This interview with Carlos Castaneda was conducted by Graciela N. V. Corvalán and published in the Argentine magazine Mutantia in 1982.

In the text, Castaneda discusses the "Toltec teachings" of Don Juan Matus, the concept of "losing the human form," the metaphorical "Eagle" that consumes the life force of dying beings, and the practice of "recapitulation."

Below is the full translation of the text from the provided HTML:

IN-DEPTH DIALOGUE WITH CARLOS CASTANEDA

By Graciela N. V. Corvalán Mutantia Magazine (1982)

He emphasized that this conversation should be published in a South American magazine. Graciela says: "I interviewed him in Los Angeles. It was a very interesting experience, which I shared with three friends who accompanied me. Carlos Castaneda told us, with frankness and simplicity, his latest experiences. In my opinion, in the interview he showed himself without masks or poses. This conversation clarifies and situates some of the episodes he refers to in his latest book: The Eagle's Gift. I believe the story of 'Joe Córdoba and his wife' presents an un-popularized aspect of Carlos Castaneda and his group, which in my opinion would be the synthesis or final stage of his path or knowledge: that 'touching ground' and 'being a nothing.' I have just written him a few lines to let him know that the work will be published in Mutantia. He was very interested in it being made known in some Spanish-language publication. I am sure he will be enormously happy."

I had written to him several months prior (two letters, to be precise) when Carlos Castaneda called on the phone. That was in mid-July. His call took me totally by surprise. Castaneda spoke at length, and without me asking, offered to give me information.

Castaneda was interested in meeting and talking with me. He tried to make me understand that the task he was performing was of great importance. "I am neither a guru nor a charlatan," he insisted, referring to some critics and journalists. Castaneda is a serious researcher who was interested in talking about the work he is doing in Mexico and his epistemological labor. According to him, the European man cannot conceive that there is another who thinks or that there is another description of reality than his own.

Once in Los Angeles, CC called on the phone. Not finding me, he left a message and instructions about the time and place of the encounter: "Exit the Freeway at such street and turn right at such other. Then, pass four lights. There, on the left is the Church of the Immaculate, but don't let that matter to you and turn right. There, you will find the UCLA campus. Enter the parking lot. Since it's Sunday, there won't be anyone, and you can enter without problems. Usually, there are few people during weekends. So, at 4 in the afternoon; next to the guard booth." Castaneda expected us to arrive in a brown Volkswagen.

That night and the next morning I worked feverishly on my notes. I had slept little but was not tired. Around one in the afternoon, my friends and I headed for the UCLA campus. We had a journey of just over two hours. Following Castaneda’s directions, we arrived without difficulty at the UCLA parking lot guard booth. It was still about 15 minutes before 4 PM. We parked in a somewhat shaded spot.

At exactly four o'clock, I looked up and saw them coming toward the car: my friend next to a dark-skinned gentleman, slightly shorter than her. Castaneda wore blue jeans and a pale cream-colored open-collar shirt (without pockets). I got out of the car and hurried to meet them. After greetings and conventional courtesies, I asked if he would allow me to use a recorder. We had one in the car in case he permitted it. "No, it's better not to," he replied with a shrug. We headed to the car anyway to get the notes, notebooks, and books.

Loaded with books and papers, we let Castaneda guide us. He knew the way well. "Over there," he said, pointing with his hand, "there are some very nice benches."

From the beginning, Castaneda set the tone of the conversation and the topics we were to discuss. I also realized that I was not going to need all those questions I had so laboriously prepared. As he had anticipated on the phone, he wanted to tell us about the task they were doing and the importance and seriousness of his research.

The conversation took place in Spanish, a language he handles with fluency and a great sense of humor. Castaneda is a master of the art of conversation. We talked for seven hours. Time passed without his enthusiasm or our attention flagging. As he gained confidence, he made more and more use of typically Argentine expressions, both to show off his "porteñismo" (Buenos Aires slang) and as a friendly gesture toward us, as we were all Argentines.

