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Trappist and Orthodox Monasteries, Athabascan shaman, Santa Fe, San Francisco, bohemian poet

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

  

                                                                                       

             

              How, when you have gone away from it all, have seen it from a different angle, watched as the futility of mankind consumes itself insatiably, and have suffered because you can no longer allow yourself to take any part in the delirium- how then do you take life up again? How do you play a role in a drama you have scorned and walked out on?

                In the years past, if I wasnt thinking of a wilderness hideout, I would be considering other types of escape, and would be researching Trappist monasteries in France, or Orthodox monasteries in Greece- the kind of places where its all or nothing, where one day you simply toss everything away, put on the dark robes, and spend your life drinking port and praying in obeisance to the Lord.

                Or Id imagine myself stoically self-exiled to an exotic land of peasants and simplicity, where Id wait out my existence spurning all that I had been born into and could not stand.

                And if these two regular fantasies became old, I thought perhaps I would just move down to San Francisco, or Santa Fe, or some such neo-bohemian place, and be a drunken poet. Or Id decide that it was better in the end to fly out to a remote island in the Aleutian archipelago and build a stone shack and learn on my own the way of the Athabascan shaman. I was always trying to think of how I could survive, somehow survive in this world.

                I was continually pouring over the classified adds, looking for an old Winnebago to drive away in and keep on going, or a plot of useless land out in the middle of nowhere, a place to go and plant a garden and commune with the soil, and not come back.

                I bought myself an inflatable kayak, and then an inflatable raft, and I imagined myself paddling to some offshore islet, and waiting stoically for others to realize I had made the right decision, and then deciding to join me there. Whatever it took to get away, I was taking it. But I never got away.

               

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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