first explanations on Tao

Monument Valley Mitchell Mesa; philiphyde

After the first encounter with Mescalito, Castaneda summarized what's happened in that occasion and get the first explanations by Don Juan:

Saturday, 5 August 1961

Later that morning, after breakfast, the owner of the house, don Juan, and I drove back to don Juan’s place. I was very tired, but I couldn’t go to sleep in the truck. Only after the man had left did I fall asleep on the porch of don Juan’s house.
When I woke up it was dark; don Juan had covered me up with a blanket, I looked for him, but he was not in the house. He came later with a pot of fried beans and a stack of tortillas. I was extremely hungry.
After we had finished eating and were resting he asked me to tell him all that had happened to me the night before. I related my experience in great detail and as accurately as possible.
When I had finished he nodded his head and said, “I think you are fine. It is difficult for me to explain now how and why.
But I think it went all right for you. You see, sometimes he is playful, like a child; at other times he is terrible, fearsome. He either frolics, or he is dead serious. It is impossible to know beforehand what he will be like with another person. Yet, when one knows him well — sometimes. You played with him tonight. You are the only person I know who has had such an encounter.”
“In what way does my experience differ from that of others?”
“You’re not an Indian; therefore it is hard for me to figure out what is what. Yet he either takes people or rejects them, regardless of whether they are Indians or not. That I know. I have seen numbers of them. I also know that he frolics, he makes some people laugh, but never have I seen him play with anyone.”
“Can you tell me now, don Juan, how does peyote protect . . .”
He did not let me finish. Vigorously he touched me on the shoulder.
“Don’t you ever name him that way. You haven’t seen enough of him yet to know him.”
“How does Mescalito protect people?”
“He advises. He answers whatever questions you ask.”
“Then Mescalito is real? I mean he is something you can see?”
He seemed to be baffled by my question. He looked at me with a sort of blank expression.
“What I meant to say, is that Mescalito . . .”
“I heard what you said. Didn’t you see him last night?
I wanted to say that I saw only a dog, but I noticed his bewildered look.
“Then you think what I saw last night was him?”

He looked at me with contempt. He chuckled, shook his head as though he couldn’t believe it, and in a very belligerent tone he added, “A poco crees que era tu—mama [Don’t tell me you believe it was your—mama]?” He paused before saying “mama” because what he meant to say was “tu chingada madre”, an idiom used as a disrespectful allusion to the other party’s mother.
The word “mama” was so incongruous that we both laughed for a long time.
Then I realized he had fallen asleep and had not answered my question.

Sunday, 6 August 1961
I drove don Juan to the house where I had taken peyote. On the way he told me that the name of the man who had “offered me to Mescalito” was John. When we got to the house we found John sitting on his porch with two young men. All of them were extremely jovial, They laughed and talked with great ease.
The three of them spoke English perfectly. I told John that I had come to thank him for having helped me.
I wanted to get their views on my behaviour during the hallucinogenic experience, and told them I had been trying to think of what I had done that night and that I couldn’t remember.
They laughed and were reluctant to talk about it. They seemed to be holding back on account of don Juan. They all glanced at him as though waiting for an affirmative cue to go on. Don Juan must have cued them, although I did not notice anything, because suddenly John began to tell me what I had done that night.
He said he knew I had been “taken” when he heard me puking.
He estimated that I must have puked thirty times. Don Juan corrected him and said it was only ten times.
John continued: “Then we all moved next to you. You were stiff, and were having convulsions. For a very long time, while lying on your back, you moved your mouth as though talking.
Then you began to bump your head on the floor, and don Juan put an old hat on your head and you stopped it. You shivered and whined for hours, lying on the floor. I think everybody fell asleep then; but I heard you puffing and groaning in my sleep.
Then I heard you scream and I woke up. I saw you leaping up in the air, screaming. You made a dash for the water, knocked the pan over, and began to swim in the puddle.
“Don Juan brought you more water. You sat quietly in front of the pan. Then you jumped up and took off all your clothes.
You were kneeling in front of the water, drinking in big gulps.
Then you just sat there and stared into space. We thought you were going to be there forever. Nearly everybody was asleep, including don Juan, when suddenly you jumped up again, howling, and took after the dog. The dog got scared and howled too, and ran to the back of the house. Then everybody woke up.”
“We all got up. You came back from the other side still chasing the dog. The dog was running ahead of you barking and howling. I think you must have gone twenty times around the house, running in circles, barking like a dog. I was afraid people were going to be curious. There are no neighbours close, but your howling was so loud it could have been heard for miles.”
One of the young men added, “You caught up with the dog and brought it to the porch in your arms.”
John continued: “Then you began to play with the dog. You wrestled with him, and the dog and you bit each other and played. That, I thought, was funny. My dog does not play usually. But this time you and the dog were rolling on each other.”
“Then you ran to the water and the dog drank with you,” the young man said. “You ran five or six times to the water with the dog.”
“How long did this go on?” I asked.
“Hours,” John said. “At one time we lost sight of you two. I think you must have run to the back. We just heard you barking and groaning. You sounded so much like a dog that we couldn’t tell you two apart.”
“Maybe it was just the dog alone,” I said.
They laughed, and John said, “You were barking there, boy!”