It is worth mentioning that although his Spanish is correct, it is evident that his primary language is English. He made abundant use of expressions and words in English for which we gave him the Spanish equivalent. That his language is English is also manifested in the syntactic structure of his phrases and sentences.

All that afternoon Castaneda tried to keep the conversation at a level that was not intellectual. Although he has undoubtedly read much and knows different currents of thought, at no time did he establish comparisons with other traditions of the past or present. He transmitted "Toltec teaching" to us through material images that, precisely because of that, prevent them from being interpreted speculatively. In this way, Castaneda was not only obedient to his teachers but totally faithful to the path he has chosen; he did not want to contaminate his teaching with anything foreign to it.

Shortly after meeting, he wanted to know the reasons for our interest in meeting him. He already knew about my possible review and the projected book of interviews. Beyond all professionalism, we insisted on the importance of his books, which had influenced us and many others so much. We had a deep interest in knowing the source of that teaching.

Meanwhile, we had reached the benches, and we sat in the shade of the trees.

"Don Juan gave me everything," he began. "When I found him, I had no interest other than anthropology, but from that encounter, I changed. And what has happened to me, I wouldn't change for anything!"

Don Juan was present there with us. Every time Castaneda mentioned or remembered him, we perceived his emotion. He told us Don Juan was a totality of exquisite intensity capable of giving everything in every now. "Giving oneself totally in every moment is his principle, his rule," he said. That Don Juan is like this cannot be explained and is rarely understood; "he simply is."

In The Second Ring of Power, Castaneda recalls a special characteristic of Don Juan and Don Genaro, which everyone else lacks. There he writes: "None of us is willing to lend the other undivided attention, in the way Don Juan and Don Genaro did" (p. 203). These words point to that being "everything" in every instant, to that presence that is Don Juan. On many occasions, Castaneda refers to having "a gesture," that totally gratuitous and free act of being.

The Second Ring of Power had left me full of questions. The book interested me a lot, especially after a second reading, but I had heard unfavorable comments. I myself had certain doubts. I told him I thought Journey to Ixtlan was the one I liked most without knowing exactly why. Castaneda listened and answered my words with a gesture that seemed to say: And what do I have to do with everyone's taste? I kept talking, looking for reasons and explanations. "Maybe that preference is because in Journey to Ixtlan much love is perceived," I said. Castaneda made a sour face. He didn't like the word love. It is possible the term has connotations for him of "romantic love," "sentimentalism," or "weakness." Trying to explain myself, I insisted that the last scene of Journey to Ixtlan is pregnant with intensity. There, Castaneda nodded: Yes, with that last bit he would agree. "Intensity, yes," he said, "that is the word."

Insisting on the same book, I told him that some scenes had struck me as definitely "grotesque." I found no justification for them. Castaneda agreed with me. "Yes, the behavior of those women is monstrous and grotesque, but that vision was necessary for me to enter into action," he said. Castaneda needed that "shock."

"Without an adversary, we are nothing," he continued. "Being an adversary is proper to the human 'form.' Life is war, it is a struggle. Peace is an anomaly." Referring to pacifism, he qualified it as a "monstrosity" because, according to him, we men "are beings of achievements and struggles."

Unable to contain myself, I told him I could not accept that he qualified pacifism as a monstrosity. "And Gandhi? How do you see Gandhi, for example?"

"Gandhi?" he replied. "Gandhi is not a pacifist. Gandhi is one of the most tremendous fighters who have ever existed. And what a fighter!"

I understood then that Castaneda gives very special values to words. The "pacifism" he had referred to could only be the pacifism of the weak, of those who do not have enough guts to be or do something else, of those who do nothing because they have no objectives or energy in life; in a word, that pacifism reflects an entire self-indulgent and hedonistic attitude.

