What happens at night is more important than what happens during the day. It takes you to the true life of the masters of the past. When a waking man sleeps, his dreams shine with a dazzling light. His double guides him through the folds of time. His nights are more alive than your days. Infinitely.
Lost Friend
Your double and your death escort you in the preceding image. If your double is inside you, your death follows you all your life, a few centimetres behind your left shoulder. It speaks to you if you listen. Its advice is precious. Your double’s advice is even more so.
Your double accompanies you from birth. It stays with you for many years. Remember him, the companion of your youth, always there for you, always happy to be with you. In the books of serious people, it’s the imaginary friend. Bullshit. Serious people don’t understand anything, otherwise we’d know.
One day, your double disappears. You find yourself alone like never before. You won’t realize it right away, but his absence will change your life for a long time to come. The disappearance of your best friend leaves you with a void that only faith can fill. You’re ready to believe in anything. You start praying like crazy that you won’t be alone in the world. It’s a good idea. Whether you pray to Jesus, Hashem, Allah, Krishna, Shiva for war, Vishnu for peace or whoever, it’s all the same. The only one who answers you is your double. That’s you.
Your double is another yourself, more efficient, more perfect. He is awake, knowing, loving. He reigns over the worlds. As long as you feel small, miserable, your double protects you. He has a plan for you. He knows what will happen to you, he can save you from many mistakes and wanderings. But here it is: he is not with you all the time as before. He is in the other world, the astral. A separate reality.
The mystery of life is not a problem to be solved, but a reality to be experienced. (Frank Herbert)
Daytime
By day, you’re a prisoner of the Archons. They are the masters of earth, iron and matter. Archon means Administrator. Everything that moves under the pale sunlight owes obedience and submission to the Administrators. Your material part is theirs. It lures you. You forget who you are, who you have been from all eternity. They have shaped your body like a potter kneads clay and bakes it in a kiln. They admire their masterpiece, never tire of it. They envy you, for the almighty Goddess has given you supra-consciousness.
They are mortal animals. They’re highly intelligent, genius tinkerers, hypnotists, but they don’t care. The Archons don’t have your supra-consciousness, which allows awakening and eternal life.
They’re green with envy. You, their creature, outwit them, outfight them, offense them in the worst way. They need an immortal soul at all costs. Envy drives them to madness. To steal your soul, they are capable of feats whose filth and vileness surpass the imaginable. They plunge you into the icy waters of selfish calculation. They bury your heart in the charnel house of hatred. They drive you to crime, you can kill for them. Their preferred strategy: let you believe that this murderous madness comes from you. It’s only an emanation of dead matter.
The devil’s most beautiful trick is to persuade you that he doesn’t exist! (Charles Baudelaire)
The initiatory death
During the day, the men grope and turn in circles, prisoners of the Archons who control their brains. Only the awakened get out, because they don’t think. They vibrate with their belly. They dance with their limbs. They pulsate with the reflections of infinity their aura capture. The awakened drink to the universal memory.
The Archons created your brain and all of its programs. That’s why the awakened does not use it. He is no longer the prey of these evil masters.
Only what is not matter can rise out of their claws. Only those who have known initiatory death can avail themselves of this invincible force. He knows that matter is an absurd mirage where the Archons disappear as in our bad dreams.
Traveler of light, he has no chains, his heart is at dawn, his courage at the zenith and his house, everywhere. Perched on the tops of time, clinging to the clouds, riding lightning, he needs no rest.
A Separate Reality
The first teaching of Nagual Matus to his apprentice Carlos Castaneda is the discovery of a separate reality. While reading this book, titled VOIRSEE in the French edition, many youngsters of my age began to dream of this reality — inaccessible to them. These young people got older. They forgot, the Archons blurred their minds and sharpened their existence.
I would have done like them if I had not found a childhood friend who became Nagual like Juan and Carlos. I felt that I too, one day or another, would have this opportunity. Nagual. The high magic of separate reality. Now that I am Nagual in turn, I know that the reality of sorcerers is the only reality.
