished hurling a rock in a display of sham frustration when he came upon a good-sized boulder, the only large and heavy rock in the parking area. He attempted to turn it over but it was too heavy and too deeply imbedded in the ground. He struggled and puffed until he was perspiring. Then he sat on the rock and called don Juan to help him. Don Juan turned to me with a beaming smile and said, “Come on, let’s give Genaro a hand.”
“What’s he doing?” I asked.
“He’s looking for your car,” don Juan said in a casual and factual tone.
“For heaven’s sake! How can he find it under the rocks?” I protested.
“For heaven’s sake, why not?” don Genaro retorted and both of them roared with laughter.
We could not budge the rock. Don Juan suggested that we go to the house and look for a thick piece of wood to use as a lever. On our way to the house I told them that their acts were absurd and that whatever they were doing to me was unnecessary.
Don Genaro peered at me. “Genaro is a very thorough man,” don Juan said with a serious expression. “He’s as thorough and meticulous as you are. You yourself said that you never leave a stone unturned. He’s doing the same.” Don Genaro patted me on the shoulder and said that don Juan was absolutely right and that, in fact, he wanted to be like me. He looked at me with an insane glint and opened his nostrils.
Don Juan clapped his hands and threw his hat to the ground. After a long search around the house for a thick piece of wood, don Genaro found a long and fairly thick tree trunk, a part of a house beam. He put it across his shoulders and we started back to the place where my car had been.
As we were going up the small hill and were about to reach a bend in the trail from where I would see the flat parking area, I had a sudden insight. It occurred to me that I was going to find my car before they did, but when I looked down, there was no car at the foot of the hill. Don Juan and don Genaro must have understood what I had had in mind and ran after me, laughing uproariously.
Once we got to the bottom of the hill they immediately went to work. I watched them for a few moments. Their acts were incomprehensible. They were not pretending that they were working; they were actually immersed in the task of turning over a boulder to see if my car was underneath. That was too much for me and I joined them. They puffed and yelled and don Genaro howled like a coyote. They were soaked in perspiration. I noticed how terribly strong their bodies were, especially don Juan’s. Next to them I was a flabby young man. Very soon I was also perspiring copiously. Finally we succeeded in turning over the boulder and don Genaro examined the dirt underneath the rock with the most maddening patience and thoroughness.
“No. It isn’t here,” he announced.
That statement brought both of them down to the ground with laughter. I laughed nervously. Don Juan seemed to have true spasms of pain and covered his face and lay down as his body shook with laughter. “In which direction do we go now?” don Genaro asked after a long rest. Don Juan pointed with a nod of his head.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“To look for your car!” don Juan said and did not crack a smile.
They again flanked me as we walked into the brush. We had only covered a few yards when don Genaro signalled us to stop. He tiptoed to a round bush a few steps away, looked in the inside branches for a few moments, and said that the car was not there.
We kept on walking for a while and then don Genaro made a gesture with his hand to be quiet. He arched his back as he stood on his toes and extended his arms over his head. His fingers were contracted like a claw. From where I stood, don Genaro’s body had the shape of a letter S. He maintained that position for an instant and then virtually plunged headfirst on a long twig with dry leaves. He carefully lifted it up and examined it and again remarked that the car was not there.
As we walked into the deep chaparral he looked behind bushes and climbed small paloverde trees to look into their foliage, only to conclude that the car was not there either.
Meanwhile I kept a most meticulous mental record of everything I touched or saw. My sequential and orderly view of the world around me was as continuous as it had always been. I touched rocks, bushes, trees. I shifted my view from the foreground to the background by looking out of one eye and then out of the other. By all calculations I was walking in the chaparral as I had done scores of times during my ordinary life.
Next don Genaro lay down on his stomach and asked us to do likewise. He rested his chin on his clasped hands. Don Juan did the same. Both of them stared at a series of small protuberances on the ground that looked like minute hills. Suddenly don Genaro made a sweeping movement with his right hand and clasped something. He hurriedly stood up and so did don Juan. Don Genaro held his clasped hand in front of us and signalled us to come closer and look. Then he slowly began to open his hand. When it was half open a big black object flew away. The motion was so sudden and the flying object was so big that I jumped back and nearly lost my balance. Don Juan propped me up.
“That wasn’t the car,” don Genaro complained. “It was a goddamn fly. Sorry!” Both of them scrutinized me. They were standing in front of me and were not looking directly at me but out of the corners of their eyes. It was a prolonged look.
“It was a fly, wasn’t it?” don Genaro asked me.
“I think so,” I said.
“Don’t think,” don Juan ordered me imperiously. “What did you see?”
“I saw something as big as a crow flying out of his hand,” I said.
My statement was congruous with what I had perceived and was not intended as a joke, but they took it as perhaps the most hilarious statement that anyone had made that day. Both of them jumped up and down and laughed until they choked. “I think Carlos has had enough,” don Juan said. His voice sounded hoarse from laughing. Don Genaro said that he was about to find my car, that the feeling was getting hotter and hotter. Don Juan said we were in a rugged area and that to find the car there was not a desirable thing. Don Genaro took off his hat and rearranged the strap with a piece of string from his pouch, then he attached his woollen belt to a yellow tassel affixed to the brim of the hat.
“I’m making a kite out of my hat,” he said to me.
I watched him and I knew that he was joking. I had always considered myself to be an expert on kites. When I was a child I used to make the most complex kites and I knew that the brim of the straw hat was too brittle to resist the wind. The hat’s crown, on the other hand, was too deep and the wind would circulate inside it, making it impossible to lift the hat off the ground.
“You don’t think it’ll fly, do you?” don Juan asked me.
“I know it won’t,” I said.
