My Goal


My goal is not of this world. After life, I want the adventure to continue. That’s what I’m preparing for. It is for the afterlife that I make so much effort. Until the last breath, to the end of my strength. There is another world beyond this one. The border is inside and the fear stops here. I know, I live there. Nothing tells me that he stops with the death of the body.


It runs, it runs, the ferret. After what? Even more life, more money, more envy, fewer people. The ferret empties. And when the emptiness is done, the head is gone. And when the head is gone, life begins. The real life. The one we follow to the end of the other world. The cat has nine lives. The human being has ten times more. Like in a video game. Empty and low. Game as I am. I don’t give a fucking dime. No fucking cent. That’s the way it is.

The sky is over the roof So blue so calm A tree in the sky we see Rocks his palm. Jail. Is our good old earth a prison? Is our body a prison? Our desires? Our limits? Our life ? Are we real? What is real if I am not? The program ? Or the programmer? Is there only? Is he still alive? Madness has only one time and it is eternity. I am drowned in it. Shoot me from there, six bullets in the call. I want. What do I want? Want to. That’s it, wanting. I want to be able to want. It seems to me that only God wants. I am not god. I am old. When with the three I would have made the one, will I be god at last? No, my boy, you’ll still be so stupid.

Like Tintin in the telescope, instead of the mysterious star, I see a huge spider. The one I have in the ceiling? Bottomless pit. So stupid still. How dare I make fun of Castaneda, far less foolish than me? Still. His goal is mine. But how did he do without a warrior clan to help him? The problem is whole. It’s mine as his. Escape from the Eagle, it is not won. And after that? Where to go? Let’s say that it works, that the recapitulation is enough. Let. The Eagle opens the greenhouses. Good wind, nice breeze. The idea makes me sad. But then, chances are dwindling. A pain in my ass.

The warriors of the Juan Matus clan have their own function, as do the female warriors. The role of the clan, the function of each warrior has only one goal. It is not of this world. I caught the virus. With a major handicap. I did not make a clan around me. The naguals who make a clan are naguals with four branches. The naguals with three branches do not make it. They are addressing the world. Carlos Castaneda was one, and Juan Matus did not understand it until long after taking him as an apprentice. I guess I’m like him, a nagual with three branches. Perhaps one day a seer will tell me.

Or is it but a dream? Big deal ! Everything is dream and mystery. Dreaming is god on earth. Free to invent everything, the reality is virtual, only our soul is eternal. What you create becomes true. The past fades and changes over dreams. What you do never die. Money is nothing, gambling is nothing, only the hunger that justifies the means. hungry for life, hungry for bread, hungry for love, always hungry. Your desire makes the world.

My ambition is not on earth. The life I live is enough for me. I have lived a lot in one. My goal is not of this world. My desire is on the other side. After death, if I still exist, I have the disproportionate ambition to haggle over my freedom. I want to remember myself, even in the smallest details. If the Eagle exists – our judge and our ogre – I will be able to offer him something to satisfy his munchies. I will give the Eagle a copy of who I am. If he’s happy with it, he’ll let me go.

I have already received the power that governs my destiny.
And I do not cling to anything, to have nothing to defend.
I have no thoughts, to be able to see.
I fear nothing to remember myself.
The Eagle will let me go, serene and detached, to freedom.
Carlos Castaneda



The wind picks up. We must try to live. Forget those foolishness that will kill me if I attach myself to it. The other name of the Eagle is black hole. Nothing escapes black holes, not even light. Can the soul-eater let anyone go? This bet is absurd. The Eagle has no state of mind. He does not have emotions. That’s why he feeds on ours. He is there to clean the human waves, which hardly count. His cup is full. After death, beyond the wall of oblivion, is there still a way out of the game? Everything is played here and now. Wanting an impossible after, look for the inaccessible star, dream standing up when everything is moving around us, nonsense, extraordinary naivety, excessive madness. To run after the superhumanity. Yes, the friend. You are right. I’m still so stupid.

What risk for the warrior except his life or death ? (Carlos Castaneda)


But if there is a chance, a little, a single chance on millions of misfortunes, I will seize it by the gills. I will leave tomorrow on the road from which none returns. Baluchon on the shoulder, like the Fool of tarot. Walk or die, go on without a break, a little bundle of dreams, in the rising wind. Music and songs of when I was a child will escort me to my dead skin, gently I will close the door to the sweet memories that carry me away. All is finished, provided we go out, denying the flesh, the touching songs, and the perfume of the fields. Your skin silk, your body on me, your kisses menus, your sweet eyes, your little face, your kitty and this troubling scent of you. Everything will be forgotten at the bottom of the belly of nothingness. Let’s live the moment.

Let’s love what we will never see twice. Kisses with the tips of your fingers. Such happiness does not come back. Three little tricks and then goes away. The eagle will wait. You have to accomplish so many things, still pick so many roses, still fight for so many causes. Say you love me. Smile me even. Forgive my blasphemies to my heart. On your soft hair the diadem of my loving hands arises.

The Eagle ? A fairy tale character. A myth born at random from a fevered brain. A scarecrow, a disjointed puppet. What am I doing here? No idea…

There is room in the boat
Of the afterlife yachtman
Dashing courier whose back is arched
Under the burden of the furbelows
Rigging of the sailboat
Just before he’s gone
Get on board




The most courageous act is still to think for yourself. Aloud.
Coco Chanel