The Power of Silence (7 page)

"The
same thing happened to me," don Juan went on. "It was only when my
sexual energy was freed from the world that everything fit into place. That is
the rule for dreamers. Stalkers are the opposite. My benefactor was, you could
say, a sexual libertine both as an average man and as a nagual."

Don Juan
seemed to be on the verge of revealing his benefactor's doings, but he
obviously changed his mind. He shook his head and said that I was way too stiff
for such revelations. I did not insist.

He said
that the nagual Elias had the sobriety that only dreamers acquired after
inconceivable battles with themselves. He used his sobriety to plunge himself
into the task of answering don Juan's questions.

"The
nagual Elias explained that my difficulty in understanding the spirit was the
same as his own," don Juan continued. "He thought there were two
different issues. One, the need to understand indirectly what the spirit is,
and the other, to understand the spirit directly.

"You're
having problems with the first. Once you understand what the spirit is, the
second issue will be resolved automatically, and vice versa. If the spirit
speaks to you, using its silent words, you will certainly know immediately what
the spirit is."

He said
that the nagual Elias believed that the difficulty was our reluctance to accept
the idea that knowledge could exist without words to explain it.

"But I
have no difficulty accepting that," I said.

"Accepting
this proposition is not as easy as saying you accept it," don Juan said.
"The nagual Elias used to tell me that the whole of humanity has moved
away from the abstract, although at one time we must have been close to it. It
must have been our sustaining force. And then something happened and pulled us
away from the abstract. Now we can't get back to it. He used to say that it
takes years for an apprentice to be able to go back to the abstract, that is,
to know that knowledge and language can exist independent of each other."

Don Juan
repeated that the crux of our difficulty in going back to the abstract was our
refusal to accept that we could know without words or even without thoughts.

I was going
to argue that he was talking nonsense when I got the strong feeling I was
missing something and that his point was of crucial importance to me. He was
really trying to tell me something, something I either could not grasp or which
could not be told completely.

"Knowledge
and language are separate," he repeated softly.

And I was
just about to say, "I know it," as if indeed I knew it, when I caught
myself.

"I
told you there is no way to talk about the spirit," he continued,
"because the spirit can only be experienced. Sorcerers try to explain this
condition when they say that the spirit is nothing you can see or feel. But
it's there looming over us always. Sometimes it comes to some of us. Most of
the time it seems indifferent."

I kept
quiet. And he continued to explain. He said that the spirit in many ways was a
sort of wild animal. It kept its distance from us until a moment when something
enticed it forward. It was then that the spirit manifested itself.

I raised
the point that if the spirit wasn't an entity, or a presence, and had no
essence, how could anyone entice it?

"Your
problem," he said, "is that you consider only your own idea of what's
abstract. For instance, the inner essence of man, or the fundamental principle,
are abstracts for you. Or perhaps something a bit less vague, such as
character, volition, courage, dignity, honor. The spirit, of course, can be
described in terms of all of these. And that's what's so confusing - that it's
all these and none of them."

He added
that what I considered abstractions were either the opposites of all the
practicalities I could think of or things I had decided did not have concrete
existence.

"Whereas
for a sorcerer an abstract is something with no parallel in the human
condition," he said.

"But
they're the same thing," I shouted. "Don't you see that we're both
talking about the same thing?"

"We
are not," he insisted. "For a sorcerer, the spirit is an abstract
simply because he knows it without words or even thoughts. It's an abstract
because he can't conceive what the spirit is. Yet without the slightest chance
or desire to understand it, a sorcerer handles the spirit. He recognizes it,
beckons it, entices it, becomes familiar with it, and expresses it with his
acts."

I shook my
head in despair. I could not see the difference.

"The
root of your misconception is that I have used the term "abstract" to
describe the spirit," he said. "For you, abstracts are words which
describe states of intuition. An example is the word "spirit", which
doesn't describe reason or pragmatic experience, and which, of course, is of no
use to you other than to tickle your fancy."

I was
furious with don Juan. I called him obstinate and he laughed at me. He
suggested that if I would think about the proposition that knowledge might be
independent of language, without bothering to understand it, perhaps I could see
the light.

"Consider
this," he said. "It was not the act of meeting me that mattered to
you. The day I met you, you met the abstract. But since you couldn't talk about
it, you didn't notice it. Sorcerers meet the abstract without thinking about it
or seeing it or touching it or feeling its presence."

I remained
quiet because I did not enjoy arguing with him. At times I considered him to be
quite willfully abstruse. But don Juan seemed to be enjoying himself immensely.

It was as
cool and quiet in the patio of don Juan's house as in the cloister of a
convent. There were a number of large fruit trees planted extremely close
together, which seemed to regulate the temperature and absorb all noises. When
I first came to his house, I had made critical remarks about the illogical way
the fruit trees had been planted. I would have given them more space. His
answer was that those trees were not his property, they were free and
independent warrior trees that had joined his party of warriors, and that my
comments - which applied to regular trees - were not relevant. His reply
sounded metaphorical to me. What I didn't know then was that don Juan meant
everything he said literally.

Don Juan
and I were sitting in cane armchairs facing the fruit trees now. The trees were
all bearing fruit. I commented that it was not only a beautiful sight but an
extremely intriguing one, for it was not the fruit season.

