Face of God :
a unique synchronicity with Joseph Campbell's The Masks of God
"When I was on the Big Island of Hawaii, I took the opportunity to build a primitive hut using three felled Ohia trees for the frame, a large industrial tarp for the roof and water-catchment system, and about forty feet of greenhouse shade-cloth for the walls, so as to keep the bugs out but allow the ever-blowing Hawaiian breeze in.
When building that little hut I was intending to construct it in such a way that everything was level, firmly rooted in proper joints and bracings, and otherwise fit to fulfil an engineer’s specifications. However, although I had learned some mortise and tenon joinery, some cabin building techniques, and a bit of masonry in the past, I soon realized that the only skills I was employing in the creation of my hut were ones I had learned while at play building forts during the summers of my youth, in the forest behind my Grandmother’s cottage in upstate New York. I also realized that it was only in my ‘adult’ life that I had been corrupted by the idea of perfect angles, sheer strength, and building codes, none of which mattered here, nor, I hope, will ever matter, for though I plan someday to construct a more substantial abode for myself, somewhere on this marvellous earth, I vow within myself to use as little modern technology and practicality as I can, and instead of building a home, I vow to build a fort.
Anyway, it took me only a day or so to create a liveable Tarzan’s hideaway, in which I took up residence for nearly two months, near a Hawaiian holy site, with views of both Mauna Kea and Mauna Loa, and surrounded on all sides by wild bamboo orchids and a few mango trees. The hut was on a parcel of land which my father, brother and I had planned to purchase together, as land was incredibly cheap on the south-east side of the Big Island, due to Pele’s unpredictable landscaping impulses. Unfortunately the deal fell through because the bluffer who owned it reneged at the last moment- like all bluffers, who say one thing but do another and are so full of excuses and explanations employed so as to sanitize their inability to keep their word- and I was left to walk away from my prized hut, my fort, and wander out and away again, into the crazy, fabulous, implausible world.
But before that all happened I lived in the hut, on the earth, for over two months, and because of my newfound connection with the earth’s energies, I was, without intention, bridging the very gap which divides us all inwardly, and so divides the earth and heavens outwardly.
I say this for a number of reasons. Firstly, because during those two months I was almost completely alone, and yet so grounded by the earth that I must have been capable, at that time, of receiving a visitation by a force which would have incinerated me had I been unattached to anything capable of buffering the charge. I am speaking, of course, of God, who came to me in a dream one night, wherein I was suddenly speaking to a being wearing an amorphous mask, which, after a while, he, or she- for the person was quite androgynous- took off the mask, and, lo and behold, it was God explaining to me that he, or she does not show his, or her face to many people, because, it seemed, he, or she was saying, no one was all that interested anymore. Well, to be sure, I was interested.
This may all sound like a bit of crack-pot stage theatrics, but on the day after the dream, or visitation, as you will, I had resumed reading a spiritual book which I had started a week or so earlier, and it all of the sudden made reference to Joseph Campbell’s book series, The Masks of God, which was a synchronicity that further validated my experience.
Campbell would make another literary appearance in my life a few weeks later, after a night in which I had experienced a most lucid and convincing event I can only describe as ‘moon consciousness’. This came about as I was sitting under a full moon, and sensing without a doubt that I was within the moon’s consciousness- that She was cascading Her consciousness down upon me, upon the land, and upon all others under the light of the night. It was a very strange reckoning, a very compelling connection, and a very telling episode which made me understand why civilization, specifically city culture, is as crazed and out of balance as it is: there is no moon consciousness in the city, because the electric lights completely obliterate not only Luna’s visual amplitude, but also her psychic effect on humanity, and therefore those in the city live only under sun consciousness, which becomes oppressive and despotic when not balanced out by the moon.
Soon after that experience I was to once again come upon a book, this one by Joseph Campbell himself, titled Transformation of Myth Through Time, and I had it in my hand for only a few minutes before I skimmed ahead and landed on a chapter in which an alchemical drawing, originally brought to attention by W.B. Yeats, showed an altogether unknown ‘cycle’ of the moon, which was a counterpart to the cycle of human lifetime, and in the drawing the 15th night of the moon represented the 35th year of a person’s lifetime, and was significant in that it represented the moon and sun in perfect balance.