With a wide gesture that meant to include an entire society now without values, will, or energy, he replied: "All drugged... Yes, hedonists!"

Castaneda did not clarify these concepts, nor did we ask him to. I understood that part of the warrior's asceticism was to free oneself from the human "form," but Castaneda's unusual comments had filled me with confusion. Little by little, however, I realized that "being beings of achievements and struggles" is a first level of relationship. That is the raw material from which one starts. Don Juan, in the books, always refers to the good "tonal" of a person. There the apprenticeship begins and one passes to another level. "One cannot pass to the other side without losing the human form," Castaneda said.

Insisting on other aspects of his book that were not clear to me, I asked him about the "holes" that remain in people simply because they have reproduced.

"Yes," said Castaneda. "There are differences between people who have had children and those who haven't. To tip-toe past the Eagle, one must be whole. A person with 'holes' doesn't pass."

He would explain the metaphor of the "Eagle" later. For the moment it went almost unnoticed as the focus of our attention was on another topic.

"How do you explain the attitude of Doña Soledad with Pablito as well as that of La Gorda with her daughters?" I wanted to know with insistence. Taking away from children that "edge" (filo) they take from us at birth was, to a great extent, inconceivable to me.

Castaneda agreed that he does not yet have all that well-systematized. He insisted, however, on the differences that exist between people who have reproduced and those who haven't. "Don Genaro is loquito (crazy), loquito! Don Juan, on the other hand, is a serious madman. Don Juan goes slowly but goes far. In the end, they both arrive...

"I, like Don Juan," he continued, "have holes; that is, I have to follow his path. The 'Genaros,' on the other hand, have another model.

"The 'Genaros,' for example, have a special 'edge' that we don't have: they are more nervous and of fast pace... They are very light; nothing stops them.

"Those who, like La Gorda and I, have had children, have other characteristics that compensate for that loss. One is more settled and, although the path is long and arduous, one also arrives. In general, those who have had children know how to care for others. It doesn't mean people without children don't know how, but it's different...

"In general one doesn't know what one does; one is unconscious of actions and later pays. I didn't know what I was doing!" he exclaimed, referring, no doubt, to his own personal life.

"At birth, I took everything from my father and mother," he said. "They were left all bruised! I had to return that 'edge' to them that I had taken. Now I have to recover the 'edge' that I lost."

It seems that this matter of "holes" that must be closed has to do with biological atavisms. We wanted to know if having "holes" is something irreparable. "No," he replied. "One can heal. Nothing is irrevocable in life. It is always possible to return what doesn't belong to us and recover what is ours."

This idea of recovery is consistent with a whole "path of learning"; a path in which it is not enough to know or practice one or more techniques but which requires the individual and deep transformation of the being. It would be an entire coherent system of life with concrete and precise objectives.

After a brief silence, I asked him if The Second Ring of Power had been translated into Spanish. According to Castaneda, a Spanish publisher had all the rights, but he wasn't sure if the book was out or not. (Ed. Note: El Segundo anillo de poder has been published by Editorial Pomaire.) [He was not very satisfied with the distribution of his books by the Fondo de Cultura Económica.]

"The Spanish translations were done by Juan Tovar, who is a great friend of mine." Juan Tovar used the Spanish notes that Castaneda himself had provided him; notes that some critics have put in doubt.

The Portuguese translation seems to be very beautiful. "Yes," Castaneda said. "That translation is based on the French translation. It is really very well done." In Argentina, his first two books had been banned. It seems the reason given was the issue of drugs. Castaneda didn't know it. "Why?" he asked us, concluding without waiting for our answer. "I imagine it is the work of the Mother Church." (Obvious allusion to the Catholic Church. Just as Spain is the Mother Country for the countries of Hispanic America, the Catholic Church is the Mother Church, the church that Spain brought with the conquest and colonization. In this comment, there is, undoubtedly, an ironic nuance.)

