The Warrior’s Mask

Planetary fashion is in mask this year. To live happily, live in hiding, they said. It has become: to live simply, live masked. What makes me laugh in this drama is that there is mask and mask. The one who conceals and the one who reveals. The carnival mask, sometimes grimacing, but always playful. The surgeon’s mask, white with fear, still terrifying.

Lower the shade a bit

The warrior in question here is not a physical fighter – what? – but a righteous one who practices jihad in the Koranic sense, namely the just fight against oneself, the vices of the ego, the weaknesses, all that prevents advancing on the path of awakening. You are here to fulfill yourself, not in the material sense, not in what is perishable, but in your inner light. It’s up to you to make it shine … just as it’s up to you to dim its glow when it’s appropriate.

Keep your lamp on, don’t hide its light under a bushel, said the prophet known as Jesus. We might as well know him by another name, Enoch, Krishna, Osiris, Apollonius of Tyana, Mithras, Esus, Constantine … but no, we know him by the name of Jesus.

As he was not speaking to warriors of light, but to brave people without malice, Jesus omitted to specify that if, yes-yes-yes indeed, sometimes it is necessary to hide the light. Sometimes. If only to not be spotted. I am not Jesus, my existence is not beyond the shadow of a doubt, except for me, the evenings of weariness. It is not to be or not to be, that Hamlet should have said. It is: am I? or am I not?

I am worried about myself. When it comes to doubting your own existence, the gates of psychiatric hospital are wide open. So I erase the magic slate, I resume my train and everything is fine. Astral plane here I am!

Self combat

Confined or not, the warrior advances masked. There is nothing he can do about it, it is not affected or wanted in any way. Castaneda calls it the art of stalking. It refers to the vocabulary of hunting. Except that the hunter is stalking a game, while the warrior of light is stalking himself. We join the notion of jihad as defined by the Koran. The warrior tracks down his faults, the main one, for everyone, being from a bulky ego.

To decrease the stupid pressure of the ego, the solution is modesty, humility, secrecy. It is not affected, but still sincere. The warrior hides behind his hand, behind his shadow, behind the sun which hides his inner light. He looks like an outgoing young athlete, an efficient and overworked systems engineer, a patient and attentive saleswoman, a quiet little old man, he is easily confused with Mrs and Mr Norman Normal. Only the seers can see him or her.

This is the whole difference between the guru and the warrior. The guru appears, he needs to be noticed, followed, loved, admired by an ever greater number of brainless.

The Warrior has none of these concerns. He does not need followers or emulators. He walks alone. Intention conceals it from the eyes of unwelcome visitors. Some sighted people know how to recognize him under his mask, he accepts contact. He knows that nothing happens by chance since chance does not exist: it is only the product of human short-sightedness. He knows that the ego is the only obstacle that stands between him and awakening. So he tries to keep him at bay. It is the parable of the two dragon fighters, Saint Michael and Saint George. I have already spoken about it often, I will not return to it, follow the link.

Auto-immune mist

The Warrior’s Mask does not protect him against viruses. He does not care, he is doing wonderfully. His resistance to disease comes from the work he does on him. On his ego. On his faults. On his weakness. On the four enemies of the warrior. This work generates a kind of fog which does not bother him, on the contrary. Auto-immune haze says of a disease that comes from itself hides it better than a wall-colored coat. The wall of fog becomes his second nature. He walks in his mist, talks under his beard or shouts on the rooftops, whatever he does, we do not see him.

One day at Val Sans Retour, with my friend Devic and two witches, we came to a stop on a hill. We did it in the same second, all four of us, without consulting each other. We hadn’t decided anything, we didn’t know why we had frozen so. It’s barely if we don’t hold our breath. Motionless, we no longer attracted attention. Passers-by walked around at our feet without raising their heads, without giving us a sign or a glance.

Strange feeling. Certainly the path was below, this can explain that. Yet several hikers brushed past us without seeing us. They had climbed on our hill, they had walked among us, their blindness was incomprehensible. A witch moved. The hikers jumped, one of them let out a cry. The spell was broken.


Those like me who have read and reread Castaneda inevitably remember an unforgettable character: Silvio Manuel. The shadow made man. Invisible in his house full of night, he’s fluid and silent in dark recesses, he looks like a vampire that daylight can hurt. We will also remember the wall of fog that must be crossed to enter the Elsewhere. That damn wall is on the move. The male warrior cannot see in front of him, but always to his left, and who turns with the warrior.

Male and female warrior

Every time he pretends to cross it, the wall slips away and ends up on his left. The warrior takes the ridiculousness of spinning around like a mad dog, before giving it up, defeated. The warrior doesn’t have this problem. Not only can she see the wall in front, not only can she penetrate it without difficulty, but she has enough life energy to train several warriors there. The power of the warriors immediately gives them the level of witch … as soon as the awakening seizes her.

The warrior acts for him, the sorcerer works for the warriors of his clan. Any female warrior, in fact, works for the clan as much as for herself. She is supremely gifted in the art of dreaming, which is the practice of conscious and controlled dreaming. But she is also brilliant in the art of stalking. Her mimicry borders on genius. And often exceeds it. I have no word. I see her doing it and I admire her in silence. Of course, her magnificent actions are not dictated by her intellect. The mind is no match for that. She uses the intelligence of the body. She uses her matrix and her colon.

The talent she has for disguising herself body and soul, the warrior does not take pride. If she did, her power would fly away. She knows it. The first virtue of the tracker is humility. The main asset of the sorcerer is modesty. Castaneda cultivated it during his hidden life, but lost it as soon as he became publicized. To live happy, live hidden.

We spend the first half of our life forging a strong ego, and the second half to get rid of it.
Carl Gustav Jung