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Magic mushrooms, tsunamis, the subtle body, demons, saints, and good friends

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



               About this time another episode in those tempestuous years was also playing itself out; it was a time when myself and three other energetic, unencumbered, inspired souls- an ex-minister, a musician, and a woman film maker- would come together and receive such a charge off of each other’s vibrations that an evening together would grow in force from a few social drinks to a climax that you’d think would tear the roof off, and because it didn’t, we tried to make it happen anyways. And so began an era of our separate and intimate lives commingling together, in which we would set the world aside for a day, or perhaps a weekend, so as to simply blend, and bond, and enjoy one another, and occasionally to tangle with the mighty mystic spore- the magic mushroom of mythic legend.

                It was during these intimate soiree’s, that our certain select core of individuals- our essential quaternity- would gather together at the house of Mick, the musician, on the shore of Howe Sound, to drink, smoke, ingest the soma, and unearth the glory and fury bound up so tightly within all of us that you had to smash yourself over the head with a mountain of intoxicants so as to set the beast loose and let it roam free for a while.

                If you take such strides, be sure that the tsunamis and whirlwinds, the willywogs, will-o-the-wisps, specters, poltergeists, and gremlins will come bashing at your door, the fog will set in, the lights will go out, the heavy breath of a forgotten foe will resonate behind you, Mara will rear up her ugly head, the Gods will confuse you, the tricksters will dance about your stumbling form, and the only thing you can do is do nothing but let the maelstrom clammer on until it runs itself dry or devours you and moves on to its next host.

                We were raising up our own angel, and we were doing it our own way, on our own time, sitting on Mick’s patio overlooking the sea and watching the storms come in, and passing a bottle of hooch around, then going for a walk and losing each other, then reconnecting and sharing the universe which had befallen us in the meantime, and back to the patio to hear some music, or to sit in silent awe at the hidden majesty of the spirit-world writhing in delight before us.

                It was during these events that, in the silent, wordless mixing of close friends, I would come to sense how our spirits merged into each other, blended, and communicated in ways far beyond normal understandings; how, intoxicated or not, the body is but the nucleus of our much greater self, which sublimely extends out from each of us in less dense and invisible forms, and which converges, intermingles, exchanges, and stays together for extended periods, within other people’s greater self, just as waves come together, combining oscillations, and then flow apart, each still separate and yet now modified from before their intermixing.

                It is these subtle bodies of ours which are the hardest to get to know, and yet the ones which have the most effect on others, and on the world around us. It is the subtle body which can sense another truly, feel what they are carrying inside- regardless of what they are saying- and become elevated by their love and integrity, or contaminated by their hate and confusion.

                This was the beginning of my understanding of how there is no separation in life, that we are all connected, and that a person’s love or hate does not end inside their heads, in their thoughts, but is sent out into the world to ameliorate or exacerbate the plight of all those fortunate or unfortunate enough to be in its way.

                Sometimes the nicest people have the most violent demons inside of them. Sometimes an angry man is a saint. You can’t tell until you mix inside of them, for the spirit behind the flesh is oft like a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and rarely like a prince within a frog. You take others on often without choice, and so your I gets jumbled and grafted with other I’s, and then what you are is not what you’ve always been.

                These are matters of the spirit which I would experience but would not come to grasp and make my own until I had left the world of drugs and psychic crutches behind, and had, with a determined leap, walked into the truth and stillness of the self with nothing but my own peace to guide me.

                The mushroom had offered me the evanescent visions of an eternal place, but it could not take me there. Yet there were solo trips which I would take, ingesting the spore, and then opening up to the cosmic radiations, in which I would see the fabric of spirit behind the veil of matter and mind, and would receive many insights that were incredibly profound but which, in retrospect, were perhaps imbibed too early in my spiritual growth, and therefore, in a way, simply stunted the natural process which would have come about more smoothly anyway; I was like a youth taking a glance at a Playboy magazine, and upon seeing the full show, so to speak, destroying himself with a desire which need not have been there and would have been more rapturously fulfilled had it lay dormant until finally aroused at the time of his actual deflowering; I was no longer spiritually innocent, though neither was I mature, and that, if nothing more, merely added to the growing pains I was already being over-trodden and consumed with.


excerpted from:


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



IN AND OF: memoirs of a mystic journey

by Jack Haas


















spirit and flesh, mystical books, visionary art, fine art photography

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




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