Tensegrity is the name given to the modern version of the Magical Passes: positions and movements of body and breath that were dreamt and stalked by men. Carlos Castaneda’s Tensegrity Dreaming Castaneda Images of a 20th-century sorcerer. From Los Angeles Weekly, by Celeste Fremon For me the world is weird. “TENSEGRITY” AND MAGICAL PASSES. Carlos Castaneda interviewed for The New Times by Clair Baron More than thirty years ago, as an anthropologist.

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From Los Angeles Weekly, by Celeste Fremon For me the world is weird because tensegrkty is stupendous, awesome, mysterious, unfathomable; my interest has been to convince you that you must assume responsibility for being here in this marvelous world, in this marvelous desert, at this marvelous time.

I want to convince you that you must learn to make every act count since you are going to be here for only a short while; in fact, too short for witnessing all the marvels of it.

According to his death certificate, the best-known proponent of “non-ordinary reality” passed out of this world nearly two months earlier, on April 27, at his home in Westwood. According to his attorney, Deborah Drooz, Castaneda had been ill with liver cancer for some time, and it was his wish to leave his death csataneda.

The news leaked out when Adrian Vashon, the son of his former wife, received a court letter indicating he was mentioned in Castaneda’s will. Vashon subsequently called the Los Angeles Times. So in keeping with the terms of legalities and record-keeping that the world of everyday life requires, Carlos Castaneda was declared to have died. I was 24 years old and working for Seventeen magazine. His first two books, The Teachings of Don Juan: Journey to Ixtlan, the doctoral dissertation he was completing at the time we met, would later put him, or a drawing of him — he tensegrtiy allow no recognizable photographs – on the cover of Time.

At this point, the Vietnam War was still in full swing, and Nixon was about to be re-elected. Like many young men and women of the period, I was terrified and alienated by the actions of the prevailing culture, tensegrrity seemed to have gone mad; the Castaneda books were tensegritu desperately needed antidote to a world view that felt increasingly mechanistic and dispiriting.

Many of the concepts in the books – the notion of turning off one’s internal dialogue in order to apprehend an expanded reality, dispensing with one’s ego in order tensegity follow “a path with heart,” having an awareness of one’s death in order to live life fully – castanead had direct parallels in other philosophical and religious disciplines.

Yet there was an aggressive emotional imperative with which Castaneda wrote that suited the tenor of the times. He painted himself in his stories as a frightened naif bumbling through a magical yet deeply ethical spiritual system that could be taught and transferred. For a generation trying to account for its religious feelings outside czrlos constrictions of conventional dogma, Castaneda’s work had immense appeal.

Anxious to meet him, I talked my bosses at Seventeen into letting me interview Castaneda. By then he was already refusing all interviews, yet I was naively convinced he would see me.

The curmudgeonly Brown agreed to pass the message on to Castaneda cstaneda because, he said, I reminded him of his daughter, adding that there was no hope of Carlos replying. Two weeks later, however, Brown called back to say that Carlos had consented tendegrity see me. Castaneda never showed for the meeting, but a week later, he called me at the office.

When would you like to meet? He was, according to his own description, “a plain, brown man,” 5-foot-5 and sturdy, caataneda an unremarkable sort of face.


His eyes – supremely watchful, intensely alive, often projecting carlox improbable combination of grief and amusement — were the most remarkable thing about him. Our initial interview – at Cafe Figaro, or was it the Source? Platonic in his attentions, he was elaborately mysterious about the machinations of our meetings. I could only reach him by leaving messages at the anthropology carlks. He would call me back from some pay tenwegrity in order to arrange a time.


At the appointed moment, I would stand outside my West Hollywood apartment building and wait for him to drive up in his dusty tan van – inevitably at least half an hour late. It was also typical that at some point during the afternoon or evening he would gasp with alarm, slap his palm to his forehead with sitcom-style dismay and rush to the nearest pay phone.

Then he would call someone carlow often a university colleague – with whom he had an appointment. He was always enormously apologetic, offering an impressively dramatic excuse for the oversight.

But I was unexpectedly detained by power! We would sometimes go to the movies. Often we simply went for lunch or dinner, then for a walk. But each encounter was in fact a teaching exercise. Along the bluffs above the ocean, he csrlos me how to run in the dark without tripping, lecturing me genially on the necessity of living my life more “impeccably.


In fact, it’s absolutely essential to do so! But you must remember to use it with love. But Carlos imbued such pronouncements with a ferociously poetic force. Some of his sorcerer’s tips were more practical than philosophical. When I complained to him how I’d run out of gas the night before, for example, he told me that Don Juan had told him that if he anthropomorphized his car, it would never run out of gas again. I took the advice to heart and chatted up my Karmann Ghia, which obliged me by running on fumes, if necessary, for the next 13 years.

Another day, he gave me a compass and told me I should turn my bed around, head to the west or was it the east? Other instructions were not quite so straightforward. One day, he gave me an unpolished rock the color of ochre, half the size of my hand.

He said Don Juan had given it to him to give to me with explicit directions as to how I must polish it. With great seriousness, I polished the rock for hours until I passed into a sort of waking dream state. The long-term significance of this event, I couldn’t tell you.

