It began for me with a transcendental event; an event that shaped the course of my life. I met a nagual. He was an Indian from northern Mexico.
The dictionary of the Spanish Royal Academy defines nagual as the Spanish adaptation of a word that means sorcerer or wizard in the Nahuati language of southern Mexico.
Traditional stories of naguals- men of ancient times who possessed extraordinary powers and performed acts that defied the imagination- do exist in modern Mexico.
But in an urban or even rural setting today, actual naguals are purely legendary. They seem to live only in folktales, through hearsay, or in the world of fantasy.
The nagual I met, however, was real. There was nothing illusory about him.
When I asked him out of well-meant curiosity what made him a nagual, he presented a seemingly simple, and yet utterly complex idea as an explanation for what he did and what he was.
He told me that nagualism begins with two certainties: the certainty that human beings are extraordinary beings living in an extraordinary world; and the certainty that neither men nor the world should ever be taken for granted under any circumstances.
From those sweet, simple premises, he said, grows a simple conclusion: Nagualism is at once taking off one mask and wearing another.
Naguals take off the mask that makes us see ourselves and the world we live in as ordinary, lusterless, predictable, and repetitious; and put on the second mask, the one that helps us see ourselves- and our surroundings- for what we really are; breathtaking events that bloom into transitory existence once, and are never to be repeated again.
After meeting that unforgettable nagual, I had a moment's hesitation due solely to the fear I felt on examining such an imposing paradigm.
I wanted to run away from that nagual and his quest, but I could not do it. Some time later, I took a drastic step and joined him and his party.
But this is not a story about that nagual, although his ideas and his influence bear heavily in everything I do. It is not my task to write about him or even to name him. There are others in his group who do that.
When I joined him, he took me to Mexico to meet a strange, striking woman- without telling me that she was perhaps the most knowledgeable and influential woman of his group.
Her name was Florinda Matus. In spite of her worn, drab clothes, she had the innate elegance of most tall, thin women.
Her pale complexioned face, gaunt and severe, was crowned by braided white hair and highlighted by large, luminous eyes.
Her husky voice and her joyful, youthful laughter eased my irrational fear of her.
The nagual left me in her charge.
The first thing I asked Florinda was whether she was a nagual herself.
Smiling rather enigmatically, she further refined the definition of the word. She said, "To be a sorcerer or a wizard or a witch doesn't mean to be a nagual. But any of them can be one if he or she is responsible for and leads a group of men and women involved in a specific quest of knowledge."
When I asked her what that quest was, she responded that for those men and women it was to find the second mask; the one that helps us see ourselves and the world for what we really are- breathtaking events.
But this is not the story of Florinda either, despite the fact that she is the woman who guides me in every act I perform. This is, rather, the story of one of the many things she made me do.
"For women the quest of knowledge is indeed a very curious affair," Florinda told me once. "We have to go through strange maneuvers."
"Why is that so, Florinda?"
"Because women really don't care."
"I care."
"You say you care. You really don't."
"I'm here with you. Doesn't that speak for my caring?"
"No. What happened is that you like the nagual. His personality overwhelms you. I am the same myself. I was overwhelmed by the preceding nagual; the most irresistible sorcerer there was."
"I admit you are right but only partially. I do care about the nagual's quest."
"I don't doubt it. But that's not enough. Women need some specific maneuvers, in order to get at the core of themselves."
"What maneuvers? What core of ourselves are you talking about, Florinda?"
"If there is something inside us that we don't know about- such as hidden resources, unsuspected guts and cunning, or nobility of the spirit in the face of sorrow and pain- it will come out if we are confronted by the unknown while we are alone; without friends, without familiar boundaries, without support.
"If nothing comes out of us under those circumstances, it's because we have nothing.
"And before you say you really care for the nagual's quest, you must first find out for yourself whether there is something inside you. I demand that you do that."
"I don't think I am any good at being tested, Florinda."
"My question is: Can you live without knowing whether or not you have something hidden inside you?"
"But what if I am one of those who have nothing?"
"If that's the case, then I will have to ask you my second question: Can you go on being in the world you have chosen if you have nothing inside you?"
"Why, of course I can continue to be here. I've already joined you."
"No. You only think you have chosen my world. To choose the nagual's world is not just a matter of saying you have. You must prove it."
"How do you think I should go about doing that?"
"I'll give you a suggestion. You don't have to follow it, but if you do, you should go alone to the place where you were born. Nothing could be easier than that. Go there and take your chances, whatever they may be."
"But your suggestion is impractical. I don't have good feelings about that place. I didn't leave in good standing."
"So much the better: The odds will be stacked against you. That's why I picked your country. Women don't like to be bothered too much: If they have to bother with things, they go to pieces. Prove to me that you are not that way."
"What would you suggest I do in that place?"
"Be yourself. Do your work. You said that you want to be an anthropologist. Be one. What could be simpler?"