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Swimming with dolphins: mystical nude beach, Hawaii:

Living free, Puna district, Big Island of Hawaii

A book excerpt from the Iconoclast Press online library.



                There is a nude beach on the Big Island of Hawaii where the spirit runs as thick as magma, and all archetypes of the human drama are represented by those who are called to frequent this beautiful and secluded locale.

                It is one of those rare places on earth which has not yet been quarantined nor corrupted by the ever fearful bourgeois rabble and their henchmen. It is a place where lawlessness gives way to freedom, nature gives way to nudity, and euphoria gives way to song. It is a place with aspects of Valhalla, Avalon, and Eden, all intermixed and resonant in the confluence. It is a place where a garment of flesh is the norm, drumming circles are regular occurrences, laughter and awe are the order of the day, and nature is the church within which the congregation holds communion.

                It is a community of a handful of regulars, and a neverending succession of travelerís, transients, and tourists. And yet no matter what the mix of characters on any given day, the feeling is always the same: harmony.

                I have seen almost every spiritual archetype- which I have come to recognize- make an appearance on this particular black-sand stage at one time or another, for it, like similarly chosen spots, is a spiritual vortex where Godís own soup of souls is mixed to a particular taste on any given day.

                It is also an area of incredible beauty, and oceanic delight, where I have had the privilege to snorkel naked with wild dolphins on a few occasions, an event which I can only compare to the float-flying feeling I have experienced in dreams, during periods in my life when my spirit lightened and drifted gently up and out of context.

                To be out in the deep blue, warm-as-blood water, unclothed, and to be slowly meandering under the waves, in the weightless and timeless calm, amongst a graceful and carefree school of dolphins, is to return to a part of ourselves which is ever living just below the crashing surf of life, and agonizing to finally fly free.


The dolphins themselves must sense the calm on that uncommon beach, for they happen by it quite regularly, often lunging out of the waves in acrobatic somersaults and flips as if trying to express or release the explosive joy of simply being alive.

                It is a joy which lives in all of us, but is so quickly obliterated by care and strife, though I believe this inherent mirth can be resurrected in a moment by anyone who up and tosses their oppressive worries aside.

                As such, it was on that beach itself that I came to witness one person who carried that wild bliss closer to their heart than ever I have seen in another- a young girl, perhaps nine years old, who must have had angels dancing and smiling over her with delight at her uninhibited antics, exuberance, and authenticity.

                Never have I seen another individual who lived so completely, so naturally, and so abundantly. Compared to her, the rest of the thoroughly alive and spirited cast on the beach were but walking cadavers, and lifeless puppets, for she was the living incarnation of Life itself.

                She reminded me of a study I once read, in which some researchers had hidden a camera on the outskirts of a playground, to film children at play. The scholars were intending to do some such psychological or sociological report or another. But these academicians must have been far more lucid or inspired than is the norm, for they began recognizing certain patterns in the play, while they were reviewing the series of tapes taken of the children.

                It was as if there was a sublime music running through the playground, and as if the tune would surge here, and then there- as if the playground itself was a living symphony, and the children were the instruments.

                And then the researchers discovered something even more fantastic. It suddenly dawned upon them that one little girl was always in perfect harmony with the whole, as if she was in tune with the entire symphony, and that whatever she did, or wherever she went, the music went with her, or she went with it, for these two things were indistinguishable, because she had tapped naturally into the music of life which was being pulsed through the world, and specifically into that playground, and more specifically into her, and through her, and of her, because she was ÖLife. All others were merely instruments of the music which she incarnated.

                And it was the same with the young girl on the nude beach, in that faraway corner of that fervent land, where I saw the living music of her being dance among the spiritís instruments, and in doing so she gave life back to the life she had been given.

                Had I not learned by that point to empty myself out of all context and manifestation, thus attaining the non-reactive position of non-being, and the vantage point of present absence, I would never have seen this all going on, and so would not have recognized her harmonic expression of the whole. Luckily for me I was well acquainted with non-being, for that was my natural state, and it was only with the constricted corpulescence of being that I had to struggle towards and become, which is perhaps why that marvelous manifestation of spirited existence so powerfully enthused me- because she was unconstricted being.

                A few months later, perhaps due to my intoxication with, and joy of, her spirit, or due to one of Godís infinite unknowable plans, I was sent a dream in which that same young girl was saying something about wanting to go to the lava flow on the island. The next morning I awoke and headed to the beach, and ended up, unintentionally, planting myself right near where she had dropped her garments. When she returned for them she was speaking with some adults about wanting to go see the lava flow, a signal which prompted me to finally say hello to her- which I had not done in the past both for lack of genuine opportunity, and because I was shyly smitten with her, though not in the Lolita sense, but because I was smitten with life, and she was the most alive specimen I had ever encountered. And so we had a brief chat together- no doubt planned well in advance by the Great Choreographer- and connected our spirits through the eyes so as to never be apart whether we were ever to see each other again or not. Which we didnít.

                Indeed, it is the pulse of life, and not the understanding which counts. It is how we wake, and walk, and hug each other.

For to truly Ďbeí, is to be lifeís orgasm, to fertilize novel happenings onto the universe, which is the erotic intimacy of life begetting life, of mystery making mystery; it is to swell and be consumed by the infinity of possibilities, of the unendurable stimulations of new nowness, of the spasmodic, quivering ejaculations of life gyrating forward into what it is and never has been.

                Life is this dynamic conception into manifold wombs, through which we burst forth uncontrollably, dizzy into moments creating moments, spending our seed about like a ubiquitous colander over the world. We are these orgasmic moments tossed and piled upon one another into a wriggling, insane heap of becoming.

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UK and EU customers: amazon.co.uk/Roots


We do not evaporate, we sizzle, burning hot and sudden, like comets breaking up into the atmosphere, feverishly dazzled by their own incineration. And so our lives become glorious sparks vanishing as quickly as they are born, and we are the fluid movements through forgotten experiences, purged so as to let other novelties appear, for we are created to continually create, and the only rule of the game is that there arenít any.

Any place but where weíve already been, that is lifeís sole direction. To look back is to go back.

To be new is to be the ever-flowing never-knowing perpetual mystery of ourselves. 

Like virgins deflowered in their first act, we are consummation, though release we shall never know, but instead only the blinding-forever-moment when the universe cums ...and we are its coming.


(excerpted from Roots and Wings: adventures of a spirit on earth, by Jack Haas)






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