"There
is an interesting story about it," he admitted. "As you know, these
trees are warriors of my party. They are bearing now because all the members of
my party have been talking and expressing feelings about our definitive
journey, here in front of them. And the trees know now that when we embark on
our definitive journey, they will accompany us."

I looked at
him, astonished.

"I
can't leave them behind," he explained. "They are warriors too. They
have thrown their lot in with the nagual's party. And they know how I feel
about them. The assemblage point of trees is located very low in their enormous
luminous shell, and that permits them to know our feelings, for instance, the
feelings we are having now as we discuss my definitive journey."

I remained
quiet, for I did not want to dwell on the subject. Don Juan spoke and dispelled
my mood.

"The
second abstract core of the sorcery stories is called the Knock of the
Spirit," he said.

"The
first core, the Manifestations of the Spirit, is the edifice that intent builds
and places before a sorcerer, then invites him to enter. It is the edifice of
intent seen by a sorcerer. The Knock of the Spirit is the same edifice seen by
the beginner who is invited - or rather forced - to enter.

"This
second abstract core could be a story in itself. The story says that after the
spirit had manifested itself to that man we have talked about and had gotten no
response, the spirit laid a trap for the man. It was a final subterfuge, not
because the man was special, but because the incomprehensible chain of events
of the spirit made that man available at the very moment that the spirit
knocked on the door.

"It
goes without saying that whatever the spirit revealed to that man made no sense
to him. In fact, it went against everything the man knew, everything he was.
The man, of course, refused on the spot, and in no uncertain terms, to have
anything to do with the spirit. He wasn't going to fall for such preposterous
nonsense. He knew better. The result was a total stalemate.

"I can
say that this is an idiotic story," he continued. "I can say that
what I've given you is the pacifier for those who are uncomfortable with the
silence of the abstract."

He peered
at me for a moment and then smiled.

"You
like words," he said accusingly. "The mere idea of silent knowledge
scares you. But stories, no matter how stupid, delight you and make you feel
secure."

His smile
was so mischievous that I couldn't help laughing.

Then he
reminded me that I had already heard his detailed account of the first time the
spirit had knocked on his door. For a moment I could not figure out what he was
talking about.

"It
was not just my benefactor who stumbled upon me as I was dying from the
gunshot," he explained. "The spirit also found me and knocked on my
door that day. My benefactor understood that he was there to be a conduit for
the spirit. Without the spirit's intervention, meeting my benefactor would have
meant nothing."

He said
that a nagual can be a conduit only after the spirit has manifested its
willingness to be used - either almost imperceptibly or with outright commands.
It was therefore not possible for a nagual to choose his apprentices according
to his own volition, or his own calculations. But once the willingness of the
spirit was revealed through omens, the nagual spared no effort to satisfy it.

"After
a lifetime of practice," he continued, "sorcerers, naguals in
particular, know if the spirit is inviting them to enter the edifice being
flaunted before them. They have learned to discipline their connecting links to
intent. So they are always forewarned, always know what the spirit has in store
for them."

Don Juan
said that progress along the sorcerers' path was, in general, a drastic process
the purpose of which was to bring this connecting link to order. The average
man's connecting link with intent is practically dead, and sorcerers begin with
a link that is useless, because it does not respond voluntarily.

He stressed
that in order to revive that link sorcerers needed a rigorous, fierce purpose -
a special state of mind called
unbending intent
. Accepting that the nagual was the
only being capable of supplying unbending intent was the most difficult part of
the sorcerer's apprenticeship. I argued that I could not see the difficulty.

"An
apprentice is someone who is striving to clear and revive his connecting link
with the spirit," he explained. "Once the link is revived, he is no
longer an apprentice, but until that time, in order to keep going he needs a
fierce purpose, which, of course, he doesn't have. So he allows the nagual to
provide the purpose and to do that he has to relinquish his individuality.
That's the difficult part."

He reminded
me of something he had told me often: that volunteers were not welcome in the
sorcerers' world, because they already had a purpose of their own, which made
it particularly hard for them to relinquish their individuality. If the
sorcerers' world demanded ideas and actions contrary to the volunteers'
purpose, the volunteers simply refused to change.

"Reviving
an apprentice's link is a nagual's most challenging and intriguing work,"
don Juan continued, "and one of his biggest headaches too. Depending, of
course, on the apprentice's personality, the designs of the spirit are either
sublimely simple or the most complex labyrinths."

Don Juan
assured me that, although I might have had notions to the contrary, my
apprenticeship had not been as onerous to him as his must have been to his
benefactor. He admitted that I had a modicum of self-discipline that came in
very handy, while he had had none whatever. And his benefactor, in turn, had
had even less.

"The
difference is discernible in the manifestations of the spirit," he
continued. "In some cases, they are barely noticeable; in my case, they
were commands. I had been shot. Blood was pouring out of a hole in my chest. My
benefactor had to act with speed and sureness, just as his own benefactor had
for him. Sorcerers know that the more difficult the command is, the more
difficult the disciple turns out to be."

Don Juan
explained that one of the most advantageous aspects of his association with two
naguals was that he could hear the same stories from two opposite points of
view. For instance, the story about the nagual Elias and the manifestations of
the spirit, from the apprentice's perspective, was the story of the spirit's
difficult knock on his benefactor's door.