“The fate of all of us here has been to know that we are prisoners of power. No one knows why us in particular, but what a great fortune!”
Carlos Castaneda

Tales of Power

Magical Deer

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“A magical being is a sight to behold. I was fortunate enough to cross paths with one. Our encounter took place after I had learned and practiced a great deal of hunting. Once I was in a forest of thick trees in the mountains of central Mexico when suddenly I heard a sweet whistle. It was unknown to me; never in all my years of roaming in the wilderness had I hears such a sound. I could not place it in the terrain; it seemed to come from different places. I thought that perhaps I was surrounded by a herd of a pack of some unknown animals.

I heard the tantalizing whistle once more; it seemed to come from everywhere. I realized then my good fortune. I knew it was a magical being, a deer. I also knew that a magical deer is aware of the routines of ordinary men and the routines of hunters.

I quickly stood on my head and began to wail softly; I actually wept tears and sobbed for such a long time that I was about to faint. Suddently I felt a soft breeze; something was sniffing my hair behind my right ear. I tried to turn my head to see what it was, and I tumbled down and sat up in time to see a radiant creature staring at me, The deer looked at me and I told him I would not harm him. And the deer talked to me.”

Don Juan stopped and looked at me. I smiled involuntarily. The idea of a talking deer was quite incredible, to put it mildly.

“He talked to me,” Don Juan said with a grin.

“The deer talked?”

“He did.”

Don Juan stood and picked up his bundle of hunting paraphernalia.

“Did it really talk?” I asked in a tone of perplexity.

Don Juan roared with laughter.

“What did it say?” I asked half in jest.

I thought he was pulling my eg. Don Juan was quiet for a moment, as if he were trying to remember, then his eyes brightened as he told me what the deer had said.

“The magical deer said, ‘Hello friend,'” don Juan went on. “And I answered, ‘Hello.’ Then he asked me, ‘Why are you crying?’ and I said, ‘Because I’m sad.’ Then the magical creature came to my ear and said as clearly as I am speaking now, ‘Don’t be sad.'”

Don Juan stared into my eyes. He had a glint of sheer mischievousness. He began to laugh uproariously.

I said that his dialogue with the dee had been sort of dumb.

“What did you expect?” he asked, still laughing. “I’m an Indian.”

Taken from Carlos Castaneda’s “Journey to Ixtlan”

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