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Healing neurosis: becoming nobody, crucifixion of the ego, and inner freedom

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



               Oh, but how many times would I have to come to that same broken place within myself, so as to learn the same lesson, over and over again. Too many times. Or maybe only as many as I needed, until I got it right. But then, even when I eventually did get it right, and was finally through that test, another challenge suddenly reared up and stood right in front of me.

                Thus I was confronted regularly with seeming contradictions; which is to say that a liberating experience, high-point, or staggering realization, which I assumed would carry me through the rest of life on a silvery cloud of bliss, was often soon followed by another descent, trial, and further struggle. But it seems to me that this is the way it goes in life. You pass one exam and you walk out the door and into another room, where another challenge lies waiting. Hercules had his twelve labors, each of which was distinct and unavoidable, and so it is with all of us. There is no single realization or experience which is the key to our fulfillment. The locks are many and the keys are many and to get through one door and to think you are free is to be blind to the new walls around you.

                When one battle is over another naturally begins. And to be sure the assault does come. For just when Iíd think I was in the clear, and the peace of fulfilment was oozing out of the ether from the purposeless great Self into the core of my absence, the ever enduring ego would return again, like athleteís foot, halitosis, or dandelions, ever ready to spring up and blemish the fallow ground of my godsoul, and then the patient tutor within me would turn his numinous pedagoguery to red-alert, and again calmly beat the fight and fever out of me, for the crucifixion of the ego must take place over and over again, until the re-ascent to the godself is complete.

                I was slowly getting the picture, however, and learning how to stay low, so low that there were times when I would finally rid myself of my possessor, and would sink down beneath all pride and ownership, and would fall right into the lap of the master of ceremonies.

                It was a parade of events like these which eventually brought about even a greater, more humbling fulfillment. This was, in fact, the experience of myself- the true self who had felt Godís love back in the Ivanhoe.

This came about in the healing of the greater part of my personal pride and neurosis, which had seized hold of me as a young man- a young man who had built up an image of himself based upon what others had told him he was, but not what he really was, and therefore a young man who had grown up defending a mask he didnít know he was wearing but only knew the trauma of being identified improperly and who did not have the consciousness nor strength to correct the rampant error- so the neurosis had taken root and had created many an uncomfortable moment in my life and I had grown to believe it was something which must simply be endured, like chronic back pain, while one continued to shoulder the burdens of their imperfect existence.

                The truth, however, would make itself clear to me one rainy autumn day as I was wandering through the forest, back in the recuperative lap of the Charlottes, with the horde of inextinguishable monkeys still on my back and howling in delight at their impenetrable hold upon my flimsy countenance.

                On this trip I had been for weeks on end wrapped up in a tight ball inside, trying to figure out how to come to grips with myself, with life in the world, so as to make my peace, be myself, and get on with it. And so, as with all internal processes, the ugly sore would have to come to the surface and discharge its noxious puss eventually, as long as I was sedulous enough in my introverted gaze.

                What happened this time came decidedly and unexpectedly, out of left-field as it were, because I had thought, for some unknown reason, that the issue- of how to be myself- would be sorted out by my finally having a clear vision of who I was, and fully accepting it, and then marching back into the world with a new found confidence and aplomb the likes of which would be instantly recognized and revered by all those who had known me as the skulking worm I had occasionally been in the past. Oddly enough, however, the exact opposite happened. And lucky I was for that.

                What I mean is that instead of recognizing the exact somebody who had been living hidden and scared within me for the last many years, I recognized instead that ...I was nobody; I saw without a hint of doubt that I was not the identity or personality which I had been confused into believing I was- which was a somebody whom I had defended and acted as if it was me. I was not that personality. As a matter of fact, I was not a personality at all; not a unique, discernible package stuffed inside a figure of clay and then forced to justify itself to all the other clay figures who peered out through squirrelly eyes and into each other with judgement and condemnation. There was no such thing. I was the nobody self in the body of no one. It was unbelievably freeing. The walls which had never really existed, except in the distorted imagination of my mind, evaporated away and the self which was nobody within me leapt about like a bird who had just flown from its cage, for I, who had always been bound and determined to stay and defend myself at all costs ...I became nothing. No thing. And when that happens let me tell you- youíre in for one hell of a ride.


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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