One of my most cherished and captivating reads over the years has been the collection of books by Carlos Castaneda. With more than ten works to his name, Castaneda’s writings seemed to find me rather than the other way around. Strangely, I don’t recall ever purchasing a single one. Yet, as if guided by chance or fate, I encountered each of them at precisely the right moment.
During my late teens and twenties, while traveling the world and staying in various hostels, these books would appear in the most unexpected places. Sometimes, I would find one lying on a street corner, and other times, a fellow traveler, seeing me absorbed in one, would offer to swap their book for mine. I didn’t read them in the order they were written, but somehow, the universe seemed to ensure the right book always found its way into my hands at the perfect time.
Carlos Castaneda began his literary journey while studying anthropology at UCLA, where his first three books chronicled his apprenticeship with a traditional “Man of Knowledge” named Don Juan Matus. According to Castaneda, Don Juan was a Yaqui Indian from northern Mexico. These writings earned Castaneda both his bachelor’s and doctoral degrees, yet their authenticity has been widely debated. Some question whether Don Juan ever existed, while others scrutinize the narratives for embellishment. Regardless of these controversies, Castaneda’s work has enchanted and inspired countless readers with its unique interplay of anthropology, mysticism, and spirituality.
For me, these books were more than stories; they were guides. Whether or not Castaneda’s accounts were fictionalized, they offered profound insights into the nature of reality. His descriptions of alternate ways of seeing the world helped me make sense of intense experiences I’ve had since childhood. I recall moments of perceiving the world not as solid objects but as radiant beams of light—a phenomenon Castaneda referred to as “luminous filaments.” His words gave structure to my visions and expanded my understanding of existence beyond the tangible.
One particularly magical encounter happened while I was staying in a house in Southampton, a place imbued with a unique energy. It was there that I stumbled upon Tales of Power, the fourth book in Castaneda’s series. The cover featured a strikingly large moth, an image that turned out to be deeply symbolic within the book. Shortly after beginning to read, a series of synchronicities began. Beginning when a beautiful, fluffy white moth entered my room.
Though not entirely unusual, this moth felt extraordinary. Larger than typical UK moths and dazzlingly pristine, it captivated me. White moths, I later learned, are seen by some Appalachian tribes as symbols of ancestral presence and protection. This encounter felt like a confirmation, a small yet profound nod from the universe.
As I continued reading, another moth appeared—this time, a stunning yellow one, elegant and feminine with an otherworldly beauty. And then came a third moth, the most astonishing of all. Its wings were vast and intricately patterned, spanning close to 50 centimeters, or so it seemed to me. Unlike the softness of the earlier visitors, this moth carried a masculine energy, exuding power and presence.
I speculated endlessly about its origin. Perhaps it had escaped from a breeder or arrived on a nearby cargo ship. We were, after all, within 10 miles of a busy port. But why, of all places, would it find its way into my room, as I was immersed in a book that spoke of moths as guardians of eternity and bearers of knowledge?
Don Juan’s words in Tales of Power echoed in my mind:
“Knowledge is a moth… They are the heralds, the guardians of eternity… The dust on their wings is the gold dust of knowledge. From time immemorial, moths have been the intimate friends and helpers of sorcerers.”
The giant moth stayed for days, astonishing everyone who saw it. Most found it intimidating, even frightening, with some fleeing the house at the mere sight of it. But I found it mesmerizing—a living affirmation of the magical, unseen world that society so often denies. It deepened my connection to the book and reinforced the lessons I was absorbing.
Years later, with the advent of the internet, I searched for moths resembling the one I saw. The Atlas moth and even more so the Hercules moth seemed close, though neither perfectly matched my memory. While the largest recorded Hercules moth has a wingspan of 27 centimeters, I vividly recall the one I encountered as being much larger—perhaps my memory exaggerates, or perhaps it was something truly unique.
This story may invite skepticism, as I have no photographic evidence. In those pre-smartphone days, I traveled lightly, carrying only the essentials. But I don’t need physical proof to hold onto the magic of that moment.
I’ll close with my favorite quote from Tales of Power, one that encapsulates the essence of synchronicity and the eternal mystery that surrounds us:
“Do you know that at this very moment you are surrounded by eternity? And do you know that you can use that eternity, if you so desire? There! Eternity is there! All around! Do you know that you can extend yourself forever in any of the directions I have pointed to? Do you know that one moment can be eternity? This is not a riddle; it’s a fact, but only if you mount that moment and use it to take the totality of yourself forever in any direction.”