At the beginning of our conversation, Castaneda mentioned something about "Toltec teaching." Also in The Second Ring of Power, there is insistence on "the Toltecs" and on "being a Toltec." "What does it mean to be a Toltec?" we asked.

According to Castaneda, the word "Toltec" constitutes a very broad unit of meaning. Someone is said to be a Toltec in the same way one might say they are a democrat or a philosopher. As he uses it, this word has nothing to do with its anthropological meaning (from an anthropological point of view, the word refers to an Indian culture of central and southern Mexico that was already extinct at the time of the conquest).

"A Toltec is one who knows the mysteries of stalking and dreaming." All of them are Toltecs. It is a small group that has known how to keep alive a tradition of more than 3,000 years BC.

As I was working on mystical thought and had a particular interest in establishing the source and place of origin of different traditions, I insisted: "Do you believe then that the Toltec tradition offers a teaching that would be unique to America?"

The "Toltec nation" keeps alive a tradition that is, undoubtedly, unique to America. Castaneda argued that it is possible the peoples of America brought something from Asia when crossing the Bering Strait, but it's been so many thousands of years since then that for the moment there are only theories.

In Tales of Power, Don Juan tells Castaneda about "the sorcerers," "those men of knowledge" whom the white man's conquest and colonization could not destroy because they didn't even know of their existence or notice everything incomprehensible about their world: "Who makes up the Toltec nation? Do they work together? Where do they do it?" we asked.

Castaneda answered all our questions. He is now in charge of a group of young people living in the Chiapas area, in southern Mexico. They all moved to that area because the woman who now teaches them was based there.

"So... you returned?" I felt compelled to ask him, remembering the last conversation between Castaneda and the "little sisters" at the end of The Second Ring of Power.

"Did you return soon as La Gorda asked you?" "No, I didn't return soon but I returned," he replied laughing. "I returned to carry out a task from which I cannot resign."

The group consists of about 14 members. While the basic core is 8 or 9 people, everyone is indispensable in the task being performed. If each is sufficiently impeccable, a greater number of beings can be helped.

"Eight is a magic number," he said at some point. He also insisted that the Toltec does not save himself alone but goes with the basic core. The others remain and are indispensable to continue and keep the tradition alive. It is not necessary for the group to be large, but each of those involved in the task is definitely necessary for the whole.

"La Gorda and I are responsible for the followers. Well, really I am the responsible one but she helps me intimately in this task," Castaneda clarified.

He then spoke to us about the members of the group we knew from his books. He told us Don Juan was a Yaqui Indian from the state of Sonora. Pablito, on the other hand, was a Mixtec Indian, and Néstor was Mazatec (from Mazatlán, in the province of Sinaloa). Benigno was Tzotzil. He emphasized several times that Josefina was not Indian but Mexican and that one of her grandfathers was of French origin. La Gorda, like Néstor and Don Genaro, was Mazatec. "When I met her, La Gorda was an immense woman, heavy and all beaten up by life," he said. "None of those who knew her then can imagine today that the one now is the same as before."

We wanted to know in what language he communicated with everyone in the group, and what language they generally used among themselves. I reminded him that in his books references are made to some Indian languages.

"We communicate in Spanish because it is the language we all speak," he replied. "Besides, neither Josefina nor the 'Toltec lady' are Indian. I only speak a little in Indian tongue. Scattered phrases, like greetings and an occasional expression. What I know doesn't allow me to maintain a conversation."

Taking advantage of a pause of his, we asked him if the task they are performing is accessible to all men or if it is something for a few.

As our questions aimed to discover the relevance of Toltec teaching and the value of the group's experience for the rest of humanity, Castaneda explained that each of the members of the group has specific tasks to fulfill, whether in the Yucatan area, in other areas of Mexico, or elsewhere.

"Fulfilling tasks, one discovers a great amount of things that are directly applicable to concrete situations of daily life. By doing tasks one learns a lot.

