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Magic mushrooms, soma, Amsterdam smart shops, the Creator self, laughter, and newness

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



           After numerous days of immersing myself in the peace of Amsterdam and the rhythm at The Baba, my soror and I decided to partake of a wholly different vibration of newness altogether- psychedelic mushrooms.

            Ah, Holland! Unlike in other countries, where insulting, inhuman regulations force one to skulk around like a hunted man in order to purchase and ingest the glorious spore, when in Holland one need only walk into one of the Smart Shops, peacefully peruse their offerings, and then exchange a few euros for some legal soma.

            After inspecting the commodities, we decided on the smallest and strongest of all, the magic mushroom of Hawaii, and repaired back to our hotel where we ingested and awaited the apocalypse.

            But the apocalypse never came. No inner assault, no psychic hazards, no visitation nor communication from the spirit realm. We were each simply whisked away gently on a carpet of love, and led into the knowledge of our truest, Creator selves.

            I say this without being able to explain the experience any further, because to get to the Creator within is to go beyond knowledge and explanation. It is to enter the preconditioned realm where newness is ever happening, and nothing but newness, and all that is has never happened before, and because it has never happened before it is ever created, and nothing but new creation ever is, nothing is old, nothing has been, nothing but the newness of what has never been is. To get to the Creator self is to destroy history, and to destroy time. The Creator knows nothing of the past, for there is no past. History is a myth of the created, and time is a lie. But to go beyond history and time means to destroy your created self, because your created self is composed of history and time. And so to destroy the lie of time and history is to become the Creator of a never ending newness which is the world but does not belong to the world, for newness belongs nowhere. To get to the Creator self means to die eternally so that you can give birth eternally. This is the beginning which never ends, for there is no end, there is only an eternal beginning, and because of this everything has just begun, and therefore there is no cause nor effect nor karma nor rules. There is only that which has never happened before.

            Newness evaporates all things. Newness destroys. Newness creates. Newness is. And that is all, and nothing more can be said of it.[vi]

            In the creator self there is no ‘one’ truth, no one way to live, no one rule, there is only the ever-new living now, and our ever-new recognition, response, and re-creation in it.

            Newness is the ever-occurring orgasm of life. This universe began with an orgasm, continues due to orgasm, and perhaps will end in an orgasm. After all, though the word climax denotes an end, it is this end that is also a beginning; climax leads to birth. So perhaps the beginning of this world, this plane, this realm, this life, began with the climactic orgasm of creation which heralded also its end. Perhaps all of this has been simply the inexorable fallout of the beginning which began the end.

            If this is the case, no doubt the unavoidability of the end which is the beginning is the impetus which causes us to seek the beginningless, so as to not be bound into the conditioned creation which will inevitably end only because it began. Yin and yang, so to speak.

            To arrive at newness is to go beyond beginning and end, for that which begins is already over, whereas newness is an eternal now.

            To become that which has neither beginning nor end is to become an immortal, self-substantial, conscious eternity.

            Embalmed in the immaculate newness of all that is, my soror and I left our apartment and took a walk along the canals to one of our favorite vantage points. Along the way, amidst the newness of what had never happened before, we fell into a fit a laughter the likes of which could heal the worst woe of anyone suffering from a past that has never happened.

            I mean we laughed the eternal laugh. We laughed and wept from laughing. We walked and laughed. We stumbled and laughed. We stopped from an inability to stumble, and we laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

            I have heard it said before that laughter is the best medicine, and I can finally confirm this illustrious observation. There is no sickness or sin that can survive an Armageddon of this type of laughter. There is no chance. There is no sorrow or pain that can withstand this level of cosmic laughter. It is impossible. They are mutually exclusive. A laughter like we laughed brings an end to everything that is not laughter. Everything else is destroyed in the bonfire of irrepressible mirth. I understand how the myth of history and the lie of time are laid bare and then vanish altogether through an onslaught of inextinguishable bliss. And I know how the myth of history and the lie of time begin re-assembling themselves as soon as we stop laughing, and then fall into the false drama where worry and sorrow begin to take root and then choke out the light of laughter altogether.

            And so all of life becomes a battle of perspectives, nothing more: to be lugubrious, or to laugh. There is no war in heaven nor on earth that is not fought on this battleground alone, though few of us, if any, know this. Imagine, if you will, armies of men attempting to attack each other while falling down in uproarious fits of laughter. War would be impossible. I hope you see my point, and do not assume I am merely being facetious. Oh no. When the universe comes again to one of its pivotal climaxes, the battle will not be fought between two external enemies, clashing in bloodshed and rage, instead it will take place on a subtle, cosmic soul level. And those who fight the good fight within themselves will be the only true victors. They will leave the battlefield of the myth of history and the lie of time. And they will be laughing. 


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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