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Meaning, thought, and finding oneself: becoming nobody, the abyss of impersonhood

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

  

                                      

                I had been trying to accomplish what I could not accomplish, but which was accomplished the instant I stopped trying.

                It had to become hopeless for me, without a light at the end of the tunnel, nor a happy ending around the bend. Everything had to crumble and be thoroughly destroyed. I had to be wiped out completely before the battle was done.

                As truth faltered, as the lies melted from my self’s fluidity, and the soul shed its worn out old mind, I was undone, absolutely disassembled. Let me tell you, I did not attain, I unattained. What else can be said? I had come apart at the seams in the midst of life, and walked about in tatters, tripping over them until I was nude.

To stand in the center of it all- without a thought, direction, or meaning, is to fall into the still point of living, and to live beyond the hollow of life.

                It did not matter at that point anyway, because there was by then no such me to stop me now. There was no such me; there was only the great complexity, and the not-me not navigating within it.

I had dug myself all the way towards the center of life’s tune, found nothing, then dug beyond to the other side. The other side, yes, but not ‘other’, since by then there was no center, only a tunnel ...no me. Which is to say, I disappeared in the act of trying to find myself.

Ah, to perish, to truly perish, to die while being lives on; to deplete oneself of all intent, understanding, and fear; to eviscerate the soul, to shed oneself, and to not be what remains in the ruins.

I saw then that when finally a person becomes nobody, they become a hole through which the universe can enter and become whole. It matters little whether the cup is half-full or half-empty, you drink it. The point of interiorization becomes the point of exteriorization, so they are the same.

                All the things I thought and tried, convincing myself that they were necessary, only to find out that nothing was necessary but this: to cease trying to be something, and to dissolve into Being. For only the everlasting non-being can dissipate as such without ceasing, for it alone is the self not trapped in the form.

                In those northern, coastal wild lands, where the sea and sky beat the hell out of my memory, and the birds called me by a name I had long forgotten, where the beasts and trees flipped me inside out, and the self that remained was no longer mine, I had learned to become nobody; the little man inside of me had been dragged out of the house, whipped and lynched by the delivering mob, and all that remained was a corpse now living and never again to die. I had entered the infinity of nothingness. And that made me everybody. I had become but an empty stage upon which God did everything and everyone was what was done.

                When I became nobody everything inside me was gone, and the identityless nobody self within me was emancipated beyond the structure of people and things. It is hard to relate what happens when whatever you thought you were is totally cast away and all that remains is a presence behind your eyes looking out at the world. But it occurs, to be sure. To continually die into the abyss of impersonhood; to dissolve and not vanish- this is the sublime expanse of essence, anchored to the coagulated form.

                At the moment I ceased struggling, and ceased needing the world to supply me with love or comfort, I began creating my own world, and my immanent universe was born. I had surrendered and become nothing, and yet that nothing was everything and was wholly alive, wholly a part of life- a fleshy, warm, wondrous, and yet insubstantial thing. That is when I began to build again the structure of the self, and to raise my own golden city to the sky.

 

excerpted from:

 

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

 

 

IN AND OF: memoirs of a mystic journey

by Jack Haas

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

      

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

 

 

 

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