here’s a ton of material to work with somewhere I reach when I’m sleeping. A free field where participants who died on this world come to life (they’re really living again) and everything is possible—as it should have always been.
We have the tsunami, the alien attack and the dragons. Only zombies are missing. Good thing he gives us a clue of where the antidote is.
t that moment he can see himself through the eyes of that other person, and can feel how she doesn’t know him (himself) and the pleasure of being her, because she is totally in peace with herself. The world of the woman, though sharing geographic place and historical time with him, is diametrically opposed to his.
“Don’t get me wrong, don Juan,” I protested. “I want to have an ally, but I also want to know everything I can. You yourself have said that knowledge is power.”
“No!” he said emphatically. “Power rests on the kind of knowledge one holds. What is the sense of knowing things that are useless?”
From “The Teachings of Don Juan,” by Carlos Castaneda.
his way I’m talking about is a method: When I’m alone, in whichever situation, I’m the world. It’s a good time to deliberately connect and know who I am, this way I spread from the inside to all. This is good. But my real goal is to penetrate from the outside and bring them in.
“… one of those drawings that as you look at it you see different things, a nude as the title says, but also the breasts may well be someone’s eyes, and the belly button form a gesture of fear and worry …”
ow not to feel down, how not to feel little. I absorb everything and give it back. To leave, to disappear… to come back, to be with you. Again. But I can’t. I don’t try hard enough.
ow to know if I’m talking to you or me. A feeling changes inside, as if you’ve arrived or connected. Are you really here? Or is it my desire that makes me feel it?