Topic: I was Carlos Castaneda

[Jahn]

Carlos Castaneda died of liver cancer in April 1998 but two months later he appears living in the mountains of Europe before the author Martin Goodman. Martin have never been a fan or a dedicated reader of Castaneda but he has a history of seeker with shaman experiences and he has spent periods in the Amazonas. Carlos confronts him from the beginning with the extraordinary situation. Carlos has returned from the dead, but initially there are a few questions before they are about to solve their mutual task. (My summary).

There was a power in the handshake, like witheout that left my mind blank. I don’t know how it worked. I can only say I felt more drained than charged as a result.
-“The Carlos Castaneda?” I ask at last
He grins, lift his hands in the air and spins around on his right foot before clicking his heels at a standstill again to present himself.

- “But you can’t be”
- “Why not? I’m a writer. You’re a writer. We both find ourselves in this ancient French village. It’s natural that we should meet.”
- “But you’re dead.”
The smile goes from his face and he flashes into anger.
- “Who told you so?”
- “It was reported. I read your obituary. Your body was burned and the ashes spread over the Arizona desert.”
- “Details,” he says. “Mere details.” He steps further into the room and slumps into one of the armchairs.

/.../

I sit on the sofa to face him, with the window behind me, and wait for an explanation.

-“So dear boy.” As he speaks he shifts his body to sit upright. “You think that death is the end?”
- “No.”
- “Of course not. But look at you. See how much work you still have to do. It seems that my death freaks you out. Makes you too stupid to speak. How are you going to cope with your own death when it comes?”
- “Did you really die?”
- “That’s good. It is good that you ask the question. It means you can accept the possibility that I’ll say yes. Well, poor Martin, that is my answer. Yes. Yes, Carlos Castaneda did die.”
-“ So you’re not  him?”
- If I’m not, then who am I?”
- “You tell me.”
- “OK. Let’s stop playing games. You’re locked inside a temporal frame, closed into your own worldview, so I will answer in your own language. I’ll use a tense that you can understand. I was Carlos Castaneda.”


From: I was Carlos Castaneda – The Afterlife Dialogues by Martin Goodman 2001, pp 5-7.

[Jahn]

The appearance of a mosquito in France at this moment of my story set in Peru is no coincidence. I know that much. And I know that Carlos is causal to the creature’s appearance in some way. Maybe this is a kindness, keeping me in two worlds when I might otherwise be lost. – Maybe not.

I’ve never thought of the matter of trust through, but now I reach that decision that needs no thinking. – I don’t trust Carlos. And suddenly the killing of the Mosquito is like the slaughter of an army. I take a deep breath and feel the strength of a conqueror. The decision not to trust Carlos is a breakthrough.

Such a breakthrough That I find him to acknowledge it. He’s adept at reading my mind, and this moment is worthy a comment. - He doesn’t want my trust, nor my distrust.  I know that much.

-“Trust yourself.” He doesn’t say as much, but somehow I hear those words in my head. I’m no longer telling my story for him, hoping for a favor of his interest. I’m simply telling it.

I was Carlos Castaneda. Martin Goodman pp 106-107.

[tangerine dream]

I’m no longer telling my story for him, hoping for a favor of his interest. I’m simply telling it.

I was Carlos Castaneda. Martin Goodman pp 106-107.

This is perfect Jamir.  Thank you.

[Jahn]

This is perfect Jamir.  Thank you.

Nice to hear!
yes much of the book is about storytelling, both how authors do it but also in a broader sense how to tell our own story.

The book is full of baffling parts, like how Carlos make parallels to religions and mountains (No mountain in the Yucatan btw  ). And it deals quite a lot about Amazonas and the drug Huyacusa (sp?), Goodman has been there. And it deals with healing in a Castaneda/Goodman style etc.

[Jahn]

“Now put down your tea and enter the day,” Carlos commands, and passes the monocular to me.
I scan the landscape, still blind to what I am seeing.

“Mont Canigou,” he pronounces, and the syllables of the name seem to bring it to life. The first daylight is touching the high flanks now, the coating of their scrub and trees like green fur. And then the mountain ridge, arching from the left to dip into a deep ridge and join the rounded half-dome of the mountain’s peak. This is the sacred mountain of the Pyrenees. Whether coated in snow, clear and bare like today, or shimmering in haze that makes the sky some ethereal wash against the sky. Canigou is the spot on Earth that holds all the aspirations of the local Catalan people.
/…/

“You know something about sacred mountains,” Carlos remarks.

I wish sometimes that he would pose comments on my life as questions rather than statements. It’s satisfying to have nuggets of your own life you can present from time to time as a surprise to those that think they know you. Carlos appears to draw his knowledge of me not from research, but rather from access into the center of my life.

“It seems unfair that I should know so much about your life.” So now Carlos is even speaking from knowledge of my current thoughts. He’s reading my mind.

 “But nothing isunfair. Everything comes to exchange in the end. This is not about some mind-reading skill that I have developed. I live your life as though it is my own. I have access to any moment in your history. /…/ For now sharing your life is enough. And your experience of mountains such as these.”

[Jahn]

Carlos unscrew the lid of the flask and pours me another cup of tea. “So you think we’ve forgotten the mountains,” he observes while I drink. “You don’t think they’ve let us go.” The Sun has risen during my story, and it strikes a color from the summit of Canigou.

“I thinks so,” I admit.
“So the Incas knew the secret of worshipping mountains and now it is lost?”
“Maybe.”
He passes me the monocular. I lift it to my eye, and Canigou leaps back in sharp detail.
“Awesome?” he asks.
I lower the monocular and nod.

“Excuse a dead man’s wisdom, Martin, and let me tell you this. When something roused you to awe, when it has felt the touch of your worship, it will never let you go. It’s the case with mountains. It’s the case with life.”
We both stare out at the Pyrenean mountains in silence.
“So we are all right then,” I say “The mountains are still looking after us.”
“Far from it. They don’t let go, but we can still fight to be free. Fight with your intelligence. See through the patterns that hold us. You know your Old Testament?”.

"Where do our myths start, Martin?
The Garden of Eden – a place where four mighty rivers find their source, therefore obviously located up a mountain? Or after the flood, where Noah leads man and beast down the slopes of Ararat. Does Judaism hail from the moment Moses receives the Ten Commandments on Mount Sinai? /…/

When the new Messiah arrives, of course he must make his appearance on Mount Zion and honor the prophecies that herald him.” /…/

Centuries pass and the Archangel Gabriel appears to a man sitting in a cave in the side of Mount Hira. The man is Muhammad, and it is in this mountainside that he first hears the word of the Koran. From the summit of Mount Moriah, where Abraham pledged to obedience, Muhammad is later whisked on his night journey to the heavens.

Jews, Christians, Muslims, they struggle through the centuries, slay each other in thousands, for the right to lay claim to the heights of Jerusalem. In the name of God, Jews and Arabs, Christians and Moslems, Catholics and Protestants, regularly slaughter one another. Our planet stinks of religious massacres. Have you ever thought why?”
 
“It has to do with mountains?” I ask.
“One thing to know, before you give your heart to mountains. They are powerfully jealous of each other. Pledge loyalty to one and it expects you to be faithful. “

Pages, 44-55.

[Firestarter]

I dont know if its all about mountains, but it is about territory, and I see the jewish/christian/muslim conflict related to who is entitled to the Covenant made between Abraham and God. That is what they all dispute, who is entitled to that. Which is madness that millions have died over a couple thousand years, or taken into slavery, all over the covenant.

I hope oneday all will be peaceful and see perhaps all are entitled in some way, but itll probably take more insanity before people wake up from such a thing.