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Highly sensitive people, highly sensitive person :

          the spiritual ramifications of being too 'open'


               "I was always too unhealthily open. As a child, at my grandmother’s cottage, I often suffered horrendous allergy attacks, sore throats, or plugged nasal cavities, which could last for weeks, or even the whole summer. Many decades later I read in a metaphysical book that children who are very open often suffer the consequences- in the form of mental or physical suffering- from the pathos or corruptions of another in their midst. And there was one elderly person, living in my presence, who was as corrupt as they come; outwardly giving but inwardly taking, outwardly full of pleasantries but inwardly a murderer, outwardly caring but inwardly conniving and oppressing, and I suffered in the atmosphere of that person’s psychic chaos without a clue that it was not simply a bad case of hay fever, or a cold that would not go away.

                Later in life, as a young man, I had a certain type of pain occur on one side of my neck a number of times, which came on all of the sudden, would stay for a few agonizing days, and then slowly fade away. I assumed it was the remnant of an old football injury, returning now and then whenever I slept improperly. This, however, was not the truth, for I did not know at the time that we call someone a “pain in the neck” for very accurate, spiritual reasons, though in modern days we do not recall the lucid understandings which this now colloquial phrase once held in years gone by when the dark arts were more prevalently understood.

                It was not until I met a woman up in Alaska one summer who was a wild and cocky mother of two, and who claimed to be a witch, that I began to understand the nature of psychic warfare. This woman told me a number of tales about her escapades in the realm of attack and reception. One such story was about a personality clash she had with a woman at work a few days earlier, which ended in a subliminal psychic feud, resulting in the witch sending out hate energy into her foe who was soon bent over in her chair, in terrible pain, holding the back of her neck.

                I expect the witch’s victim had no idea what was going on. And neither did I, on numerous occasions, until I became wise not only to the adverse effects of my own openness, but also to the ways in which other people’s aggression, hate, contempt, or inner turmoil can be sent out from their being and absorbed by anyone in its path, even if that person was not the intended victim.

                On one occasion I was in a heated quarrel with a person close to my heart, but who was not exactly inwardly honest about their feelings, and though they were claiming to care deeply for me, at one point they walked behind me and I felt a shooting pain go through my back, as if I had just been stabbed, which I had, psychically. And so I also then understood the term ‘back stabber’ in a way I never had before.

                My openness problems were magnified because, along with the unconscious chaos and separation carried about by the ubiquitous hoi polloi, there were also absolute and irredeemable scoundrels who, despite their polished, convivial outward personalities, had sometime during their life turned inwardly against their fellows, had let hate into their hearts and all the darkness, dementia, and disease- which inherently accompanies such a plunge away from the brotherhood and sisterhood of mankind- in. These pernicious characters were almost impossible to avoid and root out from my life because their malevolent thoughts and feelings were kept well disguised from the rest of my companions who allowed, or even invited, these troglodytes into our gatherings. This was troublesome for me because I was, as usual, far too open to the psychic realm where love and atrocity mingle, and the hate-deranged spirits would seep in and defile me almost instantly, and I would leave a party at the end of the night, in which one or more of the devil’s minions had been present, with a sickly feeling from the osmotic contact with these fetid creatures. And then I would have to direct all my energy towards cleansing the vampires from my blood.

   Occasionally, during life, I was so open that if I was in the presence of an individual who was battling with some sort of inner demon or the like, I would later, that night, dream their dream, and enter into their subconscious, shamanically absorbing their hidden agony, and then, without knowing how, I would get rid of it. All such things I never intended, and when I realized such events were happening I made a stern vow and evocation to the universe declaring that I refused ever again to take on another person’s sin, karma, suffering, or illness, for I was like a psychic whore with both ankles tied behind my head, helplessly allowing all who cared, to walk right in and screw me. And when that goes on and on, you end up like a spiritual sewer, with all the waste and darkness that people cannot, or will not, work through and discharge of their own accord. Some call this type of experience ‘vicarious atonement’. I call it being clogged by mankind’s failure to mature, and I refused to allow such things to go on with me any longer.

                Not that I wasn’t responsible for my share of the tragedy-of-the-commons. Oh no, I certainly grazed my untamed psychic bulls out onto the overburdened fields of the common soul as well. I am no saint, and have never claimed to be.

                After all, as I see it, to become a saint or bodhisattva, is a catch-22, in that a soul attains such a level if, and only if, they are willing to renounce their personal liberation for the sake of all others. And therefore liberation, for the saint or bodhisattva, is not possible without this sacrifice, though nor is it possible because of this sacrifice, for they must be willing to lie down in the River of life, so that others may step upon their back and advance another pace towards God.

                I must not, therefore, be a saint nor bodhisattva, because I am not willing to lie down.

                So be it, I am not a saint. A saint serves mankind. I do not serve mankind. I serve God, the innermost self. I serve God because I refuse to serve mankind. A saint is like a female Husky, in the far north, who lies down with turgid tits on the frozen tundra and nurses the little pups. A person of God is one like a dog on the sled team, who pulls God onward, driven by the whip and the love of running. I am harnessed to the God who loves freedom. And so I lead without leading, and would die of hunger were it not for God, though without me God would freeze. And so, like a Pegasus towing the chariot of Helios, I surmount the heavens in service to God, the innermost self, and this is a matter of choice, and a labor for which I am ever grateful. But at the end of the day I, who am harnessed to the spirit, need my meat, which God gives to me so as to keep me strong, and which God takes from me so as to keep me hungry. As is the requirement."


Excerpted from ROOTS AND WINGS : adventures of a spirit on earth, by Jack Haas      



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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:



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