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India Travel: journey to Dharamsala, mystical overnight bus trip, and the oversoul

excerpted from OM, baby! a pilgrimage to the eternal self, by Jack Haas

 

                   

           After arriving in Delhi, my soror and I soon learned that the monsoon rains were exceptionally relentless at that time, and had wiped out a few railroad tracks in the north, and therefore no trains were running towards our first destination, Dharamsala. At the moment I heard this news I remembered having a dream a few days earlier while still in Canada in which I was told there were no trains going to Dharamsala, to which I had responded “Oh well, we’ll take an overnight bus instead.”

            Now, let the reader understand that I had taken many, many overnight buses during previous travels within India. And let the reader know that if there is a purgatory on earth, then it is manifested on overnight bus trips in India. And if you are a bony, six-foot fellow like myself, the journeys are absolute torment.

            I believe I had the dream of which I just spoke because I had openly declared prior to this trip that I refused ever again to take another overnight bus ride in India. I had laid down my gauntlet and the universe rose to destroy it.

            And so I took a deep breath, shrugged off my discontent, and my soror and I bought tickets for the next night’s departure. Twenty-four hours later we boarded the rolling box of horror with a handful of other tourists and a gaggle of Indians.

            Soon after we were in motion I realized that I had been on many painful and worrisome bus rides in India in the past but, compared to this one, those others were like magic carpet rides through the Elysium fields. Not only were the two of us scrunched into the first two seats of the bus, where my knees began to rub down into raw stumps from the wall of the driver’s cab which lay directly in front of us, but, furthermore, the driver himself was an absolute maniac. We were going to die. I could feel it. Never have I been on a bus in which the man behind the wheel has absolutely no sense of the rules of the road; he knows only the gas pedal, and the horn, and everything else is not worth noting. I was terrified. I admit it. But fortunately I was supposed to be terrified. I was supposed to lose my inner equanimity and faith in divine providence, and I was supposed to realize such a level of danger and discomfort that my soror and I finally made our way to the back of the bus where we located two empty seats and there took refuge knowing that we now had twenty seats ahead of us to buffer the impending head-on collision.

            But then something very odd took place: as soon as we moved to the back of the bus the driver suddenly calmed down; he became another man altogether. The nightmare had ended.

I believe he calmed down because it was no longer necessary to drive like a suicidal madman; he had only been used as an instrument by the spirit with the intent to scare the living shit out of me so that I would take refuge at the back of the bus so that I could then meet the person who was now sitting right in front of me, who was one of my emanations. Yes, he was me, only different, but the same as well. From different parts of the world we were, but we were one. And after getting to know each other we found we had very similar interests, similar dispositions, and similar souls. No doubt this was the case, because we had the same soul, which is an outcome of being emanations from the same oversoul.

            In years previous I had met my Native Indian self on the west coast of British Columbia, my gay self in Vancouver, my sprite-like self in a young man whom I worked with for a while, and now I had met my German self on the way to Dharamsala.

            This fellow- my emanation brother- was traveling with a buddy from Germany, who, interestingly enough, was an emanation from the same archetype as a friend of mine whom I had been trying to get together with just before leaving for India. Unfortunately obstacles had prevented the engagement. Though now all of the sudden there we were together, in two different bodies, half way around the world, but to be sure the energy connection had been completed.

            I spent the next few days hanging out with my German emanation and our common brother, and we shared music and laughter and conversation about esoteric patterns such as the one I have just described, and then my emanated brother and his buddy departed from Dharamsala, and my soror and I were left to the emptiness of that sacred town.

 

excerpted from:

 

visionary art, acrylic painting, Lilith, Sophia Goddess, author Jack Haas India

 

 

OM, baby! a pilgrimage to the eternal self

by Jack Haas

author Jack Haas, Canadian, American writer, artist, photographer

 

 

 

      

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