“What happened next?”
The three men looked at one another and seemed to have a hard time deciding what happened next. Finally the young man who had not yet said anything spoke up.
“He choked,” he said, looking at John.
“Yes, you certainly choked. You began to cry very strangely, and then you fell to the floor.
We thought you were biting your tongue; don Juan opened your jaws and poured water on your face. Then you started shivering and having convulsions all over again. Then you stayed motionless for a long time. Don Juan said it was all over. By then it was morning, so we covered you with a blanket and left you to sleep on the porch.”
He stopped there and looked at the other men who were obviously trying not to laugh. He turned to don Juan and asked him something. Don Juan smiled and answered the question.
John turned to me and said, “We left you here on the porch because we were afraid you were going to piss all over the rooms.”
They all laughed very loudly.
“What was the matter with me?” I asked. “Did I . . .”
“Did you?” John son of mimicked me. “We were not going to mention it, but don Juan says it is all right. You pissed all over my dog!”
“What did I do?”
“You don’t think the dog was running because he was afraid of you, do you? The dog was running because you were pissing on him.”
There was general laughter at this point. I tried to question one of the young men, but they were all laughing and he didn’t hear me.
John went on: “My dog got even though; he pissed on you too!”
This statement was apparently utterly funny because they all roared with laughter, including don Juan. When they had quieted down, I asked in all earnestness, “Is it really true? This really happened?”
Still laughing, John replied: “I swear my dog really pissed on you.”
Driving back to don Juan’s place I asked him: “Did all that really happen, don Juan?”
“Yes,” he said, “but they don’t know what you saw. They don’t realize you were playing with «him». That is why I did not disturb you.”
“But is this business of the dog and me pissing on each other true?”
“It was not a dog! How many times do I have to tell you that? This is the only way to understand it. It’s the only way! It was «he» who played with you.”
“Did you know all this was happening before I told you about it?”
He vacillated for an instant before answering.
“No, I remembered, after you told me about it, the strange way you looked. I just suspected you were doing fine because you didn’t seem scared.”
“Did the dog really play with me as they say?”
“Goddammit! It was not a dog!”

Thursday, 17 August 1969
I told don Juan how I felt about my experience. From the point of view of my intended work it had been a disastrous event. I said I did not care for another similar “encounter” with Mescalito. I agreed that everything that had happened to me had been more than interesting, but added that nothing in it could really move me towards seeking it again. I seriously believed that I was not constructed for that type of endeavour. Peyote had produced in me, as a postreaction, a strange kind of physical discomfort.
It was an indefinite fear or unhappiness; a melancholy of some sort, which I could not
define exactly. And I did not find that state noble in any way.
Don Juan laughed and said, “You are beginning to learn.”
“This type of learning is not for me. I am not made for it, don Juan.”
“You always exaggerate.”
“This is not exaggeration.”
“It is. The only trouble is that you exaggerate the bad points only.”
“There are no good points so far as I am concerned. All I know is that it makes me afraid.”
“There is nothing wrong with being afraid. When you fear, you see things in a different way.”

