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Catholic Mass, Church in Vancouver: seeing auras, communion, Christ, and Carl Jung

excerpted from IN AND OF: memoirs of a mystic journey, by Jack Haas



                In Vancouver there are a handful of quiet, large old stone churches in the inner city, and I’d make my way into one of them, find an out-of-the-way pew, sit down, cross my hands, close my eyes, and let the calm wash away the belligerence of the streets and the unavoidable visual pollution which is everywhere and so destructive to the innocent eye.

                On one of these occasions, when I was seeking refuge from the outer torrent and sitting peacefully in a church, recovering my inner poise, all of the sudden the lunch crowd came hustling in, a priest arrived at the pulpit, and a Mass began.

                Just my luck, trying to duck out of the ever-present hubbub and I couldn’t get away from it, even in God’s own house. I was just about to split, expecting the whole affair to be mentally excruciating, and make my way instead to the library or a bar, when it dawned on me that I had never witnessed a Mass before, and why not stick it out and see what all the excitement’s about. So I sat back down and didn’t get up again, despite the regular up and down robotics of the sinners all around me, and surprisingly I even entered back into the calm which had just been stolen from me moments earlier.

                It was in this calm that I began recognizing an aura-type glow emanating from the top of a table behind the priest. I had seen auras before, but never one coming from an inanimate object. This caught my interest, though I questioned whether I was seeing just a beam of light refracted through one of the many stained-glass windows nearby.

                Well I kept watching and the priest droned on with the Mass and I continued to struggle to make out what the object with the aura was. It seemed, from that distance, to perhaps be an urn, which I concluded was a likely object in a church, and there was no reason why a person’s cremated ashes didn’t emanate an aura after the bonfire. I had been contented with this erroneous conclusion for only a short while, however, when people began filing up the aisles for communion, and the sexton grabbed the object- which was no urn after all- and placed it in front of the priest. Then I saw that it was in fact the chalice holding the communion wafers, and the aura was all around it.

                Well, that was certainly something unique, and it was enough proof for me to instantly decide that whatever kind of Ritz Cracker they had in that cup was soon going to be in my belly. And so up I got from my pew, strolled down the aisle, kneeled down, and received my first communion.

                Then I got up, left the church, and headed for the pub.

                I would come to tell this story of the chalice with the aura a number of times over the next many months to some of my disbelieving friends, most of whom looked at me askance, as if they suspected that the last chugging synapse in my overwrought cranium had finally stopped firing and now I was truly coocoo. However, I maintained the authenticity of my vision- as I always did, regarding every odd or peculiar event I witnessed or experienced, despite the predictable onslaught of doubt and chastisement from the earthbound rabble- and perhaps two years later I was informed, by my soror no less, that Carl Jung had written, in his essay on the Mass, that the vessel for communion wafers, blessed by the proper individual, can in fact contain the body of Christ as a reality.

                I was vindicated again. And not only that, I had consumed the world’s most energized biscuit- the body- into me, and had washed it down a few heretical minutes later with the city’s cheapest beer- the blood. And who wouldn’t shout out a hosanna and raise a cheer to that?

excerpted from:


author Jack Haas, west coast British Columbia wilderness, ocean forest island



IN AND OF: memoirs of a mystic journey

by Jack Haas



















Mystical books, visionary art, and fine art photography by Jack Haas




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