
MY STRANGE DAY began in earnest as I stepped out of L.A.’s bright haze into the dark bowels of a small, inconspicuous Cuban restaurant next to an Office Depot strip mall off Venice Boulevard.
It certainly wasn’t where I had expected to find the world’s most famous literary sorcerer, but there he was, Carlos Castaneda, sitting at a small round checkered tablecloth table in the middle of the nearly empty restaurant.
The second surprise: He wasn’t alone. Sitting next to him was a thin woman with the shiniest platinum blond hair I had ever seen. I later discovered this was Kylie Lundahl, commonly referred to as one of Castaneda’s “witches.”
I had barely sat down before Castaneda began talking as if we had been in the middle of a conversation:
“God doesn’t love you,” he said. “You do realize that? God doesn’t give a shit about you.”
In way of response, I threw it back to him in the same manner:
“I would like to discuss ravens,” I said.
In his book “The Teachings of Don Juan,” the Yaqui sorcerer Don Juan Matus helped Castaneda turn into a crow – which is a smaller version of a raven. After the transformation, Don Juan tossed Castaneda – the crow – into the air and he flew away.
I asked Castaneda how one could tell when a raven wasn’t really a raven.
“You look at its energy,” Castaneda said. “A raven that’s a sorcerer glows amber.”
In his books, and during our luncheon, Castaneda said he sees pure energy and that he began to see humans as energy forms, “luminous eggs,” some 30 years earlier in the cafeteria of UCLA when he was working on his doctorate in anthropology.
So this is how my meeting began with Castaneda’s proclamation that God didn’t love me followed up by a discussion on how to tell when a raven wasn’t really a raven. Given my unexpected encounters with desert ravens a few weeks earlier (as described in a previous blog “When Ravens Come Calling”), I found the raven chat particularly enlightening.
This interview with Castaneda took place in the summer of 1997. I have often been asked why Castaneda met with me – especially considering that Castaneda had more or less disappeared from public view 20 years earlier refusing to give interviews, have his photo taken or have his voice recorded.
According to Castaneda: “Recording is a way of fixing you in time. This is the antithesis of the sorcerer – the stagnant picture or word.”
In fact, during our interview, I was only allowed to take notes blindly in my reporter’s notebook with my hands under the table and out of sight. (When I examined my notebook later that day, my penmanship didn’t look any worse than usual).
There are two explanations for the interview. The pragmatic one is that two years earlier Castaneda formed a company called Cleargreen to handle various projects related to Castaneda’s books and miscellaneous things. One of those miscellaneous things was a series of Tensegrity workshops where participants paid $250 each to learn a series of “magical passes,” movements intended to heighten perception.
Cleargreen wanted pre publicity on the Tensegrity workshops targeting the Phoenix area.
Of course none of this explained the magical ravens that had visited my house before my Castaneda assignment – large birds with glowing iridescent eyes, checking me out as if reading my energy. I related this experience to Castaneda, and while interested, he didn’t offer an explanation.
Castaneda was in his early 70s when I met him. As one might expect, he was not ordinary. When I think back on it now, it was like being in the presence of several different people, which he kept going in and out of during the interview.
The main personality was that of a proper, practical professor – albeit, a very small one. Physically, Castaneda was slightly built, no more than 5 feet tall and probably weighing close to 90 pounds. In his books, his teacher Don Juan called him Carlitos, the diminutive for Carlos. It fit.
But it was more than that. With his meticulously combed white hair parted on one side and neatly pressed Chinos and short sleeve dress shirt, Castaneda reminded me of a fifth grader dressed for church.
But it was even more than that.
Castaneda had smooth, ageless skin – like a porcelain doll. In fact there was an androgynous quality to Castaneda, the combination of masculine and feminine characteristics melded into an ambiguous form. This same androgyny has often been noted by field anthropologists in their observations of curanderos and shamans.
In his proper professor persona, Castaneda calmly pontificated on his beliefs. He was especially articulate discussing the true nature of the universe and his disdain for religion:
“The universe is not predictable no matter what scientists tell you. It is a thinking universe, a living universe, an exquisite universe. We have to balance the lineality of the known universe with the nonlineality of the unknown universe.”
The problem, Castaneda insisted, is that we’re so trapped in our own egos, we never see the bigger picture of existence. We are not individuals surrounded by other individuals or houses or shopping malls. We are individuals surrounded by infinity.