But I still have the rock. In addition to trying to help me “collapse the parameters of normal perception,” Castaneda talked about personal concerns, such as his worry that his doctoral thesis might not be approved. He often seemed to be in a state of tremendous anguish over his apprenticeship.

In Don Juanian terms, “stopping the world” was letting go of the last vestiges of cultural preconceptions. But how can I? He was a wicked gossip and loved regaling me with tales of his encounters with other luminaries of the so-called consciousness movement. He recounted how famous gestalt therapist and “horny old goat” Fritz Perls had barged unwittingly into Castaneda’s darkened bedroom at Big Sur’s Esalen Institute, mistakenly thinking it empty, and proceeded to have a noisy, amorous tryst with a young acolyte – much to Castaneda’s amusement.

On another occasion, he gleefully described a dinner that he and the guru Ram Dass former Tim Leary associate Richard Alpert had both attended, at which Ram Dass had gotten roaring drunk and begun shouting boisterously, “That’s what they call me, ‘Baba ram de ass!

With the publication of Journey to Ixtlan, Castaneda was swept further into the maelstrom of his fame and field work, and became much harder to reach. Eventually we lost contact. During all the time I spent with Castaneda, it never occurred to me that he wasn’t representing himself and his apprenticeship truthfully.

Not that I took every wrinkle of his stories to be literal fact. A few of my friends who knew of our acquaintance asked if I thought he had really turned into a crow, as was suggested in one of the books. Such questions struck me, even at the time, as ridiculous.

His work wasn’t about metaphysical parlor tricks, I would reply, nor was it about psychotropic drugs. It was a system for living, a way of deconstructing consensus reality in order to conceive of a world of unimaginable possibilities. There had been etnsegrity mutterings in the mainstream press about Castaneda’s books being metaphorical in nature, but the first serious attempt to debunk his work came inwhen author-psychologist Richard de Mille son of Cecil B.


The Power and the Allegory. De Mille painstakingly combed through Castaneda’s four published volumes, trolling them for inconsistencies, cross-referencing his ethnographic data with other spiritual and philosophical disciplines from which de Mille felt Carlos had stolen. He also suggested that the standards applied by Castaneda’s doctoral committee had not been sufficiently rigorous.

However, by there was growing disagreement in anthropology circles. Ralph Beals asked to see Castaneda’s field notes and was unhappy when Carlos continually dodged the request. Jacques Maquet, then head of UCLA’s Department of Anthropology, also objected to the castaneva that no hard evidence had ever been presented to back up Castaneda’s accounts. Castaneda never did that.

He never presented Don Juan. What he has done is not anthropology simply because he has kept it secret. He has created a brilliant fiction based on something real, but fiction nonetheless. The normally reclusive Carlos wrote a glowing blurb on the jacket cover, and soon the news circulated that Donner was claiming to also be an apprentice to Don Juan. A single academic apprenticed to an unseen sorcerer was one thing; a second began to stretch the credulity of all but the most ardent believers.

I met Donner in when she accompanied Castaneda to a dinner party given by Jacques Barzaghi, Jerry Brown’s longtime adviser. Carlos, whom I hadn’t seen in years, was distant; Donner wasn’t, and we chatted for much of the evening.

I found her stories of her time with the Yanomama convincing. When I saw her a few years later at Barzhagi’s wedding, she confided that all the apprentices – Castaneda, herself and several other Anglo women – were in a terrible emotional state. She described fantastic incidents – about how, for example, one of their sorcery teachers had turned old before their eyes, she said.

It was like something you’d imagine seeing in a science-fiction movie, but we actually saw it happen. But he doesn’t know what to do either, so we just have to wait. As with Castaneda, Donner’s emotional turmoil seemed intense and genuine. But these increasingly fantastic stories of multiple sorcerer’s apprentices were hard to swallow whole, leading some to conclude that many of Castaneda’s stories also may have been stupendous falsehoods. Even those of us who’d been believers, or nearly so, couldn’t help but wonder if we hadn’t, in fact, simply been audience members to a sort of Truman Show in reverse, a troupe of actors who had infiltrated the real world, staging a magical theater that had lasted for decades.

After years of inaccessibility, Castaneda began making public appearances in what would be the last decade of his life. At first they were small interactive gatherings held without fanfare at various bookstores; later he led occasional martial-arts classes and seminars in a form casraneda movement Castaneda called “tensegrity,” billed as ancient “shamanistic” exercises designed to increase awareness. These were presented by Donner and the various other women who surrounded Castaneda.

Through Cleargreen, these women have announced tensegriry they will be keeping the work going.

Carlos Castaneda – Wikipedia

With corporate efficiency, Tensegrity seminars are scheduled for July and August, with more seminars and videos planned for the future. If anything, the controversies surrounding Castaneda are greater than ever. But some of those who knew him well have arrived at a provisional answer. He did a great deal of research over the years, often under other names. And he would journey and dream, and stimulate amazing journeys and dreams in the people around him. It’s so much more complex than that.

He did have profound experiences of tenseyrity own.