"The 'Genaros,' for example, have a music band with which they travel through all the places on the border. You can imagine they see and are in contact with many people. There are always possibilities to transmit knowledge. One always helps. One helps with a word, with a small hint... Each one, faithfully fulfilling their task, does it. All beings can learn. Everyone has the possibility of living like warriors.

"Any person can undertake the warrior's task. The only requirement is wanting to do it with an unshakeable desire; that is, one must be unshakeable in the desire to be free. The path is not easy. We constantly look for excuses and try to escape. It is possible that the mind achieves it, but the body feels everything... The body learns quickly and easily.

"The Toltec cannot waste energy on nonsense," he continued. "I was one of those people who cannot be without friends... I couldn't even go to the cinema alone!" Don Juan at a certain moment told him he must abandon everything and, particularly, separate from all those friends with whom he had nothing in common. For a long time he resisted the idea until finally it enveloped him.

"One time, returning to Los Angeles, I got out of the car a block before reaching home and called on the phone. Of course that day, like every day, my house was full of people. One of my friends answered, and I asked him to prepare a suitcase with some things and bring it to where I was. I also told him the rest of the things—books, records, etc.—could be shared among them. It's clear that my friends didn't believe me and took everything as a loan," Castaneda clarified.

This act of getting rid of the library and records is like cutting with the whole past, with a whole world of ideas and emotions.

"My friends believed I was crazy and stayed waiting for me to return from my madness. I didn't see them for like twelve years... Yes, like twelve years," he concluded.

After twelve years had passed, Castaneda was able to meet with them again. He first sought out one of his friends who put him in contact with the others. They then planned an outing where they went to dinner together. They had a great time that day. They ate a lot and his friends got drunk.

"Meeting them after all those years was my way of thanking them for the friendship they had given me before," Castaneda said. "Now they are all grown. They have their families, wives, children... It was necessary, however, for me to thank them. Only then could I definitely finish with them and close a stage of my life."

It is possible that Castaneda's friends neither understand nor can share anything of what he is doing, but the fact that he wanted to and could thank them was something very nice. Castaneda did not get angry with them, he did not demand anything from them. He sincerely thanked them for their friendship and, in doing so, freed himself internally from all that past.

We then talked about love, "the much-mentioned love." He told us several anecdotes of his Italian grandfather, "always so prone to falling in love," and of his father "so bohemian." "Oh! L'amore! L'amore!" he repeated several times. All his comments tended to destroy the ideas commonly held about love.

"It cost me a lot to learn," he followed. "I was also very prone to falling in love... It took Don Juan work to make me understand that I should cut certain relationships. The way I finally cut with her was the following: I invited her to dinner and we met at a restaurant. During dinner, what always happened happened. There was a big fight and she yelled at and insulted me. Finally, I asked her if she had money. She said yes. I took the opportunity to tell her I had to go to the car to get my wallet or something like that. I got up and never went back. Before leaving her I wanted to be sure she had enough money to take a taxi and go home. Since then I haven't seen her again."

"You won't believe me, but Toltecs are very ascetic," he insisted.

Without doubting his word, I commented that this idea did not emerge from The Second Ring. "On the contrary," I emphasized. "I believe that in your book many scenes and attitudes lend themselves to confusion." "How do you think I was going to say that clearly?" he answered me. "I couldn't say the relations between them were pure because not only would no one have believed me but no one would have understood me."

For Castaneda, we live in a very "lustful" society. Everything we were talking about that afternoon, the majority would not have understood. This is how Castaneda himself is forced to adapt to certain demands of publishers who, in turn, would seek to satisfy the tastes of the reading public:

"People are into something else," Castaneda continued. "The other day, for example, I entered a bookstore here in Los Angeles and started leafing through the magazines on the counter. I found there was a large amount of publications with photos of naked women... Many also with men. I don't know what to tell you. In one of the photos, there was a man fixing an electric cable at the top of a ladder. He wore his protective helmet and a large belt full of tools. That was all. The rest was naked. Ridiculous! Something like that doesn't fit! A woman has grace... But, a man!" As an explanation, he added that this is because women have much experience due to their long history in those kinds of things. "A role like that isn't improvised!"