Castaneda said that major blocking mechanisms to experiencing an expanded reality are the thoughts constantly bantering about in our heads that reinforce our programming – what Don Juan called the internal dialogue.
Another problem, according to Castaneda, is that the universe – while exquisite – is also predatorial. It produces waves of sadness that hone in on us as we age, as our protective shields deteriorate.
“This ontological sadness, you see it coming then you feel it on top of you.”
Apparently, even the path with heart is no cakewalk.
“We’re all going to face infinity at the moment of dying,” he said. “Why face it when we are weakest, when we are broken? Why not when we are strong? Why not now? You have to face it pragmatically without idealities.”
The word ideality triggered Castaneda’s second persona, that of an angry old man, the kind who lives in a retirement community and has nothing to do all day but complain on Facebook about politics.
“All religions are idealities,” shouted Castaneda, who ironically was born on Christmas Day. “Jesus. Buddha. They are too big to be real. Leave Jesus on the cross. He’s very happy there. Idealities cannot be used in a pragmatic movement.”
And:
“There is nothing to Carlos Castaneda. Personality is a pretense. Fame? Success? Who gives a shit? If we weren’t so involved in ourselves, we wouldn’t do such barbaric things to ourselves.”
Then, shifting back to persona one, Castaneda succinctly discussed egos again and how they (and religious beliefs) prevent us from interacting with other worlds – over 40 of them besides our own. Castaneda matter-of-factly explained how some of these alternative existences contain inorganic beings.
“Inorganic beings are possessors of consciousness but not possessors of an organism,” Castaneda said. “Why should awareness be the exclusive possession of organisms?”
Castaneda in his professor persona, made a cogent argument for inorganic beings and non-ordinary reality, which his teacher Don Juan taught him could be entered through the manipulation of the assemblage point, a place about an arm’s length behind our shoulder blades that can be shifted to visit other realms. Think of it as changing frequencies to tune into different TV or radio channels.
The Yaqui sorcerer Don Juan also taught Castaneda that the world as we know it is only one version of reality, a set of culturally embedded descriptions or agreements.
“If you seek with the mind, it will not take you anywhere, except to a tautological situation where you repeat the obvious,” Castaneda said. “This world is the fantasy. We are champions of pseudo control – we reduce the problem of existence to manageable science.”
Besides adjusting the assemblage point, Castaneda learned that non-ordinary reality could be accessed through dreaming.
In his book “The Art of Dreaming,” Castaneda writes about “flyers,” a product of the predatory universe that incessantly feed on mankind’s awareness, taking the sheen off our luminous eggs and leaving only a rubble of self-absorption and egomania. He then recalls an episode in the mid-70s when he and Carol Tiggs (another one of his so-called “witches”) were “dreaming” in a hotel room in Mexico City, and Tiggs disappeared into those dreams.
As Castaneda explained it, Tiggs was on a journey in the “second attention,” a state of consciousness not devoured by the flyers. Ten years later, Castaneda insists Tiggs reappeared in a bookstore in Santa Monica where Castaneda was giving a talk.
Shortly after our discussion of inorganic beings and non-ordinary reality, Castaneda shifted into persona numero tres: that of an extremely feeble old man at least 30 years older talking incoherently in a raspy voice then smiling for no apparent reason.
As I witnessed this rather remarkable aging transformation and listened to a senile Castaneda talking about childhood memories (I think), I couldn’t help but wonder if these multiple personalities played into Castaneda’s writings. Was Don Juan actually one of Castaneda’s “alters?”
Throughout the lunch, Castaneda’s companion Kylie Lundahl barely spoke. Lundahl, whom I learned was a Tensegrity instructor, did mention how Castaneda, like Don Juan, would not die a normal death but rather evanesce – disappear gradually like mist. This was what the sorcerers of antiquity called “the abstract flight.”
But Castaneda didn’t think so. He believed he was “too much of a moron” to evanesce:
“I know more than I want to know,” Castaneda said, returning to the professor persona. “It’s true hell. If you see too much, you become unbearable.”
The lunch lasted three hours. Castaneda did not like his steak and in the angry old man persona shouted that it “tasted like shit.”
In the parking lot Castaneda and Kylie walked me to my rental car. Castaneda returned to the feeble old man. He said he liked me then gave me a hug and reached up and slapped me on the back – landing a hard right to my assemblage point.
For a moment Castaneda’s predatorial universe hooked me with one of its waves of sadness as I remembered what he had said about a warrior knowing whatever he sees he will not see again. I took a few steps toward my rental car, wondering whether Castaneda would indeed make that connection with his abstract flight.
