Traveling India: Dharamsala spiritual experience: spiritual healing and music

A book excerpt from the Iconoclast Press online library.

               

                The spirit manifests in groups, as much as in individuals; for just as lone atoms join to become a molecule, and molecules become material, and material creates the manifest, so to the individual is harnessed and fitted into a complex group so as to create a workable and unique molecule with which the spirit proceeds to evolve the universe. And, like the carbon atom- which is the base of all life on earth, because it can be bonded onto by so many other atoms, in many different ways, and can grow into great chains, therefore becoming the common matrix of all that is of this realm- so too, the spirit is bound and woven throughout the full breadth of the cosmos, and is the substratum upon which the entire drama builds and has meaning.

               

 I was in Dharamsala, India, when this observation became crystal clear to me. I had come to the land of exiled Tibetans, and was living there for a month, reading, writing, drinking chai, and watching the dance of lightning play over the Dalai Lama’s residence one evening in the middle of a week-long gathering of monks from all over the world. I expect the molecular conglomeration from their collective souls must have grounded the spirit in such a way that the electric ether could not help but strike that lightning rod of their united beings in a continuous display this one evening, for the display occurred nowhere in the valley except right above the monastery.

                Though it was not that holy gathering, but instead another collection of individuals which, to a much greater extent, sparked my own passion and interest that week- another conglomeration of living human electrons that would end up providing some of my thoughts on the molecular workings of the spirit which I have just attempted to describe.

                I had moved into a bed-bug-ridden hotel, built hanging on a steep ridge on the outskirts of the town, and overlooking the splendid Himalayan valley. What struck me almost the instant I arrived at the hotel was how many of the residents seemed to know each other, and not just like travelers tend to know each other- for a night of impromptu revelry and balderdash, the morning after which a quick goodbye is said and then onto the next meeting somewhere else, with someone else- but in a real, heart-felt, familiar way.

                Later that evening a fair number of these folks had gathered into the room beside mine, and I was serendipitously invited to join what would become one of the most memorable evenings of music, mayhem, and union I had ever been privileged to witness.

                The air was filled that night for hours on end with song and harmony, as this group of rag-tag musicians masterfully jammed a holy litany of ballads, folk tunes, self-written songs, and spontaneous outbursts, as if they had been playing together for years, and had seemingly known each other for their entire lives. Either that, I thought, or they belonged to a commune of some sort, here in the valley. I could not see it any other way, for their music and souls melded and blended together in a union of love, talent, and siblinghood to such an overwhelming degree that, for the first time in my lone and wayward life, I wanted …to belong. It was that magical of a gathering. I was certain that these truly authentic and marvelous characters were members of one type of spiritual organization or another- be it a Buddhist monastery, Hindu ashram, Christian church, or some other esoteric organization- though at that point it did not much matter to me for I was inspired and uplifted in their communal company, and knew very clearly, for the first time in my life, that whatever community of likeminded souls these people belonged to, I was going to join them …the next day. That was how powerful was the gathering of freedom, unity, care, and carelessness that evening.

               

Late into the twilight hours the assembly dispersed, and I went to my room, lay down, fell asleep, and dreamed a dream in which I was told that the folks with whom I had just spent the night, and with whom I had fallen into awe and adoration towards, and was ready the next morning to beg entrance into their tribe- these folks had been gathered together to heal each other. And this had all been orchestrated sublimely, by that carbon molecule of the invisible realm, the spirit. I was impressed, to say the least. And, more importantly, I did not have to enter their cloister, because …I already belonged. Not to this insular group, mind you. No, I was not a part of their molecule. I was a renegade atom, belonging to no specific molecule itself, but being received by all, joining all, and then leaving all. But now this did not matter, for I was a roaming piece of the cosmic whole, flung into the implausible bedlam of a limitless periodic table, created by an intelligence so powerful, so far beyond and ahead of our limited conception, so grand and generous and conscious of each little lost atom, and capable of pulling together fragments from the furthest reaches of the globe, subtly congealing a marvelous molecule in a flee-bitten, filthy, traveler’s hotel, and turning it into the House of God for a night, and willing the souls of all invited to grow in the sublime passion of the invisible world, that I bow down in my station, in my abilities, in my cares and concerns, for the Creator’s glue runs into and through myself and all things, and the river collects its tributaries, and through the rapids, waves, and falls, we are all taken to the infinite sea.

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But how do you describe it any more clearly when this type of experience and observation comes to you? All you can say is that, without any talent, itinerary, or ability of your own, you are always where you’re supposed to be, always guided by thoughts given to you, ever meeting everyone you must meet who has been intentionally directed towards you, and that therefore all people are non-separated expressions of the Creator, that life is much grander and more directed than it is possible to imagine, that the actual is illusion, the illusion is actual, and God is now and everything. That’s all you can say and then you stop trying, you live in the living moment of the emerging manifest, and ...you let It happen.

                In this way everything in life- even the smallest, most trivial experience or action- is in reality a building block, carved by invisible masons, and placed in a way so as to precisely construct the house being built within ourselves.

 

(excerpted from Roots and Wings: adventures of a spirit on earth, by Jack Haas)

 

 

 

 

 

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Books by Jack Haas,

the first author in history to release three five-star books in a single year.

His books include: Autobiography, Memoir, Spirituality, Mysticism, Comparative Religion, Poetry, Art, Photography.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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