“But I don’t care about seeing things in a different way, don Juan. I think I am going to leave the learning about Mescalito alone. I can’t handle it, don Juan. This is really a bad situation for me.”
“Of course it is bad—even for me. You are not the only one who is baffled.”
“Why should you be baffled, don Juan?”
“I have been thinking about what I saw the other night.
”Mescalito actually played with you. That baffled me, because it was an indication [omen].”
“What kind of—indication, don Juan?”
“Mescalito was pointing you out to me.”
“What for?”
“It wasn’t clear to me then, but now it is. He meant you were the «chosen man» [escogido]. Mescalito pointed you out to me and by doing that he told me you were the chosen man.”
“Do you mean I was chosen among others for some task, or something of the sort?”
“No. What I mean is, Mescalito told me you could be the man I am looking for.”
“When did he tell you that, don Juan?”
“By playing with you, he told me that. This makes you the chosen man for me.”
“What does it mean to be the chosen man?”
“There are some secrets I know [Tengo secretos]. I have secrets I won’t be able to reveal to anyone unless I find my chosen man. The other night when I saw you playing with Mescalito it was clear to me you were that man. But you are not an Indian. How baffling!”
“But what does it mean to me, don Juan? What do I have to do?”
“I’ve made up my mind and I am going to teach you the secrets that make up the lot of a man of knowledge.”
“Do you mean the secrets about Mescalito?”
“Yes, but those are not all the secrets I know. There are others, of a different kind, which I would like to give to someone. I had a teacher myself, my benefactor, and I also became his chosen man upon performing a certain feat. He taught me all I know.”
I asked him again what this new role would require of me; he said learning was the only thing involved, learning in the sense of what I had experienced in the two sessions with him.
The way in which the situation had evolved was quite strange.
I had made up my mind to tell him I was going to give up the idea of learning about peyote, and then before I could really make my point, he offered to teach me his “knowledge”. I did not know what he meant by that, but I felt that this sudden turn was very serious. I argued I had no qualifications for such a task, as it required a rare kind of courage which I did not have.
I told him that my bent of character was to talk about acts others performed. I wanted to hear his views and opinions about everything. I told him I could be happy if I could sit there and listen to him talk for days. To me, that would be learning.
He listened without interrupting me. I talked for a long time. Then he said:
“All this is very easy to understand. Fear is the first natural enemy a man must overcome on his path to knowledge. Besides, you are curious. That evens up the score. And you will learn in spite of yourself; that’s the rule.”
I protested for a while longer, trying to dissuade him. But he seemed to be convinced there was nothing else I could do but learn.
“You are not thinking in the proper order,” he said. “Mescalito actually played with you. That’s the point to think about. Why don’t you dwell on that instead of on your fear?”
“Was it so unusual?”
“You are the only person I have ever seen playing with him. You are not used to this kind of life; therefore the indications [omens] bypass you. Yet you are a serious person, but your seriousness is attached to what you do, not to what goes on outside you. You dwell upon yourself too much. That’s the trouble. And that produces a terrible fatigue.”
“But what else can anyone do, don Juan?
“Seek and see the marvels all around you. You will get tired of looking at yourself alone, and that fatigue will make you deaf and blind to everything else.”

“You have a point, don Juan, but how can I change?”
“Think about the wonder of Mescalito playing with you. Think about nothing else: The rest will come to you of itself.”

