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Spirit realm: highly sensitive people:

energy vampires, faeries, allergies, and openness

A book excerpt from the Iconoclast Press online library.

               

In the descent of our spirits into flesh, we become aspects of the Father, entering the Mother, and so we bring Heaven down to Earth, and the Earth up to Heaven.

And just as He hosts spirits above, in the form of angels, archangels, cupids, and saints, so does She, who is the Earth, host spirits down below, the company of which the Druids, Pagans, and any primitive peoples were as aware of as their own beings. I am speaking of the earth-spirit realm of animated matter, wherein dwells faeries, gnomes, elves, gremlins, and the living consciousness of trees and other plants. It is a realm still alive and thriving, and is a plane on which we humans would also be consciously dwelling were it not for the fact that we have cut ourselves off between the heart and the mind and have somehow exiled ourselves out of the natural realm.

               

To return to this realm is not easy, though not impossible either, for we are already a part of that twilight dimension, where all that is beats to a different pulse- the pulse of the Earth.

                I have fallen into that fantastic realm in many subtle ways, on many different occasions, during my relapses into the other way of seeing, while out in the glorious natural world, and yet I have never so fully entered the Land of Pan as I did on two separate shamanic journeys which were catalyzed by the mystic psilocybin mushroom.

                On one of these occasions my soror- my twin soul- and I had spent a winter evening on a beach near Vancouver, huddled under a blanket together while snow fell all around us, and in the quietude and openness of our communal vortex, we slipped into the nether realm and there together witnessed the forms of three laughing and naked female faeries, who were dwelling at the membrane between our two worlds.

                Another time, my soror and I were out on a wild Pacific beach and we fell through the looking-glass and into the ‘green realm’, wherein we could perceive each other’s earth-spirit beings, as well as the entire dominion of the earth’s energy, bound in and through and of all living things. It is a realm to which we all belong just as absolutely as to the one we mistakenly call reality, for ‘reality’ is a misnomer applied by minds which have walked into an empty room, into a tight corner, and, standing with their backs to all else, declare that they have found the truth. Yet there is more than one reality operating in and of and through us at any given time, and it was during that shamanic journey on the wild Pacific coast, into the other realm, that I also perceived the discarnate, demonic force, now holding the earth hostage, and devouring and destroying Her. And this I say with absolute honesty, for there is a demon within the earth, perhaps within us all, which is enslaving, destroying, and killing the natural, living earth and its netherworldly creatures to which we belong and of which we are. And so it is only for us to give up our limited views and addictions to oil, electricity, buying, selling, having, and doing, and let our natural selves regain their rightful status in the collage of our beings, that we may again return to the wholeness of heaven and earth, spirit and flesh, and the marriage of God and beast which is man.

 

It is because of my experience of that dark oppressor causing calamity upon the earth, and for many other reasons as well, that I now quite openly declare that I do not enjoy the spirit realm, and perhaps never will, for, compared to it, the material world is a holiday in the sun.

The spirit realm is thick and lousy with misguided entities, dark energy, parasitic spirits, and untameable ghosts. It is a realm in which souls are won and lost, repressions are given power, and courtesy is unheard of. It is anarchy, feudalism, slavery, monarchy, and the ever shifting sands of a plastic reality, all thrown into a tangled heap of intermingling wills and energies, creating a kaleidoscopic pandemonium stuffed inside a madhouse run by no one. And this is why I do not enjoy it, for I have faced many trials, many near disasters, many troubling moments, and odd encounters in that twilight frontier.

                In fact, though the Big Island of Hawaii is paradisiacal, natural, otherworldly, and serene in many ways, there was once a time while I was on that living rock when the darkness of certain spirits was so thickly knotted into the drama in which I was involved, that I was told, in none too allusive terms, by the one who guides me, that there was an uncontrolled evil around which would end up harming me badly were I to not leave, and leave instantly, which I did. For I had learned by then that the Father of my being knows a great deal more than ever I have claimed to see.

                And a similar occurrence happened in a remote valley in the Himalayas one summer when my soror and I were exploring the ancient Buddhist areas. We must have stumbled into a spiritual black hole, because all of the sudden I was in a terrible tangle with spirits which did not seem to have any interest in my well-being and the only thing to do was retreat as fast as possible because I was not capable enough of defending myself from such invisible, nefarious forces at the time.