Don Genaro was unconcerned and finished attaching a long string to his kite-hat. It was a windy day and don Genaro ran downhill as don Juan held his hat, then don Genaro pulled the string and the damn thing actually flew.
“Look, look at the kite!” don Genaro yelled. It bobbed a couple of times but it remained in the air.
“Don’t take your eyes off of the kite,” don Juan said firmly. For a moment I felt dizzy. Looking at the kite, I had had a complete recollection of another time; it was as if I were flying a kite myself, as I used to, when it was windy in the hills of my home town. For a brief moment the recollection engulfed me and I lost my awareness of the passage of time.
I heard don Genaro yelling something and I saw the hat bobbing up and down and then falling to the ground, where my car was. It all took place with such speed that I did not have a clear picture of what had happened. I became dizzy and absent-minded. My mind held on to a very confusing image. I either saw don Genaro’s hat turning into my car, or I saw the hat falling over on top of the car. I wanted to believe the latter, that don Genaro had used his hat to point at my car. Not that it really mattered, one thing was as awesome as the other, but just the same my mind hooked on that arbitrary detail in order to keep my original mental balance.
“Don’t fight it,” I heard don Juan saying. I felt that something inside me was about to surface. Thoughts and images came in uncontrollable waves as if I were falling asleep. I stared at the car dumbfounded. It was sitting on a rocky flat area about a hundred feet away. It actually looked as if someone had just placed it there. I ran towards it and began to examine it.
“Goddammit!” don Juan exclaimed. “Don’t stare at the car. Stop the world!”
Then as in a dream I heard him yelling, “Genaro’s hat! Genaro’s hat!”
I looked at them. They were staring at me directly. Their eyes were piercing. I felt a pain in my stomach. I had an instantaneous headache and got ill. Don Juan and don Genaro looked at me curiously. I sat by the car for a while and then, quite automatically, I unlocked the door and let don Genaro get in the back seat. Don Juan followed him and sat next to him. I thought that was strange because he usually sat in the front seat. I drove my car to don Juan’s house in a sort of haze. I was not myself at all. My stomach was very upset, and the feeling of nausea demolished all my sobriety. I drove mechanically.
I heard don Juan and don Genaro in the back seat laughing and giggling like children. I heard don Juan asking me, “Are we getting closer?”
It was at that point that I took deliberate notice of the road. We were actually very close to his house.
“We’re about to get there,” I muttered.
They howled with laughter. They clapped their hands and slapped their thighs. When we arrived at the house I automatically jumped out of the car and opened the door for them. Don Genaro stepped out first and congratulated me for what he said was the nicest and smoothest ride he had ever taken in his life. Don Juan said the same. I did not pay much attention to them. I locked my car and barely made it to the house. I heard don Juan and don Genaro roaring with laughter before I fell asleep.
The next day as soon as I woke up I began asking don Juan questions. He was cutting firewood in the back of his house, but don Genaro was nowhere in sight. He said that there was nothing to talk about. I pointed out that I had succeeded in remaining aloof and had observed don Genaro’s “swimming on the floor” without wanting or demanding any explanation whatsoever, but my restraint had not helped me to understand what was taking place. Then, after the disappearance of the car, I became automatically locked in seeking a logical explanation, but that did not help me either. I told don Juan that my insistence on finding explanations was not something that I had arbitrarily devised myself, just to be difficult, but was something so deeply ingrained in me that it overruled every other consideration. “It’s like a disease,” I said.
“There are no diseases,” don Juan replied calmly. “There is only indulging. And you indulge yourself in trying to explain everything. Explanations are no longer necessary in your case.”
I insisted that I could function only under conditions of order and understanding. I reminded him that I had drastically changed my personality during the time of our association, and that the condition that had made that change possible was that I had been capable of explaining to myself the reasons for that change. Don Juan laughed softly. He did not speak for a long time.
“You are very clever,” he finally said. “You go back to where you have always been. This time you are finished though. You have no place to go back to. I will not explain anything to you anymore. Whatever Genaro did to you yesterday he did it to your body, so let your body decide what’s what.”
Don Juan’s tone was friendly but unusually detached and that made me feel an overwhelming loneliness. I expressed my feelings of sadness. He smiled. His fingers gently clasped the top of my hand. “We both are beings who are going to die,” he said softly. “There is no more time for what we used to do. Now you must employ all the not-doing I have taught you and stop the world.”
—————and the explanation of what happened—————–
We were quiet for a long time. Don Juan had his hands clasped over his stomach. His thumbs moved almost imperceptibly. “Genaro will also have to go with us to that valley,” he said all of a sudden. “He is the one who has helped you to stop the world.”
Don Juan looked at me with piercing eyes. “I will tell you one more thing,” he said and laughed. “It really does matter now. Genaro never moved your car from the world of ordinary men the other day. He simply forced you to look at the world like sorcerers do, and your car was not in that world. Genaro wanted to soften your certainty. His clowning told your body about the absurdity of trying to understand everything. And when he flew his kite you almost saw. You found your car and you were in both worlds. The reason we nearly split our guts laughing was because you really thought you were driving us back from where you thought you had found your car.”
“But how did he force me to see the world as sorcerers do?”
“I was with him. We both know that world. Once one knows that world all one needs to bring it about is to use that extra ring of power I have told you sorcerers have. Genaro can do that as easily as snapping his fingers. He kept you busy turning over rocks in order to distract your thoughts and allow your body to see.”
I told him that the events of the last three days had done some irreparable damage to my idea of the world. I said that during the ten years I had been associated with him I had never been so moved, not even during the times I had ingested psychotropic plants.
“Power plants are only an aid,” don Juan said. “The real thing is when the body realizes that it can see. Only then is one capable of knowing that the world we look at every day is only a description. My intent has been to show you that.”
– From Carlos Castaneda’s Journey to Ixtlan.