The separate reality, I tell you, is that we live every day of our lives. Real, it hardly is. Separated, it is absolutely. Our humanity is cut off from the Source. Our collective memory is full of lies and official mistakes. Our education does not prepare us in any way for the mystery of life. We wander, frightened, exploited, cramped, amidst wonders that we do not see.
The rest of the universe has its laws that we don’t know. Gigantic ships criss-cross the cosmic roads, we don’t see them. The solar system is under the globe, in a taboo jar. All beings from elsewhere approach us with curiosity. As the anomaly that we are possible, they wonder.
Then, as deep down they don’t care, they go away laughing. And the separate reality that is ours becomes a subject of jokes during the drunken evenings that they do with their friends and their darlings.
In the Night
At night, you perform miracles. You visit the worlds of yesterday and the day before, today and the day after tomorrow. You wander at leisure, exploring the outer world, the sub-world, the supra-world and even the filthy. Nothing is forbidden. The night takes you out of the separate reality where you are parked in the day.
As soon as you wake up, the horrible process of erasure plunges you into the waters of the Lethe. Oblivion, the fatal weapon of the Archons, nails you to the cross of ignorance and doubt. If the slightest memory persists, another mechanism finishes to blur your listening. The dressing of perceptions. Everything you’ve seen, experienced, met in your sleep turns into a stupid puzzle, a vile jumble of junk from your personal database.
Fog, jamming, tangles, Carabistouilles. As soon as your brain activates, nothing means anything. The wonders of your astral experience become sexual symbols just good for these neo-freudian psychoanalysts. Freud confused the Quest with his pecker. The Archons built this stupid trap to mislead the human. Forget it. Life is elsewhere.
In the Light
Only the awakened remember their dreams. For them, dreams remain clear and gilded with light. Their double guided them up there, protected them. When they wake up, the double doesn’t go away. No dressing, no jamming, no forgetting for them. They see clear at night as in daylight. All day long, in the maze of separate reality, the wonders of the astral sustain them and their double rejoices with them. Pillars of the night, the awakened hold the four corners, the four winds and the four oceans.
“The Folds of Time tighten tightly to form the Multipli, that space without a surface where time loops and takes its feet in the carpet. Here, no one can survive or die altogether. The junction of opposites makes accessible the impossible and the improbable. Everything that is not floating disappears now. Everything that resists falls apart. Everything that is dead can live forever. Everything that does not exist sparkles with a thousand shards.”
Blessed be the Multipli! As its name suggests, these folds of time multiply reality by the umpteenth power of the surreal. Is that another name for the astral? At first I thought so. I see it as a convenient accident. Through this aberration, the awakened can, without effort and without end, survey lots of multiverses that have never existed. Inventing consolations to forget the prison of daytime.
The Triptych
Awakened, you become a passenger of the astral, place of powers, knight of concentrated time, prince of inner space, king of galactic whirlwinds, emperor of yourself and path of light for your brothers. Awake, you become triple. Your double to your right, your death to your left will be your surest advisers. The sleeping ones have only one advisor, the archontic power. The temporal rift. The nothingness of the Spirit that leads them to the death of body, soul and spirit. Blessed is he who flees. Cursed is he who sees.
The triptych is realized in you. You must strive to maintain the distance with your death, trust with your double and prudence with you. At this price, you become god in three persons. Your double is the father, your death is your mother and your strength is their fruit.
The Trinity
Your death is only the death of the body. Its image is the Moon. Beyond it opens Life. Your double is your future. Its image is the Sun. Through him the divine grace of the white light of Gwenwed echoes to you. One by one, you climb the steps of awakening. Your death has freed you from a great weight, that of densified matter. You are the melody of the flute in the rolling thunder.
Three persons in one, you are in conformity with the great secret of the Book. You are ready for great enjoyment. The trumpets of the angels are already ringing. The orgones already salute your victory over yourself. The supreme peace that invades you will make you the ultimate warrior, who fights to create new life in a multiverse in your image.
