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Gypsy of the mind: walking, swimming, sinking, and the welcoming spiritual shore

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



I existed for a great duration like a gypsy of the mind; within the infinite, boundlessness of being did I wander aimlessly from one inhospitable region to the next, never finding my home without nor within me. For the limitless Self is a strange, atopic land, at times indifferent to our changing whereabouts.

I sought myself so far within that I held no sincere hope of ever returning.

Like a camel did I drink insatiably of life before leaving, but I went too far; on the desert journey of becoming I had consumed a vast portion of my rations in order to get away, but I could see no welcoming oasis. I ran blindly, without direction, and charged recklessly into lostness.

Nothing, nothing, nothing, so much of nothing. To walk and walk, down the empty streets inside oneself, past empty houses, amongst empty people, while nothing matters except to keep walking, because to stop means to succumb to the madness, futility, boredom, fear, weakness, or shame.

I became accustomed to the loss of everything, to dying in life, as they say, and to having no function, no responsibility, no place, nor role in life. This was the loam upon which the seed of my spirit had sprouted and taken root. There was no turning back, I had already come to that dreadful conclusion. I was outside of life, a foreigner to all that is.

I had come fully undone; whatever had mattered no longer mattered. It was a time when I was allowed neither God nor the world; a time when I was on the outside completely, and a place from which it seemed I could not get back.

But if I pursued what the world considered impossible, if I desired what the world proclaimed could not be had, if I required what mankind could not offer, and demanded that which no one could give, it was because I knew one thing, and it was that I had to go for it with everything I had. 

I had to take my failures, doubts, and discouragements, and either cut them loose or carry them on my back up the hill.

               To walk away was easy. But where then to go? God knows? Just away. I had left no marking by which to find my way back, for I was never returning. I had to forge ahead without thought of right or wrong. If it was Godís need to strike me dead for some unavoidable error, so be it. That was Godís need. I had to move forward. The further I went, the further I had to go. I had to look ahead without any memory or regret.

I saw clearly then that the point of no return is the starting point; if you can go back have not yet begun.

                It was one of those events which went on for so long that I forgot to think that it may ever come to an end; I forgot the possibility that something or someone might come along to scoop me up and take me to shore- and so I came to live only in the reality of the survival mode, forgetting that peace may exist because I forgot that I was not at peace, forgetting that suffering may be lessened because I forgot that I was suffering, and the days and nights came and went without a change because this, I thought, was what life is, and this was all it is, and so I looked for no land ahead, did not wave at passing boats, nor did I think to beg for relief from God, because there was only myself and the endless deep which held me until I was beyond holding, and from which I came up for a breath only to quickly return to the depths.



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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