Second ring of power, p.1
Second Ring of Power, page 1
THE SECOND RING OF POWER
“The Second Ring of Power” - ©1977 by Carlos Castaneda
Preface
A flat, barren mountaintop on the western slopes of the Sierra Madre in central Mexico was the setting for my final meeting with don Juan and don Genaro; and their other two apprentices, Pablito and Nestor. The solemnity and the scope of what took place there left no doubt in my mind that our apprenticeships had come to their concluding moment, and that I was indeed seeing don Juan and don Genaro for the last time. Toward the end we all said good-bye to one another, and then Pablito and I jumped together from the top of the mountain into an abyss.
Prior to that jump don Juan had presented a fundamental principle for all that was going to happen to me. According to him, upon jumping into the abyss I was going to become pure perception and move back and forth between the two inherent realms of all creation, the tonal and the nagual.
In my jump my perception went through seventeen elastic bounces between the tonal and the nagual. In my moves into the nagual I perceived my body disintegrating. I could not think or feel in the coherent, unifying sense that I ordinarily do, but I somehow thought and felt. In my moves into the tonal I burst into unity. I was whole. My perception had coherence. I had visions of order. Their compelling force was so intense, their vividness so real, and their complexity so vast that I have not been capable of explaining them to my satisfaction. To say that they were visions, vivid dreams or even hallucinations does not say anything to clarify their nature.
After having examined and analyzed in a most thorough and careful manner my feelings, perceptions and interpretations of that jump into the abyss, I had come to the point where I could not rationally believe that it had actually happened. And yet another part of me held on steadfast to the feeling that it did happen; that I did jump.
Don Juan and don Genaro are no longer available, and their absence has created in me a most pressing need; the need to make headway in the midst of apparently insoluble contradictions.
I went back to Mexico to see Pablito and Nestor to seek their help in resolving my conflicts. But what I encountered on my trip cannot be described in any other way except as a final assault on my reason; a concentrated attack designed by don Juan himself. His apprentices, under his absentee direction, in a most methodical and precise fashion demolished in a few days the last bastion of my reason. In those few days they revealed to me one of the two practical aspects of their sorcery; the 'art of dreaming'; which is the core of the present work.
The 'art of stalking' was the other practical aspect of their sorcery, and was also the crowning stone of don Juan's and don Genaro's teachings. It was presented to me during subsequent visits. The art of stalking was by far the most complex facet of their being on the Earth as individuals seeking the 'totality of themselves'.
================================================================
1. The Transformation of Dona Soledad
I had a sudden premonition that Pablito and Nestor were not home. My certainty was so profound that I stopped my car. I was at the place where the asphalt came to an abrupt end, and I wanted to reconsider whether or not to continue that day the long and difficult drive on the steep, coarse gravel road to their hometown in the mountains of central Mexico.
I rolled down the window of my car. It was rather windy and cold. I got out to stretch my legs. The tension of driving for hours had stiffened my back and neck. I walked to the edge of the paved road. The ground was wet from an early shower. Rain was still falling heavily on the slopes of the mountains to the south a short distance from where I was; but right in front of me toward the east, and also toward the north, the sky was clear. At certain points on the winding road I had been able to see the bluish peaks of the sierras shining in the sunlight a great distance away.
After a moment's deliberation, I decided to turn back and go to the city because I had a most peculiar feeling that I was going to find don Juan in the market. After all, I had always done just that; found him in the marketplace.
Since the beginning of my association with him, as a rule, if I did not find him in Sonora, I would drive to central Mexico and go to the market of that particular city; and sooner or later don Juan would show up. The longest I had ever waited for him was two days. I was so habituated to meeting him in that manner, that I had the most absolute certainty that I would find him again as I always had.
I waited in the market all afternoon. I walked up and down the aisles pretending to be looking for something to buy. Then I waited around the park.
At dusk I knew that he was not coming. I had then the clear sensation that he had been there, but had left. I sat down on a park bench where I used to sit with him and tried to analyze my feelings.
Upon arriving in the city I had been elated with the sure knowledge that don Juan was there in the streets. What I felt had been more than the memory of having found him there countless times before. My body had known that he was looking for me.
But then as I sat on the bench, I had another kind of strange certainty. I knew that he was not there anymore. He had left and I had missed him.
After a while I discarded my speculations. I thought that I was beginning to be affected by the place. I was starting to get irrational. That had always happened to me in the past after a few days in that area.
I went to my hotel room to rest for a few hours and then I went out again to roam the streets. I did not have the same expectation of finding don Juan that I had had in the afternoon. I gave up. I went back to my hotel in order to get a good night's sleep.
Before I headed for the mountains in the morning, I drove up and down the main streets in my car; but somehow I knew that I was wasting my time. Don Juan was not there.