Even an ant, in its own way, participates in creation.
Annexes
– Do not you mind dying?
I am sitting on a bench on the boulevard de la mer. A passer-by sat at the other end. I do not know her. I do not look at her. I do not flirt. I just ask her if she minds to die.
– Sorry ?? she replies with a start.
I repeat the question. I even add some frills. As: “Knowing that you’re going to die, think about it, look at your death face to face, drunk, naked, inevitable death of yours, don’t you mind?”
– I do not think about it.
– Please do.
– I won’t. No way !
– Oh yes. I’m making you think about it. So??
– I’m leaving, she said, raising her ass.
We remember the biblical episode of Sodom, when Lot’s wife (neither wife of a lot, nor lots of wives) turns around despite the formal ban given by Yahveh. She sees Sodom in flames and the radiations of the divine explosion transform her into a block of salt.
Very far from there, in popular culture of Japan, there is also the episode of Narayama. Palme d’Or at Cannes in 1983, The Ballad of Narayama by Shohei Imamura recounts this terrible Japanese custom which consisted in abandoning the ancients in the West Mountain as soon as they were too old to help with household chores.
Having become a burden for their family and the community, the old people had to go to the top carried on the back of their eldest son. Arrived at the top, the son brought down his parent and abandoned him on the spot, with the prohibition to turn around. The film details each aspect of this custom and feeds a reflection on letting go which makes us understand many things.
Death has two faces. The one everyone knows, and then another, less known. The initiatory death. What the Templar tradition calls death in his lifetime. The esoteric Christian tradition speaks of the death of the old Adam. The Sufi tradition, as we have just seen, speaks of dying before dying. What is it about ? Castaneda and nagualism thus describe this phase of internal evolution: to stop the world. According to the description he gives of it, when the ordinary world stops, we are not far from death.
And yet, it has nothing to do with true death. The figure on the nameless arcana, the skeleton of the Arcanum XIII, is it death? That no ! It’s the other dead person, the one we experience while alive. It is initiatory death. It’s not an end, it’s a beginning. The true beginning. All that we did until then was just an appetizer. The real treat begins with the renaissance of the phoenix.
Death, only the living talk about. And by definition they know nothing. “The day when Pandora opened her box, all the evils came out to beat down on us”, said Hesiod. All evils except one: hope.
So it would be a calamity, this hope of which Christians have made a theological virtue? Apparently yes. Anyway, if we have no hope, it’s thanks to Pandora. For Roman Catholics, theological virtue is the most important virtue to ensure the salvation of the soul. They profess three theological virtues: faith, hope and charity.
– Death is lemon yellow and smells like vanilla
– You sure about that?
– I take the bets! (Jean Rochefort, in Le Mari de la Coiffeuse)
There is no pessimists There is only well informed optimists. (Patrick Timsit)
You can always back the moment when are cut the ropes with human life. This does not open of one inch the door of mystery. To push the limits, you enter the infinitesimal, infinitely small where everything is diluted across reigns of quantum physics where the Schroedinger cat is both alive and dead.
When the door opens, what do you see? What do you get? There is the known and there is the unknown. There are two different kinds of unknown: – the knowable, whose research is exciting and discovery is exhilarating – and the unknowable, which is endlessly escaping to an impossible quest. Depressed, the researcher will end up dying, emaciated, internally sucked by the evil that does not forgive, neither in this world nor in the other.
Innumerable are our ways and our homes are uncertain. (Saint-John Perse)
This recommendation is too basic to be useful. Sometimes you follow your inner guide, and yet you feel the same emptiness: the cause is different. Your present quest cannot succeed, for you collide with the unknowable. If the unknown is stimulating, energizing, the unknowable leaves the researcher depressed, without tone. In this case, as in the first, change course, everything will be in order.
The unknowable is simply not within our reach. Let us leave it where it is.