One of the alien thoughts was about a statement made by an author. It was, I vaguely remember, more like a voice, or something said somewhere in the background. It happened so fast that it startled me. I paused to consider it, but it changed into an ordinary thought. I was certain I had read the statement, but I could not think of the author's name. I suddenly remembered that it was Alfred Kroeber. Then another alien thought popped up and 'said' that it was not Kroeber, but Georg Simmel, who had made the statement. I insisted that it was Kroeber, and the next thing I knew I was in the midst of an argument with myself. And had forgotten about my feeling of being doomed.
My eyelids were heavy, as though I had taken sleeping pills. Although I had never taken any, it was the image that came to my mind. I was falling asleep. I wanted to go to my car and crawl in, but I couldn't move.
Then, quite suddenly, I woke up, or rather, I clearly felt that I had. My first thought was about the time of day. I looked around. I was not in front of the Datura plant. Nonchalantly I accepted the fact that I was undergoing another divinatory experience. It was 12.35 by a clock above my head. I knew it was afternoon.
I saw a young man carrying a stack of papers. I was nearly touching him. I saw the veins of his neck pulsating and heard the fast beating of his heart. I had become absorbed in what I was seeing and had not been aware, so far, of the quality of my thoughts. Then I heard a 'voice' in my ear describing the scene, and I realized that the 'voice' was the alien thought in my mind.
I became so engrossed in listening that the scene lost its visual interest for me. I heard the voice at my right ear above my shoulder. It actually created the scene by describing it. But it obeyed my will, because I could stop it at any time and examine the details of what it said at my leisure. I 'heard-saw' the entire sequence of the young man's actions. The voice went on explaining them in minute detail, but somehow the action was not important. The little voice was the extraordinary issue. Three times during the course of the experience I tried to turn around to see who was talking. I tried to turn my head all the way to the right, or just whirl around unexpectedly to see if somebody was there. But every time I did it, my vision became blurry. I thought: 'The reason I cannot turn around is because the scene is not in the realm of ordinary reality.' And that thought was my own.
From then on I concentrated my attention on the voice alone. It seemed to come from my shoulder. It was perfectly clear, although it was a small voice. It was, however, not a child's voice or a falsetto voice, but a miniature man's voice. It wasn't my voice either. I presumed it was English that I heard. Whenever I tried deliberately to trap the voice, it subsided altogether or became vague and the scene faded. I thought of a simile. The voice was like the image created by dust particles in the eyelashes, or the blood vessels in the cornea of the eye, a wormlike shape that can be seen as long as one is not looking at it directly; but the moment one tries to look at it, it shifts out of sight with the movement of the eyeball.
I became totally disinterested in the action. As I listened the voice became more complex. What I thought to be a voice was more like something whispering thoughts into my ear. But that was not accurate. Something was thinking for me. The thoughts were outside myself. I knew that was so, because I could hold my own thoughts and the thoughts of the 'other' at the same time.
At one point the voice created scenes acted out by the young man, which had nothing to do with my original question about the lost objects. The young man performed very complex acts. The action had become important again and I paid no more attention to the voice. I began to lose patience; I wanted to stop. 'How can I end this?' I thought. The voice in my ear said I should go back to the canyon. I asked how, and the voice answered that I should think of my plant.
I thought of my plant. Usually I sat in front of it. I had done it so many times that it was quite easy for me to visualize it. I believed that seeing it, as I did at that moment, was another hallucination, but the voice said I was 'back'! I strained to listen. There was only silence. The Datura plant in front of me seemed as real as everything else I had seen, but I could touch it, I could move around.
I stood up and walked towards my ear. The effort exhausted me, and I sat down and closed my eyes. I felt dizzy and wanted so vomit. There was a buzzing in my ears.
Something slid on my chest. It was the lizard. I remembered don Juan's admonition about setting it free. I went back to the plant and untied the lizard. I did not want to see whether it was dead or alive. I broke the clay pot with the paste and kicked some dirt over it. I got into my car and fell asleep.
Today I narrated the whole experience to don Juan. As usual, he listened without interrupting me. At the end we had the following dialogue.
'You did something very wrong.'
'I know it. It was a very stupid error, an accident.'
'There are no accidents when you deal with the devil's weed. I told you she would test you all the way. As I see it, either you are very strong or the weed really likes you. The centre of the forehead is only for the great brujos who know how to handle her power.'
'What usually happens when a man rubs his forehead with the paste, don Juan?'
'If the man is not a great brujo he will never come back from the journey.'
'Have you ever rubbed the paste on your forehead, don Juan?'
'Never! My benefactor told me very few people return from such a journey. A man could be gone for months, and would have to be tended by others. My benefactor said the lizards could take a man to the end of the world and show him the most marvellous secrets upon request.'
'Do you know anybody who has ever taken that journey?'
'Yes, my benefactor. But he never taught me how to return.'
'Is it so very difficult to return, don Juan?'
'Yes. That is why your act is truly astonishing to me. You had no steps to follow, and we must follow certain steps, because it is in the steps where man finds strength. Without them we are nothing.'
We remained silent for hours. He seemed to be immersed in very deep deliberation.
Don Juan asked me if I had looked for the lizards. I told him I had, but that I couldn't find them. I asked him what would have happened if one of the lizards had died while I was holding it. He said the death of a lizard would be an unfortunate event. If the lizard with the sewed-up mouth had died at any time there would have been no sense in pursuing the sorcery, he said. It would also have meant that the lizards had withdrawn their friendship, and I would have had to give up learning about the devil's weed for a long time.
'How long, don Juan?' I asked.
'Two years or more.'
'What would have happened if the other lizard had died?'
'If the second lizard had died, you would have been in real danger. You would have been alone, without a guide. If she died before you started the sorcery, you could have stopped it; but if you had stopped it, you would also have to give up the devil's weed for good. If the lizard had died while she was on your shoulder, after you had begun the sorcery, you would have had to go ahead with it, and that would truly have been madness.'
'Why would it have been madness?'
'Because under such conditions nothing makes sense. You are alone without a guide, seeing terrifying, nonsensical things.'
'What do you mean by «nonsensical things»?'
'Things we see by ourselves. Things we see when we have no direction. It means the devil's weed is trying to get rid of you, finally pushing you away.'
'Do you know anyone who ever experienced that?'
'Yes. / did. Without the wisdom of the lizards I went mad.'
'What did you see, don Juan?'
'A bunch of nonsense. What else could I have seen without direction?'
'You told me, don Juan, that the devil's weed tests men. What did you mean by that?'
'The devil's weed is like a woman, and like a woman she flatters men. She sets traps for them at every turn. She did it to you when she forced you to rub the paste on your forehead. She will try it again, and you will probably fall for it. I warn you against it. Don't take her with passion; the devil's weed is only one path to the secrets of a man of knowledge. There are other paths. But her trap is to make you believe that hers is the only
