Sunday 15 of August, 1999

Sunday around the four of afternoon.

I go from return to my house. The bus moves to 90 kilometers per hour. They lack 14 hours to arrive.

The circumstances were such, that return before the glided thing.

Even so, the trip was a success. Before arriving at the city, and arriving at her, one but great one. The greatness of the people is again a reality, and nonsingle a possibility or memory.

Now that return, something is against to leave. At the same time, the calm goes away. And again I am only the cold machine, that thinks about a morning.

The time of rest has marched. Again. But my core is fresh.

Hours ago a person put labels, and she put to think to me. Labels or no, some people are worth and other no. This person is worth but of which creates.

Certain sadness forms in me. I cannot resign to the world. Not so far. Because my hand can still become, because when accepting my body which I go of return, activates the modality again battle. Again I am only one cold machine. Again. Oh God.

The time of rest it has been back, and my memory and brain know that thus it must be, and they repeat to me the same.

Other times and other fights will come. That is your curse and your destiny.

Castaneda speaks of the trip to Ixtlán. The Nagual Rafael spoke of the nest of the eagles. There are moments at which the man is able to arrive at his goal. To Ixtlán, to Camelot, Tanelorn or Matamoros. To the nest of the eagles. And after eating and renewing, is necessary to leave to the battle, to continue the fight again. The nest of the eagles must be protected to any cost.

We already passed 100 km from my departure. But in me, there is sadness nor no resignation. A warrior only does what his duty demands of him.

There are times of rest and times of battle, but the difference between which fails and prevails in the search of the magical world is simple, and brutal. Those that fails pass their life fearing to find Ixtlán. The others, dedicate their life to protect the nest of the eagles.

Because the tip and the claws of the eagle are not an adornment.

How many eagles it has around the nest? Not sufficient them.

When one falls, another one rises. Because each one makes the difference.

It is certain that the forces at night can surround a place, but is something is more than a symbol. Something that gives vigor to the wings and maintains discharge the head. The brightness of the sun.

Many years ago I saw a cóndor to the dawn, flying against the light of the sun. Its wings and pens surrounded by the brightness orange of the force of the life. Why the eagles do not remain simply in their nest? I do not know it. Perhaps because the wings are not of adornment.

The Nagual Rafael told that the eagles gained their wings when they began to fight. That the wings are not another thing that the transport of the claws and the tip. There are reasons to live, and the true ones, are also reasons to die.

Passage by a little town of those of main street and little more.

When the eagles prepare themselves to start off, they wait for a signal. They wait for the moment in that the brightness of the sun forms in its wings, the sacred moment into which the morning becomes today.

Duty before nothing,

Before the same world,

Before the same God.

Beyond of the time.

I extend my wings and I back leave that place that is but that a refuge of the wind.

By the law, until beyond the death.

---

I slept one hour approx. When waking up, I see that while slept we have advanced 92 km. When waking up, for a moment I wanted to dream, in vain. The training prevails again. It is beautiful to dream, but it is more beautiful not to fail to him to the dreams.

Throughout the years several people have asked to me if i did not want to be normal, that if did not want to resign to the world that collection. I believe that to do it would be to sell to me. I am not better than others, because I will die. As it said to him yesterday to a person, one plays with the cards that touch to him. To resign to some things simply not can. The example that comes me to the mind is idiot, but effective.

A wolf without claw is unnatural. Even without hand, the wolf would look for an honorable death in the battle.

When leaving Mexico I left my clock to intention. I do not know that hour is. When waking up for minutes, I have been realizing that happened the day of yesterday, has happened to be only a dream. Carajo.

I cannot call to my memory which dreamed awhile ago, like I cannot need in my mind the night yesterday. But my heart remembers it, and in return I have the mental clarity that allows me to return reality the dreams. When it is necessary in my way, the day of will leave the heart yesterday to visit the memory, and to return to its home. The heart of the wolf.

Meanwhile, I smile. I will not fail. The calm of hours ago, returns.

Somebody takes a CD, and that song of " i dont retuuuuuuuurn, i promess you for God who is seeing us" etc. etc.

I smile.

I will return.

And it is an oath.

---

It begins to grow dark. The distant spot the sun begins to hide itself. There are thousand reasons to feel to me sad, but I am not it. The sun is hidden of our sight to go to leave elsewhere.

When it is the moment, it will return.

A wolf leaves to hunt although there is no moon, and the nest of the eagle also is defended to the dusk.