"Don't tell me!" one of us replied vividly. "It's the first time I've heard such an explanation. That business of women's behavior not being improvised is something totally new to me."

After listening to Castaneda, we were convinced that for "the Toltec" sex represents an immense waste of energy needed for another task. His insistence on the totally ascetic relations maintained by the group members is then understood.

"From the point of view of the world, the life the group leads and the relations they maintain is something totally unacceptable and unheard of. What I tell you would not be believable. It took me a long time to understand it but I have finally been able to verify it."

Castaneda had told us before that when a person reproduces, they lose a special "edge." It seems that this "edge" is a force that children take from parents by the mere fact of being born. This "hole" that remains in the person is what must be filled or recovered. One has to recover the strength that has been lost. He also gave us to understand that the prolonged sexual relationship of a couple ends up wearing them out. In a relationship, differences arise that make them progressively reject certain characteristics of one another. Consequently, for reproduction, one chooses from the other part that which one likes, but there is no guarantee that what is chosen is necessarily the best. "From the point of view of reproduction," he commented, "it's best 'at random'." Castaneda struggled to better explain these concepts, but had to confess again that they are topics he himself does not yet have clear.

Castaneda had been describing to us a group whose requirements, for common people, were extreme. We were very interested in knowing where all that effort led. "What is the sole objective of the 'Toltec'?" We wanted to know the meaning of everything Castaneda had been telling us. "What is the objective you pursue?" we insisted, bringing the question to a personal level.

"The objective is to leave the world alive; to leave with everything one is but with nothing more than what one is. The question is not to take anything or leave anything: Don Juan left entirely—vivito (alive and well)!—from the world. Don Juan doesn't die because Toltecs don't die." (In The Second Ring of Power, La Gorda instructs Castaneda regarding the "nagual-tonal" dichotomy. Mastery of the second attention "is only achieved after warriors totally sweep the surface of the table... this second attention makes the two attentions form a unit and that this unit be the totality of oneself (p. 283)." In the same book, La Gorda tells Castaneda: "When sorcerers learn to 'dream,' they tie their two attentions and, then, there is no need for the center to push outward... Sorcerers don't die... I don't mean that we don't die. We are nothing; we are badulaques (fools): we are neither here nor there. They, on the other hand, have their attentions so united that maybe they never die (p. 281).")

According to Castaneda, the idea that we are free is an illusion and an absurdity. He struggled to make us understand that common sense deceives us because ordinary perception only tells us a part of the truth.

"Ordinary perception doesn't tell us the whole truth. There must be something more than the mere passage through the earth, than just eating and reproducing," he said with vehemence. And with a gesture we interpreted as alluding to the nonsense of everything and the immense tedium of life in its daily boredom, he asked us: "What is all this that surrounds us?"

Common sense would be that agreement we have reached after a long educational process that imposes ordinary perception as the only truth. "Precisely, the sorcerer's art," he said, "consists in leading the apprentice to discover and destroy that perceptual prejudice."

According to Castaneda, Edmund Husserl is the first in the West who conceives the possibility of "suspending judgment" (In Ideas: General Introduction to Pure Phenomenology —1913—, Husserl dealt thoroughly with the "epoché" or "phenomenological reduction"). The phenomenological method does not deny but simply "puts in parentheses" those elements that sustain our ordinary perception.

Castaneda considers that phenomenology offers him the most useful theoretical-methodological framework to understand Don Juan's teaching. For phenomenology, the act of knowledge depends on intention and not on perception. Perception always varies according to a history; that is, according to the subject with acquired knowledge and immersed in a certain tradition. The most important rule of the phenomenological method is that of "to the things themselves."