Another episode occurred in Hawaii again, after I had seemingly broken a rib while body-surfing. I must have been invaded by a malevolent water-spirit at the instant of my body’s impact onto the sand, because the pain in my ribs continued to increase as the weeks went by, instead of getting better, and I was wondering what was happening. As was my soror. So one night she asked for guidance and was taken, in dream, to find a small green woman who had somehow found her way into my body, so as to attack me, and was there gnawing away at my internal being until my mate ordered her with full shamanic force out and away and back into the sea, at which point the little green woman left, and the pain in my ribs began to slowly abate.

I was very thankful for my mate’s assistance, and yet she was not the only one who had ever come to my rescue. Oh no, the number of times Jesus, the Christ, saved me from doom, when I was deeper in the darkness than I was capable of escaping from, were almost uncountable. In the past I have called upon the Man so many times that I worry of badgering Him. And yet, to this day I continue to call when the going gets tough, for though I am at times a coward, at least I am not a fool.

                Ah, the spirit realm. Drop a gallon of liquid LSD into a small town’s water supply, and you’ll have a quick briefing on the chaos and disharmony I have experienced, and I know that I am not alone in this feeling.

                One of the oddest happenings which occurred to me in the spirit realm came at a time when certain dominant aspects of my life were attempting to take full control of the wheel, so to speak. In this case, as in many others, my will and intent behind such a push inevitably exposed an unexpected energy, or spirit, attempting to intentionally obstruct me, or perniciously lurking in the shadows, for one pathetic or nefarious reason or another. It is astonishing how many desperate, destructive, and deceitful beings exist in this pandemonic realm in which all our spirits commingle, commune, and commit crimes.

                The event of which I speak was completely idiosyncratic, unexpected, and hard for me to handle, and came about one evening when I had awoken from a dream in which I was being symbolically shown that there was some form of intrusion or intruder obstructing the furthering of my highest pursuits. Upon awakening in the middle of the night I remained in that pseudo-conscious, lucid state where the mundane and spiritual realms mix visibly. In that state I recognized a female spirit clinging onto me. She was not being aggressive nor evil, but soon I realized that neither was she planning to let go. That was when I understood- as such things are understood in that state, as in dreams, without proof or explanation- that she was the soul of a miscarried relative of mine, who had been lost before I was born, and so she had been holding onto me ever since I came through my mother’s womb, so as to remain a part of our family. It was apparent that my spiritual pursuits and efforts had finally exposed her, though she had been hidden to me, and in me, for thirty-five years, and now had no desire to leave.

                Nothing could be done to diplomatically persuade her to leave, and yet I was fully determined to extricate her from my being, for she was off of her own path, and encumbering mine. And, let me tell you, it was no small effort to pull her off and drive her away. She kept coming back with greater and greater tenacity each time I attempted to drive her away, and I had to dilute my care for her and give myself to the spiritual violence necessary in order to liberate myself from her clutches. This was all happening in the sublime realm, and when the ensuing battle was finally over I called on any spirit helpers available to come and guide her away from me and towards her own necessary path, and new life, which they did.[1]

                Yet as much as I am weary of the spirit realm, there is no avoiding it, for to exist, is to exist in the spirit realm, as well as many other realms, for all are intertwined at one level, concentration, or another.

                The problem for me is that I have always been far too open, so much so that I suffered from terrible allergies, and neverending sickliness during periods of my childhood, which, I was to find out in later years, are sure signs that you are absorbing other people’s negative energy, and becoming like the liver of the spirit, wherein all toxins are sent to be processed.

                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.


 


Canadian customers: amazon.ca/Root    

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

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[1] For any reader who is interested in a much broader, and more expertly compiled exploration of the spirit-realm, I would highly recommend Sandra Ingerman’s book Soul Retrieval: mending the fragmented self through shamanic practice, published by HarperSanFrancisco, 1991.

 

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Books by Jack Haas: Autobiography, Memoir, Spirituality, Mysticism, Comparative Religion, Poetry, Art, Photography.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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