Way of the Peaceful Warrior

 

WAY OF THE
 

PEACEFUL WARRIOR
 

(Version 3.0)
 

A Book that Changes Lives
 

DAN MILLMAN
 

Way of the Peaceful Warrior
is based on the true story of Dan Millman, a world champion athlete, who journeys into realms of romance and magic, light and darkness, body, mind, and spirit. Guided by a powerful old warrior named Socrates, tempted by an elusive, playful woman named Joy, Dan is led toward a final confrontation that will deliver or destroy him. Join Dan as he learns to live as a peaceful warrior.
 

This international best-seller conveys piercing truths and humorous wisdom, speaking directly to the universal quest for happiness.
 

___________________________

Version 3.0 proof-read and corrected by Sirak/SomeURL. All previous ‘{??}’ phrases from 2.0 replaced with correct words and paragraphs. Missing numbers from 2.0 (e.g. “Route 99” instead of “Route  ”, “7:15PM” instead of “ :  PM”) restored, proper spacing and paragraphing as per original print.
 

Distributed by Publishers Group West Emeryville, California Bookpeople
 

Berkeley, California
 

Copyright © 1980, 1984 by Dan Millman

ISBN: 0-9158110-6

(previously ISBN: 0-87477-121-8)

LCCN: 83-83240

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher
 

Published by H.J. Kramer, Inc.

P.O. Box 1082

Tiburon, CA 94920

Cover painting by Terry Lamb
 

Art direction and design by John Brogna
 

First paperback edition, 1984
 

Originally published in hardcover by J.P. Tarcher, Inc.
 

Manufactured in the United States of America
 

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The books we publish are our contribution to an emerging world based on cooperation rather than on competition, on affirmation of the human spirit rather than on self-doubt, and on the certainty that all humanity is connected. Our goal is to touch as many lives as possible with a message of hope for a better world.
 

Hal and Linda Kramer, Publishers
 

To the Ultimate Warrior of Peace, of whom Socrates is but a twinkling reflection.  Who has no name yet many, and who is the Source of us all.

Preface
 

The Gas Station at Rainbow's End  
 

BOOK ONE: THE WINDS OF CHANGE
 

Gusts of Magic
 

The Web of Illusion
 

Cutting Free
 

BOOK TWO: THE WARRIOR'S
 

TRAINING
 

The Sword is Sharpened  
 

The Mountain Path
 

Pleasure Beyond the Mind  
 

BOOK THREE: UNREASONABLE
 

HAPPINESS
 

The Final Search
 

The Gate Opens
 

EPILOGUE: LAUGHTER IN THE WIND  
 

I want to offer my respect and appreciation to those who helped, directly or indirectly, with the development of this book; and to thank many teachers, students, and friends who have shared stories from the great spiritual traditions, and served as an inspiration to me. I also thank Hal and Naomi of H.J. Kramer Inc. for their untiring efforts in reaching out to the widest possible audience.
 

My heart-felt gratitude to my wife, Joy, who has energized my spirit all along, and to my parents, Herman and Vivian Millman, whose love and faith gave me the courage to begin the Way.
 

My life has been blessed with many teachers who have influenced  my writing, life, and work: Robert Nadeau, true teacher of Aikido in spirit as well as form, who showed me how to bridge the two; Baba Ram Class (Richard Alpert), spiritual pioneer in the West, a teacher whose humor, heart, and verbal gifts catapulted  me into the psycho-physical realms; Oscar Ichazo of Arica Institute, a master teacher whose School helped provide a balance of body, mind, and emotions; Da Free John, a spiritual Adept whose way of life benefited  me and whose writing helped light the way; Michael Bookbinder, a brother, teacher, friend, catalyst, “cheerleader to the soul”--part of a larger mission.
 

And of course, there's Soc.
 

An extraordinary series of events took place in my life, beginning in December, during my junior year at the University of California at Berkeley. It all began at 3:20 A.M., when I first stumbled upon Socrates in an all-night gas station. He didn't volunteer his real name, but after spending time with him that first night, I named him on impulse after the ancient Greek sage; he liked the name, so it stuck. That chance encounter and the adventures that followed were to transform my life.
 

The years prior to had smiled upon me. Raised by loving parents in a secure environment, I was later to win the World  Trampoline Championship in London, travel through Europe, and receive many honors. Life brought rewards, but no lasting peace or satisfaction.
 