It took me all morning to drive to the little town where Pablito and Nestor lived. I arrived around noon. Don Juan had taught me never to drive directly into the town so as not to arouse the curiosity of onlookers. Every time I had been there I had always driven off the road just before reaching the town- onto a flat field where youngsters usually played soccer. The dirt was well packed all the way to a walking trail which was wide enough for a car and which passed by Pablito's and Nestor's houses in the foothills south of town. As soon as I got to the edge of the field I found that the walking trail had been turned into a gravel road.
I deliberated whether to go to Nestor's house or Pablito's. The feeling that they were not there still persisted. I opted to go to Pablito's. I reasoned that Nestor lived alone whereas Pablito lived with his mother and his four sisters. If he was not there, the women could help me find him.
As I got closer to his house, I noticed that the path leading from the road up to the house had been widened. It looked as if the ground was hard, and since there was enough space for my car, I drove almost to the front door.
A new porch with a tile roof had been added to the adobe house. There were no dogs barking, but I saw an enormous one sitting calmly and alertly observing me from behind a fenced area. A flock of chickens that had been feeding in front of the house scattered around cackling. I turned the motor off and stretched my arms over my head. My body was stiff.
The house seemed deserted. The thought crossed my mind that perhaps Pablito and his family had moved away and that someone else was living there. Suddenly the front door opened with a bang and Pablito's mother stepped out as if someone had pushed her. She stared at me absentmindedly for an instant.
As I got out of my car, she seemed to recognize me. A graceful shiver ran through her body and she ran toward me. I thought that she must have been napping and that the noise of the car had woken her; and when she came out to see what was going on she did not know at first who I was.
The incongruous sight of the old woman running toward me made me smile. When she got closer, I had a moment of doubt. Somehow she moved so nimbly that she did not seem like Pablito's mother at all.
"My goodness what a surprise!" she exclaimed.
"Dona Soledad?" I asked, incredulously.
"Don't you recognize me?" she replied, laughing.
I made some stupid comments about her surprising agility.
"Why do you always see me as a helpless old woman?" she asked, looking at me with an air of mock challenge. She bluntly accused me of having nicknamed her "Mrs. Pyramid."
I remembered that I had once said to Nestor that her shape reminded me of a pyramid. She had a very broad and massive behind, and a small pointed head. The long dresses that she usually wore added to the effect.
"Look at me," she said. "Do I still look like a pyramid?"
She was smiling but her eyes made me feel uncomfortable. I attempted to defend myself by making a joke, but she cut me off and coaxed me to admit that I was responsible for the nickname.
I assured her that I had never intended it as such, and that, anyway, at that moment she was so lean that her shape was the furthest thing from a pyramid.
"What's happened to you, dona Soledad?" I asked. "You're transformed."
"You said it," she replied briskly. "I've been transformed!"
I meant it figuratively. However, upon closer examination I had to admit that there was no room for a metaphor. She was truly a changed person. I suddenly had a dry, metallic taste in my mouth. I was afraid.
She placed her fists on her hips and stood with her legs slightly apart facing me. She was wearing a light green gathered skirt and a whitish blouse. Her skirt was shorter than those she used to wear. I could not see her hair. She h ad it tied with a thick band; a turban-like piece of cloth. She was barefoot and she rhythmically tapped her big feet on the ground as she smiled with the candor of a young girl.
I had never seen anyone exude as much strength as she did. I noticed a strange gleam in her eyes; a disturbing gleam, but not a frightening one. I thought that perhaps I had never really examined her appearance carefully. Among other things, I felt guilty for having glossed over many people during my years with don Juan. The force of his personality had rendered everyone else pale and unimportant.
I told her that I had never imagined that she could have such a stupendous vitality; that my carelessness was to blame for not really knowing her; and that no doubt I would have to meet everyone else all over again.
She came closer to me. She smiled and put her right hand on the back of my left arm; grabbing it gently.
"That's for sure," she whispered in my ear.
Her smile froze and her eyes became glazed. She was so close to me that I felt her breasts rubbing my left shoulder. My discomfort increased as I tried to convince myself that there was no reason for alarm. I repeated to myself over and over that I really had never known Pablito's mother, and that in spite of her odd behavior, she was probably being her normal self.
But some frightened part of me knew that those were only bracing thoughts with no substance at all; because no matter how much I may have glossed over her person, not only did I remember her very well, I had known her very well.
She had represented to me the archetype of a mother. I had thought her to be in her late fifties or even older. Her weak muscles had moved her bulky weight with extreme difficulty. Her hair had a lot of gray in it.
She was, as I remembered her, a sad, somber woman with kind, handsome features; a dedicated, suffering mother; always in the kitchen; always tired. I also remembered her to be a very gentle and unselfish woman, and a very timid one; timid to the point of being thoroughly subservient to anyone who happened to be around.
That was the picture I had had of her; reinforced throughout years of casual contact.
This day something was terribly different. The woman I was confronting did not at all fit the image I had of Pablito's mother, and yet she was the same person; leaner, stronger, and looking twenty years younger than the last time I had seen her. I felt a shiver in my body.
She moved a couple of steps in front of me and faced me.
