As part of my ongoing quest to become more adept at lucid dreaming, I decided to branch a little into the occult, trying to be open minded and to see if there really is something of value to be found there, since it seems that many mystical traditions value the practice of conscious dreaming. Unfortunately I've had some poor luck so far. First I was disappointed by Sylvan Muldoon's Projection of the Astral Body, and now Castaneda's The Art of Dreaming has equally failed to impress me.
Aside from just a couple useful mnemonic techniques that might be useful for triggering you to consider whether you are dreaming during a dream, this book is largely drivel. It is full of dialog and narration that appear to be saying something and leading somewhere, but in reality say nothing and lead nowhere. Much of it makes no sense at all. The dialog between the narrator and don Juan is often so disjointed, I figure Castaneda must have been high most of the time he was writing this. There are nothing but a couple sketchy, inconsistently handled ideas that form the basis of any kind of plot or message in this book.
About a third of the way in I began to find myself annoyed by how repetitive it was. The narrator is constantly objecting with fear or incomprehension to don Juan's statements, often without any context to make the reader understand why he is having this reaction. Then he either demands an explanation from don Juan, who often brushes aside this request by suddenly trivializing his concerns in ways that would be contradictory to his earlier statements if you could actually pin down anything concrete in them, or he silently voices some childish misgivings that also make little sense in the context.
Sometimes these passages are astoundingly nonsensical. Once, in Chapter 9, after some exposition by don Juan, the narrator states, "I could easily have argued that I did not know what he was talking about; but I knew." What? A statement like this might make sense of someone were accusing you of a misdeed, but the context was don Juan trying to warn him about something. Or take this example from the last chapter: "She had defined for me something I considered undefinable, although I did not know what it was that she had defined." I guess to some people this sounds deep, but it's just, as I said, drivel. Writing words that don't mean anything while trying to make them seem like they mean something profound.
The whole business about assemblage points and the shifting of them, and inorganic beings and the dimensions they inhabit, all sounds vaguely interesting on first glance, but it's only developed very sketchily in these annoyingly repetitive conversations about them that just drag on and on, and in the context of supposedly "perilous" adventures which are ridiculously banal, like the "inorganic beings" kidnapping the narrator and Carol Tiggs and putting them in a dream-hotel, which they can only escape from by not putting on the dream-clothes they find in the room and not going in the dream-bed or looking out the dream-windows, so that they wouldn't forget about the real world.
Many of the assertions made about the nature and sources of energy, assemblage points, the different worlds inhabited by organic and inorganic beings, etc., often seemed contradictory, but as I mentioned before, usually the statements are just short of being concrete enough to actually pin down any contradictions. I guess some would say something about how our familiar logic doesn't apply in such realms, blah, blah, blah, you have to experience it to understand, blah, blah, blah, but I think in the end the problem here is that we have a poorly written story by a charlatan who wasn't clever enough to give a convincing, internally consistent form to his hokum and instead dressed it up in shoddy ambiguities.
After reading this, I really can't understand why anyone would take Castaneda seriously, much less enjoy this book enough that it has a 4.1 star average on Goodreads. Bizarre.