I was thirty-five years old, and things were moving very rapidly and profoundly for me at that time, for, as I said, I was finally grounded by the earth, and so the electrical energy of the spirit could move freely into me.
Also in Campbell’s book was a description of a person’s kundalini rising, which was another synchronicity, arriving to me in short order, due to the fact that during my time in the hut, without any effort or intention on my part, my own kundalini began to spontaneously rise up. This was a process which occurred over several weeks, and, despite various dreams and intuitions, I did not know what was happening until my heart chakra opened up in a burst of empathy, and then I could feel the serpent writhing within, passing up through my pineal gland, and heading for my crown.
Slowly, ever slowly, the serpentine energy had climbed its way up my chakras, while I changed nothing in my day to day life, eating what I always ate, drinking beer, smoking the occasional joint, and going mad with loneliness, wonder, confusion, and joy. Business as usual.
It was in those lower, grounded reelings, where I was cast about in my usual cataleptic fits of spiritual exhaustion, attempting relentlessly to escape myself that I was also sinking further and further into the filth and the flesh, and only because of this was I eventually …able to fly. Ah, to fly- to erupt without any movement, to rise without going high. I flew inside myself, through the infinite space of unmeaning, through the lift and the glide of just being.
I suddenly belonged to existence with such tangibility, such connection, such passion, that in that blessed bind I implausibly found a hidden release; as if I could not escape the flesh without becoming flesh completely; as if the context must devour the Word, in order for the contextless soul to go free.
Which is to say that I stopped only dreaming of the flesh, and I became also the flesh. I had to take on the flesh so as to take up the flesh, for the Assumption occurs when the flesh is assumed. And I, divested from the thought structures of mankind, entered into the bridal chamber where naked Beingness and naked Non-beingness unrecognized their differences and were unified into one.
The fact that I changed nothing in my life and had my kundalini awaken and rise of its own accord, makes me wonder if all the postures and purifications espoused by the so-called experts are as useless as every other piece of advice applauded and lauded by the back-slapping dilettantes so prevalent in the new age and spiritual industries these days.
In fact, I know of a woman whose kundalini rose up completely in a few minutes while she was at work and had never considered coaxing it forth. But forth it came, out of the root, up the spine, and blasted out the top of her head, which is how it ended for me, blowing out through the top of my head, which made me feel like I had no head, but was suddenly immersed in the entire consciousness of the unseparated cosmos, where the self becomes all, the I becomes everything, and nothing is distinguished from another for the division has ended with the disintegration of the wall.
It was a staggering openness which I experienced then, but which escaped from me soon afterwards, because, as I said, I had to leave the grounding of my little earth-floor hut, due to the bluffer, and fly back to Vancouver in the middle of winter, and suddenly my flesh was now separated from contact with the earth by impervious layers of pavement, concrete, wood, tile, rubber soles, and socks. My contact with the grounding Mother had been removed, and with that gone the winged serpent had nowhere to hold. A few weeks later I began experiencing excruciating pains along my spine, and then had a dream in which a huge snake was cut in half, and I knew then the peril of our distance from the earth, the ground, the Mother. My kundalini had risen, and then had been broken in two, and it would be a long while before that chakra energy had healed enough to send the little serpent writhing upward again.
Modern culture is so far removed from contact with the earth that it is no wonder we exist like frantic phantoms in an astral chaos, for there is no grounding in modern life, and without grounding- and by that I am being absolutely literal- without living upon, touching, and being one with the ground, the polarity of our possible wholeness is thrown way out of balance, and the spirit soars like a kite without a hold, a bird without a roost, and a ghost without a fleshy home.
I say this because never have I felt such otherworldly peace as I did in that hut, when I lived on and became intimate with this earth, this flesh, and this body which are one.
We must live in direct contact with the earth once again if the roots required by the wings are to hold. Roots and wings, these are the interdependent halves of our spiritualized earthly lives. For it is only in the loving and hallowing of the flesh and the earth that the spirit learns that it is not whole without it. And it is only in the voice of the flesh that the song of the spirit is finally sung."
Presenting awe-inspiring books by Jack Haas, the first author in history to release three five-star books in a single year. To see more about Jack Haas' books, as well as other projects he is involved with, including photography and artwork, go to:
Books by Jack Haas
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