No doubt there are people reading this account who think Castaneda was putting on an act on my behalf – especially given all the negative publicity following this interview claiming Castaneda was a fake.
I might have felt similarly had it not been for the appearance of the non-ordinary ravens at my home in the Arizona desert before the Castaneda interview.
And the other events that followed …
When Ravens Say Goodbye
Nine months after my lunch with Castaneda and Lundahl, the two ravens reappeared at my house. It was early morning and I was watering tomato plants on my roof deck before driving to work at the Arizona Republic.
I first heard them. Noisily they circled, first high then lower. It was odd behavior for normal desert ravens. I had the sense they were trying to tell me something. After about five minutes of circling, they flew off in the direction of Gold Mountain.
I never saw them again.
Before leaving for work, I picked up the newspaper off my driveway. I scanned the front page as usual. I saw nothing remarkable until my eyes found a tiny boxed article near the bottom of the page.
The article was about Carlos Castaneda. It said he had died in Los Angeles – of liver cancer.
Two thoughts crossed my mind:
Castaneda was right – he had died a normal death. And the ravens? Was this Castaneda’s way of saying goodbye? Had Castaneda been reincarnated into one? His teacher Don Juan had predicted as much.
I drove into Phoenix in a daze. I knew I would have to write something about Castaneda’s death. But what would ordinary luminous eggs believe that didn’t sound like the stuff of mental illness?
Around the time of Castaneda’s death, Kylie Lundahl also disappeared, although to this day no one knows what happened to her or Castaneda’s other “witches” including Cleargreen president Amalia Marquez, Florinda Donner-Grau, Taisha Abelar and Patricia Partin. They all simply vanished (although in 2006, Partin’s sun-bleached skeleton was discovered by a pair of hikers in Death Valley’s Panamint Dunes area and was identified by DNA testing).
I thought my Castaneda connection had ended.
It hadn’t.
Not Familiar with Carlos Castaneda? Here’s the Back Story:
In 1960, Carlos Castaneda met an elderly Yaqui Indian, Juan Matus, in Nogales, Arizona. Castaneda was an anthropology student at the University of California-Los Angeles, collecting information for his Ph.D. on the use of hallucinogenic peyote cactus by indigenous peoples. He was told by a mutual friend that Matus was an expert on peyote. Unbeknownst to Castaneda, Don Juan Matus was also a sorcerer – a descendant of a long line of Mexican seers.
Don Juan is said to have recognized a “peculiar energy alignment” in Castaneda and slowly reeled him into an apprenticeship. In 1961, Castaneda the anthropologist became Castaneda the sorcerer’s apprentice. The relationship continued off and on until 1973, when Don Juan and his group are said to have completed their destiny by disappearing like mist from this world to become navigators into infinity.
Before that, Don Juan encouraged Castaneda to write about his world of Mexican shamanism. And for three decades the debate has raged: Are his 12 bestsellers fiction or nonfiction? The books are often found in the New Age section of bookstores, that quasi-reality genre that may or may not be real depending on your current state of perception.
The Los Angeles Times once referred to Castaneda as one of the godfathers of tile New Age movement. But that’s not a description Castaneda was fond of. He put it this way: “For 30 years people have accused Carlos Castaneda of creating a literary character simply because what I report to them does not concur with the anthropological a priori, the ideas established in the lecture halls or in the anthropological fieldwork,” Castaneda said. “The cognitive system of the Western man forces us to rely on preconceived ideas. What is orthodox anthropology? What is a shaman’s behavior? To wear feathers on one’s head and dance to the spirits?”
It’s unfortunate that most people familiar with Castaneda’s books are familiar with only the first two: “A Yaqui Way of Knowledge” and “A Separate Reality.” Both focus heavily on the use of hallucinogenic plants, which the Yaqui shaman Don Juan called upon to help “unstick” Castaneda’s rather narrow social scientist’s perceptions. The drugs were only an initial tool of Don Juan. Castaneda’s next seven books focused on Don Juan’s world of shamanic energy, intent, dreaming and impeccability – not drug experiences. Nevertheless, Castaneda’s writings became synonymous to some with drugs and psychotropic plants like peyote and magic mushrooms. But readers who have gone beyond the first two books – particularly those who are interested in Southwestern culture, shamanism and Native American spirituality – have been rewarded with an enthralling, if romanticized, anthropological adventure.
