Journey to IxtlansageofthpalouseNovember 26 2012, 20:25:45 UTC
We hiked in the surrounding desert until it was almost dark. He did not show me any plants nor did he talk about them at all. We stopped for a moment to rest by some large bushes.
"Plants are very peculiar things," he said without looking at me. "They are alive and they feel."
At the very moment he made that statement a strong gust of wind shook the desert chaparral around us. The bushes made a rattling noise.
"Do you hear that?" he asked me, putting his right hand to his ear as if he were aiding his hearing. "The leaves and the wind are agreeing with me."
I laughed. The friend who had put us in contact had already told me to watch out, because the old man was very eccentric. I thought the "agreement with the leaves" was one of his eccentricities.
We talked for a while longer but he still did not show me any plants, nor did he pick any of them. He simply breezed through the bushes touching them gently. Then he came to a halt and sat down on a rock and told me to rest and look around.
I insisted on talking. Once more I let him know that I wanted very much to learn about plants, especially peyote. I pleaded with him to become my informant in exchange for some sort of monetary reward.
"You don't have to pay me," he said. "You can ask me anything you want. I will tell you what I know and then I will tell you what to do with it."
He asked me if I agreed with the arrangement. I was delighted. Then he added in a cryptic statement: "Perhaps there is nothing to learn about plants, because there is nothing to say about them."
I did not understand what he had said or what he had meant by it.
"What did you say?" I asked.
He repeated the statement three times and then the whole area was shaken by the roar of an Air Force jet flying low.
"There! The world has just agreed with me," he said, putting his left hand to his ear.
(This passage is a Wordsworthian joke on the hapless Carlos Castaneda, writing ironic "autobiography" - DP)
"Plants are very peculiar things," he said without looking at me. "They are alive and they feel."
At the very moment he made that statement a strong gust of wind shook the desert chaparral around us. The bushes made a rattling noise.
"Do you hear that?" he asked me, putting his right hand to his ear as if he were aiding his hearing. "The leaves and the wind are agreeing with me."
I laughed. The friend who had put us in contact had already told me to watch out, because the old man was very eccentric. I thought the "agreement with the leaves" was one of his eccentricities.
We talked for a while longer but he still did not show me any plants, nor did he pick any of them. He simply breezed through the bushes touching them gently. Then he came to a halt and sat down on a rock and told me to rest and look around.
I insisted on talking. Once more I let him know that I wanted very much to learn about plants, especially peyote. I pleaded with him to become my informant in exchange for some sort of monetary reward.
"You don't have to pay me," he said. "You can ask me anything you want. I will tell you what I know and then I will tell you what to do with it."
He asked me if I agreed with the arrangement. I was delighted. Then he added in a cryptic statement: "Perhaps there is nothing to learn about plants, because there is nothing to say about them."
I did not understand what he had said or what he had meant by it.
"What did you say?" I asked.
He repeated the statement three times and then the whole area was shaken by the roar of an Air Force jet flying low.
"There! The world has just agreed with me," he said, putting his left hand to his ear.
(This passage is a Wordsworthian joke on the hapless Carlos Castaneda, writing ironic "autobiography" - DP)
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