"Let me look at you," she said. "The Nagual told us that you're a devil."
I remembered then that all of them- Pablito, his mother, his sisters and Nestor- had always seemed unwilling to voice don Juan's name, and called him "the Nagual;" a usage which I myself adopted when talking with them.
She daringly put her hands on my shoulders; something she had never done before. My body tensed. I really did not know what to say. There was a long pause that allowed me to take stock of myself. Her appearance and behavior had frightened me to the point that I had forgotten to ask about Pablito and Nestor.
"Tell me, where is Pablito?" I asked her with a sudden wave of apprehension.
"Oh, he's gone to the mountains," she responded in a noncommittal tone, and moved away from me.
"And where is Nestor?"
She rolled her eyes as if to show her indifference.
"They are together in the mountains," she said in the same tone.
I felt genuinely relieved and told her that I had known without the shadow of a doubt that they were all right.
She glanced at me and smiled. A wave of happiness and ebullience came upon me, and I embraced her. She boldly returned the embrace and held me. That act was so outlandish that it took my breath away. Her body was rigid. I sensed an extraordinary strength in her. My heart began to pound. I gently tried to push her away as I asked her if Nestor was still seeing don Genaro and don Juan. During our farewell meeting don Juan had expressed doubts that Nestor was ready to finish his apprenticeship.
"Genaro has left forever," she said letting go of me.
She fretted nervously with the edge of her blouse.
"How about don Juan?"
"The Nagual is gone too," she said, puckering her lips.
"Where did they go?"
"You mean you don't know?"
I told her that both of them had said good-bye to me two years before, and that all I knew was that they were leaving at that time. I had not really dared to speculate where they had gone. They had never told me their whereabouts in the past and I had come to accept the fact that if they wanted to disappear from my life, all they had to do was to refuse to see me.
"They're not around, that's for sure," she said, frowning, "And they won't be coming back, that's also for sure."
Her voice was extremely unemotional. I began to feel annoyed with her. I wanted to leave.
"But you're here," she said, changing her frown into a smile. "You must wait for Pablito and Nestor. They've been dying to see you."
She held my arm firmly and pulled me away from my car. Compared to the way she had been in the past, her boldness was astounding.
"But first, let me show you my friend," she said, and forcibly led me to the side of the house.
There was a fenced area, like a small corral. A huge male dog was there. The first thing that attracted my attention was his healthy, lustrous, yellowish-brown fur. He did not seem to be a mean dog. He was not chained and the fence was not high enough to hold him. The dog remained impassive, as we got closer to him; not even wagging his tail. Dona Soledad pointed to a good-sized cage in the back. A coyote was curled up inside.
"That's my friend," she said. "The dog is not. He belongs to my girls."
The dog looked at me and yawned. I liked him. I had a nonsensical feeling of kinship with him.
"Come, let's go into the house," she said, pulling me by the arm.
I hesitated. Some part of me was utterly alarmed and wanted to get out of there quickly, and yet another part of me would not have left for the world.
"You're not afraid of me, are you?" she asked in an accusing tone.
"I most certainly am!" I exclaimed.
She giggled, and in a most comforting tone she declared that she was a clumsy, primitive woman who was very awkward with words, and that she hardly knew how to treat people. She looked straight into my eyes and said that don Juan had commissioned her to help me because he worried about me.
"He told us that you're not serious, and go around causing a lot of trouble to innocent people," she said.
Up to that point her assertions had been coherent to me but I could not conceive don Juan saying those things about me.
We went inside the house. I wanted to sit down on the bench where Pablito and I usually sat. She stopped me.
"This is not the place for you and me," she said. "Let's go to my room."
"I'd rather sit here," I said firmly. "I know this spot and I feel comfortable on it."
She clicked her lips in disapproval. She acted like a disappointed child. She contracted her upper lip until it looked like the flat beak of a duck.
"There is something terribly wrong here," I said. "I think I am going to leave if you don't tell me what's going on."
She became very flustered and argued that her trouble was not knowing how to talk to me. I confronted her with her unmistakable transformation and demanded that she tell me what had happened. I had to know how such a change had come about.
"If I tell you, will you stay?" she asked in a child's voice.
"I'll have to."
"In that case I'll tell you everything. But it has to be in my room."
I had a moment of panic. I made a supreme effort to calm myself and we walked into her room. She lived in the back where Pablito had built a bedroom for her.
I had once been in the room while it was being built and also after it was finished; just before she moved in. The room looked as empty as I had seen it before, except that there was a bed in the very center of it and two unobtrusive chests of drawers by the door.
The whitewash of the walls had faded into a very soothing yellowish white. The wood of the ceiling had also weathered. Looking at the smooth, clean walls, I had the impression they were scrubbed daily with a sponge.
The room looked more like a monastic cell; very frugal and ascetic. There were no ornaments of any sort. The windows had thick, removable wood panels reinforced with an iron bar. There were no chairs or anything to sit on.
