blog 6

When I was a teenager (all those years ago), I became obsessed with the 60s. Every aspect of it intrigued me: the art, literature, music, clothing, and zeitgeist was a truly unique rebellion in the most stylish of ways. I surrounded myself with pseudo-hippies (musicians, poets, etc.), but as we got older, the entrance of drugs was inevitable. Sorry to disappoint anyone with expectations of personal stories, but this is where I fell out my 60s revival tent. I would talk (or at least try to communicate) with people on LSD and it was a nightmare to witness: beautiful skies, god in the blades of grass, and philosophy from the heart mixed in with screaming, crying, fighting, suicidal thoughts, and panic attacks did not seem like the right thing for me to do. The reason I’m mentioning any of this is because the opening chapters I read of this book continually remind me of this. The Teachings of Don Juan was an essential read for anyone interested in a “bohemian-esk” lifestyle in the 60s. I can imagine that everyone who lived in the Haight Ashbury district of California had a copy on their shelves. Musicians themselves went through the experiences described in the book. Jim Morrison is probably the greatest example of this. Morrison witnessed an automobile accident when he was around 4 years old involving Native Americans, and he claimed that spirits entered his body at that time. The film, The Doors, explores Morrison’s spiritual side and his relationship with Shamans. Many other artists adopted this concept of a self-spiritual finding.
I think this book is a wonderful read. The scenes in which Castaneda is first introduced to Peyote paints some of the most vivid scenes of the “drug experience” I’ve ever read. What is interesting to me in Don Juan’s insistence on the proper environment needed for the perfect peyote experience, but the first time Castaneda is in pursuit of “him”, he is sent to a rundown house filled with people. I guess initially when I think of a spiritual journey involving peyote, I picture being in the middle of the desert. But perhaps, film and television have bastardized yet again another thing. I thoroughly enjoy books that invite me into a journey. This book reminds me in a sense of both Robert Pirsig’s Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maitenence and Hunter S. Thompson’s Fear and Loathing in Last Vegas. Granted, these books couldn’t be more different and share so many similarities at the same time. But it is the journey that unties them.