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 Travel in New Zealand :

mystical experiences in New Zealand

            

   "To be spiritually initiated, as I was initiated ...is to be recruited as a foot soldier into a war in which you can never tell whoís on your side, you can never find enough ammunition, and you can only win by losing yourself.

                I was sent on a tour of duty to New Zealand, the orders of which came in one dream: I dreamt that my father owned a banana plantation in that country. A simple dream, and one which Jungians or other symbolists would no doubt tear apart and massacre into a tepid message bound up in historical archetypes and mythology. But this was no alchemical dream. For I had already recognized many times before that when I dreamt of my father, this was actually the male aspect of the Godhead communicating to me, and when I dreamt of my mother it was the female aspect. So, my father had a banana plantation in New Zealand. I was therefore bound for that destination, without question. Except first I had to correct the simple problem that I was penniless, a factor which was fixed in short order as I was guided to quickly earn enough money for the journey.

                I arrived in Auckland, spent a few days on the nearby coast, then met up with my soror, who had flown in a few days after me, and together we hitchhiked out to the Coromandel Peninsula, so as to get away from the madding crowd as quickly as possible. After camping out uneventfully that first evening, we had our thumbs out again in the morning and were picked up by a multi-tattooed, rum-sipping, young renegade named Jim, who lived and worked in the area, had fathered four kids, and was on a weekend drive-about and binge while his wife and family were away elsewhere. He looked as tough as they come, but was as soft as a feather inside. Jim drove us down the coast a ways, and then let us off at a beach where we planned to hang about and camp that evening. However, after staying in the area for a few hours, the soror (mystical sister) and I decided it wasnít a place we wanted to camp, and so we walked back up to the road and stuck our thumbs out again. After waiting a short while a car came racing towards us and squealed to a halt. It was Jim again. He had driven a full loop around the area, just for the joy of it, and so once again we were in his buggy and heading south. I suppose Jim and I had found some comfort together by this time, and had located some common ground on which to converse, for we began discussing all sorts of fringe experiences including magic mushroom trips, and the play of the spirit on earth. And it was near the end of this second drive together, as we were approaching our next destination, that I decided to query Jim as to whether he knew anyone in the area who owned a banana patch. He said he knew of only one- his parents.

                Ah yes, the spirit was with us- as if there was ever any doubt- for the spirit runs the whole show, and is the show, and no matter how obscure or impossible the odds, no matter how confused or disoriented we become trying to follow it, the guiding spirit is always with us, no matter what is going on, nor how chaotic or vague, we are always where we should be.

                By the time we had ascertained that serendipitous piece of information about Jimís parents, however, the evening was upon us, and it was too late to proceed on the quest, so the soror and I said goodnight to Jim, and he sped off on his merry way, and we went to a nearby campsite.

                The next day the soror and I turned around and, following Jimís directions to his parents, hitched back up the coast in the direction which we had just come the day before, arriving at his folks humble little homestead in the late morning.

                Upon meeting them I was certain that I had found the intent of my sublime mission, for Jimís parents turned out to be tremendously gentle, unobtrusive, generous, and meek folks. That is, they were children of God- the one who sent me, the one who harbors the outcasts, the impoverished, and the lonely. And Jimís parents were doing just the same, as I was to find out, for they had created over many years, without riches, a safe haven for a fare number of dispossessed and homeless souls. Which is to say, they were doing Godís work on earth.

                To be sure, they were no bible-thumping holier-than-thou types. In fact, the four of us never even spoke a word of religion between us. And I gathered, if I had to generalize, that these folks were influenced by Buddhism, marijuana, and gardening, more than anything else, and may never have even read nor heard of the Bible, or may have considered it absolute balderdash for all I know. But they had love in their hearts, and that, after all, is the only true religion.

                So the soror and I spent the afternoon with Jimís parents, and the four of us had some lovely conversation and communion, thus connecting our spirits through the eyes and, as such, remaining together even after parting. And that, I expect, was the intent of my sublime directive- to meet those meek and honest owners of the banana patch, and link souls with them. For in the act of meeting others at the soft and intimate essence of our separate cores, the consciousness of God within each of us comes into recognition of its divided parts, which, upon that recognition, are no longer divided. Thus the many become one.

 

                Furthermore, after leaving those beatific folks, our stay in New Zealand came to provide a great wealth of cosmic and alchemical experiences for me, most of which are either incredibly difficult, or impossible to describe, for certain events in life are so unique and intimate with an individualís exclusive path that the profundity and impact of such experiences cannot be related nor given to another- because they are intended for no other. I can only say, therefore, in a very imperfect way, that traveling to New Zealand, and to the southern hemisphere for the first time in my life, was like moving to a completely new vantage point in the earthly drama, and, as such, seeing it from a different perspective altogether.

                On that trip I was to meet individuals who told impressive tales of their meetings with Ďmastersí, such as Jesus; I met folks who claimed to have been healed by aliens, and others who had spent decades on Mt. Shasta, studying the ĎI AMí teachings of both the masters and aliens. I also met, on the south island, one of my sisters who came from the same limb of the Tree of Life as myself, and who was not only a member of my physical sisterís spiritual archetype, but was also so connected to the minutiae of my own life that we had a vast array of mundane occurrences in common: like the fact that she had begun playing the recorder at the same time as I, just weeks before our meeting, and she had, I was to find out, pinned onto her office wall the exact three short pieces of inspired writing that I had been carrying with me, and occasionally handing out to acquaintances whom I thought might enjoy them.

                These types of Ďcoincidentalí similarities are regular occurrences for souls lying close to one another at the epicenter of the creative core, regardless of their distance from each other on earth. Just as it has been found that identical twins, having been separated at birth, who find each other as adults, often have an implausible number of similar occurrences and interests in their lives; so it is the same with the subtle essence of spiritual siblings, who may know nothing of each other, but are still inspired from the same center, and therefore often share many commonalities, both sacred and profane."

 

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

 

 

Books by Jack Haas

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