Sunday, 20 August 1961
Last night don Juan proceeded to usher me into the realm of his knowledge. We sat in front of his house in the dark. Suddenly, after a long silence, he began to talk. He said he was going to advise me with the same words his own benefactor had used the first day he took him as his apprentice. Don Juan had apparently memorized the words, for he repeated them several times, to make sure I did not miss any:
“A man goes to knowledge as he goes to war, wide-awake, with fear, with respect, and with absolute assurance. Going to knowledge or going to war in any other manner is a mistake, and whoever makes it will live to regret his steps.”
I asked him why was it so and he said that when a man has fulfilled those four requisites there are no mistakes for which he will have to account; under such conditions his acts lose the blundering quality of a fool’s acts. If such a man fails, or suffers a defeat, he will have lost only a battle, and there will be no pitiful regrets over that.
Then he said he intended to teach me about an “ally” in the very same way his own benefactor had taught him. He put strong emphasis on the words “very same way”, repeating the phrase several times.
An “ally”, he said, is a power a man can bring into his life to help him, advise him, and give him the strength necessary to perform acts, whether big or small, right or wrong. This ally is necessary to enhance a man’s life, guide his acts, and further his knowledge. In fact, an ally is the indispensable aid to knowing.
Don Juan said this with great conviction and force. He seemed to choose his words carefully. He repeated the following sentence four times:
“An ally will make you see and understand things about which no human being could possibly enlighten you.”
“Is an ally something like a guardian spirit?”
“It is neither a guardian nor a spirit. It is an aid.”
“Is Mescalito your ally?”
“No! Mescalito is another kind of power. A unique power! A protector, a teacher.”
“ What makes Mescalito different from an ally?”
“He can’t be tamed and used as an ally is tamed and used. Mescalito is outside oneself. He chooses to show himself in many forms to whoever stands in front of him, regardless of whether that person is a brujo or a farm boy.”
Don Juan spoke with deep fervour about Mescalito’s being the teacher of the proper way to live. I asked him how Mescalito taught the “proper way of life”, and don Juan replied that Mescalito showed how to live.
“How does he show it?” I asked.
“He has many ways of showing it. Sometimes he shows it on his hand, or on the rocks, or the trees, or just in front of you.”
“Is it like a picture in front of you?”
“No. It is a teaching in front of you.”
“Does Mescalito talk to the person?”
“Yes. But not in words.”
“How does he talk, then?”
“He talks differently to every man.”
I felt my questions were annoying him. I did not ask any more. He went on explaining that there were no exact steps to knowing Mescalito; therefore no one could teach about him except Mescalito himself. This quality made him a unique power; he was not the same for every man.
On the other hand, the acquiring of an ally required, don Juan said, the most precise teaching and the following of stages or steps without a single deviation. There are many such ally powers in the world, he said, but he was familiar with only two of them.

And he was going to lead me to them and their secrets, but it was up to me to choose one of them, for I could have only one.
His benefactor’s ally was in la yerba del diablo (devil’s weed), he said, but he personally did not like it, even though his benefactor had taught him its secrets. His own ally was in the humito (the little smoke), he said, but he did not elaborate on the nature of the smoke.
I asked him about it. He remained quiet. After a long pause I asked him:
“What kind of a power is an ally?”
“It is an aid. I have already told you.”
“How does it aid?”
“An ally is a power capable of carrying a man beyond the boundaries of himself. This is how an ally can reveal matters no human being could.”
“But Mescalito also takes you out of the boundaries of yourself. Doesn’t that make him an ally?”
“No. Mescalito takes you out of yourself to teach you. An ally takes you out to give you power.”
I asked him to explain this point to me in more detail, or to describe the difference in effect between the two. He looked at me for a long time and laughed.

He said that learning through conversation was not only a waste, but stupidity, because learning was the most difficult task a man could undertake. He asked me to remember the time I had tried to find my spot, and how I wanted to find it without doing any work because I had expected him to hand out all the information. If he had done so, he said, I would never have learned. But, knowing how difficult it was to find my spot, and, above all, knowing that it existed, would give me a unique sense of confidence. He said that while I remained rooted to my “good spot” nothing could cause me bodily harm, because I had the assurance that at that particular spot I was at my very best. I had the power to shove off anything that might be harmful to me. If, however, he had told me where it was, I would never have had the confidence needed to claim it as true knowledge. Thus, knowledge was indeed power.
Don Juan said then that every time a man sets himself to learn he has to labour as hard as I did to find that spot, and the limits of his learning are determined by his own nature. Thus he saw no point in talking about knowledge. He said that certain kinds of knowledge were too powerful for the strength I had, and to talk about them would only bring harm to me. He apparently felt there was nothing else he wanted to say. He got up and walked towards his house. I told him the situation overwhelmed me. It was not what I had conceived or wanted it to be.
He said that fears are natural; that all of us experience them and there is nothing we can do about it. But on the other hand, no matter how frightening learning is, it is more terrible to think of a man without an ally, or without knowledge.