As stated in the last issue, this is a place where you can place your own "personal ads", although we don't allow phone numbers, mating rituals, or anything for sell. We hadn't planned to allow names, but the name on the proposed tour caravan seemed necessary. Note: you assume personal contact at your own risk!
This is also the place where we put poetry, although I'm not sure why, and as of this issue, stories that don't relate actual hair-raising experiences, but which seem to have some relation to the topic.
EL BRUJO THE NUT
A number of years ago, I went to visit my benefactor in Mexico. He picked me up at the airport and we drove in his car to our appointed destination. He had become such a quiet man now, he no longer chattered happily to whomever would listen. We got into his old blue Ford and took off into the country-side.
I was always amazed that he didn't buy a new car, or at least fix up this one. It had a hole in the muffler and we (I should say I) had to yell over the din of the motor. "Old Blue" had no air-conditioning either, and Mexico can be so hot.
I felt the passenger seat beneath me. This was the very place my benefactor's own teacher had sat so many years ago. I could feel the Old One's earthy wisdom talk to me gently about our voyage together, now and then. The blue car had much knowledge held within its memory.
As we chugged noisily through certain villages or communities that dot the countryside of Mexico, I kept looking to see if the locals might not stare at us curiously. Here we were, two odd gringos, noisily invading their home in its quiet slumber. I glanced out at the passers-by. A few gave me hushed whispered looks in return. Shaded from real view, I heard one say, "There goes El Brujo, the Nut."
The other reality set in and I yelled over Old Blue's motor, "You need a woman!"
My benefactor remained silent. He only watched the road that stretched into infinity and nothing. We drove on.
As evening fell, we stopped to rest. We were absolutely alone, the silence was complete. We stripped and dove into the clear water of the wide, dark river beside us. I could feel his sadness, it came in slow motion waves over us. I began to weep, still and deep as the river.
He turned and looked at me. "You need a woman," I repeated softly. His eyes were black pools of light.
He did not answer.
He was silent.
The great Female universe gave a sigh and turned over in her sleep. She was content in her Dreaming. She was Dreaming of us.
Source: El. G.
SEE THE WORLD!
Film/video documentarist organizing mid- or late- 1995 tour of areas and sites connected to Nagualist writings; e.g., Tucson -- Nogales -- Hermosillo -- Navajoa -- Tula -- Ixtlan -- Mexico City -- Oaxaca, plus other stops, including a beach or two. Hope for 3 or 4 vehicle caravan. Interested parties immediately write Franco Mann, c/o Dale Brakhop; P. O. Box 250113; Little Rock, AR 72225-0113
Carlos, Florinda, Taisha, Carol and all the others whose energy has helped bring what we are doing into our reality. I am indebted to you all.
Thanks also to the other readers for the submissions, for sharing things that help me to know I'm not the only one who's left their previous lives behind. Most certainly, thanks to the staff and support people at NNL for taking this task upon themselves, and doing such a great job!
Does billowing angelica infuse entity wind? Do other realms come riding in? Or the opposite do I evolve? Can this riddle be solved? Please don't think me absurd, I wish to know more of herbs! Why do crystals or moldavite rocks restore powerhouse energy? Remove blocks? Dream things co-operate with me!
Source: Greenville, MS
ABOUT FAKE NAGUALS
... As for this concern for "fake Nagual groups" all I can say is - a wise man once said "you will know them by their works."
Via con Dios, don Diego
For many years I have been studying the Art of Nagualism. I have been blessed with an amazing benefactor (and others). I can be reached at -
Site 4, Compartment 8 RR1, Perkinsfield, Ontario LOL 2JO, Canada.
If you want a reply please send a SASE (Canadian) and let me know if I can send any relevant information on to NNL.
My body shook as I heard a loud voice in my ear urging me to say hello to the skinny old man sitting to my left. The voice laughed in my ear and said, "Go up to the Nagual Carlos, Say hello to the Nagual Carlos." The skinny old man did not look exactly like Carlos Castaneda and since, at least in those days, I knew nothing about the different disguises Naguals use, I was confused and very nervous.
My Chicken sandwich was still warm so I decided to eat first and wait until calmness took over. Of course, I was afraid he might get up and walk out of the Mall but he appeared to be eating his chicken sandwich and enjoying the TV.
Finally I had enough. I went over to the skinny old man and said in my most direct tone, "Are you Carlos Castaneda!" He turned slowly to his right and said "No!"
I was not pleased and shot back, "Are you sure you're not Carlos. I know you!"
He said, "My name is George, perhaps you've seen me at the races," and then he pointed toward the racetrack which was about two miles away.
I was very unhappy so I left, but not so faraway that I couldn't keep a watch over George. There was an intensity in his eyes which not even a sorcerer in disguise could hide. Over the next two years I would run into George, and I discovered he was often at the racetrack because he worked there.
I would often think about the unusual way in which I met George and since I was in the midst of a great deal of dreaming experiences my mind would become very easily overloaded with the mundane nature of the day to day middle class existence. Surely I thought George would one day open up and confess his sorcery activities, but alas, George was usually silent as the stones.
Once, George opened up to me and talked about the horses. He said he had recently retired after a disagreement with his boss. He told me some trainers will take a pretty good horse and begin to hurt the horse by not feeding them properly and generally running them down so when they run, they run last. The trainers want to run the horse enough in the last place so they develop a reputation as an also-ran. Then they take the horse out of competition, often on the pretense of moving them to another track. The horse will lay up for a while, be fed, shoed and trained properly until they're ready. Then the horse will be moved to another track and be entered in a losers race. Since the rules, in this State, allow a trainer to bet on his own horse, the trainer lays down a big wad on the horse, which by now is in his best form. George said if you look in the daily racing form you'll see the experts will wonder why the horse went from a promising one to a loser very quickly. The odds will be 30 or 40 to 1 and the trainer will make his money at the betting window on that day.
I made a few excursions to the track and placed a few bets, even though I didn't like horses before this time. However I couldn't help notice how some of the horses, always in the better races, had a peculiar intensity. Those were the days when the voice whispered in my ear: They run for the thrill of the chase.
Source: El Cinco Sol
I'm interested in knowing what groups there are out on the Internet and other on-line services that are info-sharing, etc..
My Inet address is: firstname.lastname@example.org