Now I realize that I had, in a sense, been sleeping all those years and just dreaming I was awake--until I met Socrates, who came to be my mentor and friend. Before that time, I'd always believed that a life of quality, enjoyment, and wisdom were my human birthright and would be automatically bestowed upon me as time passed. I never suspected that I would have to learn how to live--that there were specific disciplines and ways of seeing the world I had to master before I could awaken to a simple happy, uncomplicated life.
 

Socrates showed me the error of my ways by contrasting them with his way, the Way of the Peaceful Warrior. He constantly poked fun at my own serious, concerned, problematic life, until I came to see through his eyes of wisdom, compassion, and  humor. And he never let up until I discovered what it means to live as a warrior.
 

Often I sat with him far into the early morning hours-- listening to him, arguing with him, and, in spite of myself, laughing with him. This story is based on my adventure, but it is a novel. The man I called Socrates did, in fact, exist Yet he had a way of blending into the word, so it's been difficult at times to tell where he left off and other teachers and life experiences began. I have taken liberties with the dialogue and with some time sequences and have sprinkled anecdotes and metaphors into the story to highlight the lessons Socrates would want me to convey.
 

Life is not a private affair. A story and its lessons are only made useful if shared. So I've chosen to honor my teacher by sharing his piercing wisdom and humor with you.
 

“Warriors, warriors we call ourselves. We fight for splendid virtue, for high endeavor, for sublime wisdom, therefore we call ourselves warriors.” --AUNGUTTARANIKAYA
 

Life begins,” I thought, as I waved goodbye to mom and dad and pulled away from the curb in my reliable old Valiant, its faded white body stuffed with the belongings I'd packed for my first year at college. I felt strong, independent, ready for anything.
 

Singing to myself above the radio's music, I sped North across the freeways of Los Angeles, then up and over the Grapevine, connecting with Route 99, which carried me through the green agricultural flatlands stretching to the foot of the San Gabriel Mountains.
 

Just before dusk, my winding descent through the Oakland hills brought me a shimmering view of San Francisco Bay. My excitement grew as I neared the Berkeley campus.
 

After finding my dormitory, I unpacked and gazed out the window

at the Golden Gate Bridge and the lights of San Francisco sparkling in the darkness.
 

Five minutes later I was walking along Telegraph Avenue, looking in shop windows, breathing the fresh Northern California air, savoring the smells drifting out of tiny cafes. Overwhelmed by it all, I walked the beautifully landscaped paths of the campus until after midnight.
 

The next morning, immediately after breakfast, I walked down to Harmon Gymnasium, where I'd be training six days a week, four muscle-straining, somersaulting, sweaty hours each day, pursuing my dreams of becoming a champion.
 

Two days passed, and I was already drowning in a sea of people, papers, and class schedules. Soon the months blended together, passing and changing softly, like the mild California seasons. In my classes I survived; in the gym, I thrived. A friend once told me I was born to be an acrobat. I certainly looked the part: clean cut, short brown halt, a lean, wiry body. I'd always had a penchant for daredevil stunts; even as a child I enjoyed playing on the edge of fear. The gymnastics room had become my sanctuary, where I found excitement, challenge, and a measure of satisfaction.
 

By the end of my first two years I had flown to Germany, France, and England, representing the United States Gymnastics Federation. I won the World Trampoline Championship; my gymnastics trophies were piling up in the corner of my room; my picture appeared in the Daily Californian with such regularity that people began to recognize me, and my reputation grew. Women smiled at me. Susie, a savory, unfailingly sweet friend with short blond hair and a toothpaste smile, paid me amorous visits more and more often. Even my studies were going well! I felt on top of the world.
 

However, in the early autumn of my junior year, something dark and intangible began to take shape. By then I'd moved out of the dorm and was living alone in a small studio behind my landlord's house. During this time I felt a growing melancholy, even in the midst of all my achievements. Shortly thereafter, the nightmares started. Nearly every night I jerked awake, sweating. Almost always, the dream was the same:
 

I walk along a dark city street; tall buildings without doors or windows loom at me through a dark swirling mist.
 

A towering shape cloaked in black strides toward me. I feel rather than see a chilling specter, a gleaming white skull with black eye sockets that stare at me in deathly
silence. A finger of white bone points at me; the white knucklebones cut into a beckoning claw. I freeze.
 

A white-haired man appears from behind the hooded terror; his face is calm and unlined. His footsteps make no sound. I sensed somehow, that he is my only hope of escape; he has the power to save me, but he doesn't see me and I can't call to him.
 

Mocking my fear, the black-hooded Death whirls around to face the white-haired man, who laughs in his face. Stunned, I watch. Death furiously makes a grab for him. The next moment the specter is hurtling toward me, as the old man seizes him by his cloak and tosses him into the air.