Understanding Castaneda’s world of the old Mexican shamans is a lot like the classic perceptual test of seeing a face in a drawing. At first it’s not there, but if you stick with it, concentrating all your attention on a focal point, the face eventually emerges and, from that moment on, every time you look at the picture you see the face within.
As for being instigated by money as some of his critics contend, Castaneda could have done a lot better in this area if he’d desired. He smiled big and told the tale of one venture in particular he rejected. “American Express and my literary agent wanted me to do a commercial for them,” Castaneda said. “That one where they go, ‘Do you know me?’ A million dollars for 10 seconds. Only after I declined did my agent begin thinking I really was nuts.”
Carlos Castaneda’s Books
Carlos Castaneda published 12 bestselling books about his apprenticeship to the Yaqui shaman Don Juan Matus. They have been translated into more than 17 languages. My suggestion is to read them in order because concepts are built upon from one book to the next.
Mostly published by Washington Square Press (Simon & Schuster), all 12 books are still available at local bookstores:
“The Teachings of Don Juan: A Yaqui Way of Knowledge” (1968)
“A Separate Reality: Further Conversations With Don Juan” (1971)
“Journey to Ixtlan: The Lessons of Don Juan” (1972)
“Tales of Power” (1974)
“The Second Ring of Power” (1977)
“The Eagle’s Gift” (1981)
“The Fire From Within” (1985)
“The Power of Silence: Further Lessons of Don Juan” (1987)
“The Art of Dreaming” (1993)
“Magical Passes: The Practical Wisdom of the Shamans of Ancient Mexico” (1998)
“The Wheel of Time: Shamans of Ancient Mexico, Their Thoughts About Life, Death and the Universe” (1998)
“The Active Side of Infinity” (1999)
Você reviu os dois corvos na data da publicação da morte de Castañeda, que foi 3 meses depois da morte real?
Did you review The Two Crows on the date of publication of Castañeda’s death, which was 3 months after his actual death?
I was visited by the desert ravens on the morning that the Arizona Republic newspaper, my employer, announced the death of Castaneda. I did not see the desert ravens on the actual morning of Castaneda’s death. Why? I do not know.
Días Extraños, por que la respuesta, a veces en lugar de aclarar, te hunde mas en la búsqueda.
La enseñanza esta llena de oportunidades, para saber mas de lo que uno debe y puede comprender.
Ser un aprendiz en esta soledad, es difícil y complicado, discernir entre tantas historias incompletas te lleva a tener mas dudas, por que es, como estar dentro sin saber la dimensión de su interior.
todavía, no se por que sigo aquí, el hecho que aquí continuo.
Well, I would say, regardless of the evolution of your consciousness, the enormity of the universe is impossible to comprehend. 200 billion trillion stars in our known universe? C’mon. And now quantum physicists are discovering a parallel universe in a yacto (trillion – trillionth) dimension with just as many star points, if not more. Is it possible we’re being visited by beings not from outer space, but from inner space? I find this fascinating to contemplate, but I’m not losing any sleep over it. Regardless of the path you take, they probably all lead to the same place. So enjoy the walk . . .
Thomas-thanks for your ‘reporting’ on CC and DJ. I’m a longtime student (50+ years), and whatever the truth, visa-a-vis fiction vs nonfiction, the bottom line is that CC is among the most entertaining and profound literary story tellers. His personal biography, while fascinating, is another matter entirely.
I have spent the last few winter months as a “snow bird” in the desert of New Mexico. It seemed a good opportunity to revisit reading Castaneda. It has been 50 years since I began to read the series of books. There is value to be found there. It’s not all fake. The trick is separating the wheat from the chaff.
Yes, the New Mexico desert is a fitting place to revisit Castaneda (and watch “Breaking Bad” again). My encounter with Castaneda and his family began with a metaphysical experience in the urban interface desert near Cave Creek, Arizona. Castaneda himself was a very weird dude. Sometimes the proper university professor, other times a raging zealot. Then he’d shift into a senile old man. As I’ve documented in my articles, I’ve always suspected that Castaneda had multiple personalities, which he somehow weaved into his writings. There may have also been something going on similar to what we now know as remote viewing. Castaneda’s ex-wife Margaret verified his frequent meanderings into the Arizona and Mexico deserts.
Hey Thomas. Really enjoy your new website. Imagine having lunch with Carlos Castaneda! Sounds like you’ve had a VERY “strange” life!!