I Was Carlos Castaneda

Many westerners are attracted to the rites and practices of religions and traditions from other cultures. In doing so it is easy to be dazzled by what is glamorous and therefore be blinded to what is dangerous. When I wrote about my deep experiences with the guru tradition in In Search of the Divine Mother I aimed at a balanced perspective. I gained a lot from that period, so did not want to disavow it, but had learned a great deal that might help and protect other westerners along a similar path. That is why the book had to be published.

I feel the same way about I Was Carlos Castaneda. Psychedelic medicines, especially ayahuasca, are becoming increasingly popular. I have gained tremendous teachings from them myself. I was also nearly killed by the shamanic nature of the associated practice. I was na�ve. I believed there was no such thing as "black magic." While people might practice such a thing, I thought it was belief in black magic that gave it its power. I was wrong. I did not believe in black magic, yet I became its victim.

Looking at plant medicines, ayahuasca, shamanism, it is natural that people are attracted to the light, the wonderful aspects. Shamanism itself is not shy about its darker side, but people coming to it from other cultures are likely to be as na�ve as I was. This book is something of a survivor's guide � it details both the wonders and the danger.

Don Pedro in the book is a fusion of two shamans. While in the Amazon I reached an agreement with one of them to write his biography, interviewed him accordingly, and came away with an extensive set of initial notes. Then my illness occurred � and forced me into a reexamination of my whole experience. The research into the biography had helped formulate my views on shamanism. It also provided me with a whole host of stories I cold possibly use. I took great care not to use stories that had been given to me particularly for the purpose of that biography, since I felt they were no longer mine to use in such a way. However one story did creep in, a tragic love story of the shaman. As I was preparing my manuscript for submission I looked at the story, wondered about deleting it, then thought "What the hell" and pressed the save key on my computer to leave it in. As my hand came up from pressing the key, a wasp stung it. I went back and deleted the passage. It could be coincidence, but this was my first wasp sting in thirty years. It was so in accord with my experiences of shamanism, which uses nature as its vehicle, that I felt justified in my wariness of going public with this story.

Some months after pausing in its writing, I read what I had done. And liked it. I found it to be tender and safe and lyrical and good. It was a story that asked to be finished. Once I had written it up, it wasn't till reading Carlos Castaneda's story of how he came out of the jungles of Peru, of hearing these recreations of his comments and wisdom, that I saw a new element of what he was doing. They say that once taken, ayahuasca never leaves you. I came to see that Carlos was actually continuing the teachings of ayahuasca, bringing some of its wisdom to the far side of my own experience.

The book ends with a promise that he will come again, that I will have the chance to pose one final question to him. Has he yet? It's funny. I catch glimpses, nearly catch him, then he's gone. I've written about these times. But that next real appearance? I'm still waiting.