West Coast Kamasutra : the art of living and loving
An account of the the sensual life on the west coast, the art of the modern kamasutra,
by British Columbia author Jack Haas.
A book excerpt from the Iconoclast Press online library.
Oh, to be sure, life was no torture chamber, and there was always a bevy of young strumpets flitting about in my wayward existence. The Vancouver area, in fact, is a romantic foolís playground- what with the surfeit of idyllic hot springs, out-of-the-way cabins, choice little valleys and alpine meadows, and the earthís ever-present sex scent to get the juices flowing. For the lonely hound there were always enough uninhibited, bright, and talented wood nymphs roaming about who were often more than pleased to tangle in the pleasures of the flesh just for the freedom and joy of it.
The city seemed to attract these fresh, adventurous, west-coast vixens who just loved to coax you down to the sea with their clothes off, splash about, and then share a bed under the starry sky.
And to be sure, there is nothing like coupling with a most willing, sensual, free-spirited woman, on the wild coast, under the greatest cedars the earth has ever produced, amongst all the glory of mother natureís finest. The two go hand in hand. For in the heart of every woman, just as in every man, is the unquenchable love of being naked with the earth.
The Gods tossed us out of Eden, but they couldnít toss Eden out of us. Itís as simple as that. At the center of every human being is the desire- the need- to be unclothed and frolicking, untamed through the untamed wilds with desire and passion in their souls.
This understanding was well hidden from me in the puritanical denials of the east where I grew up. But not on the coast. It must be the salt air that loosens up the loins and sets us free to enjoy the more rudimentary pleasures.
I remember driving out to Bamfield, on the west coast of Vancouver Island, with three young women one summer, then hiking out along Barkley Sound until we arrived at the beach where we planned to camp. I had not even time to put my pack down before not one of them had a stitch of clothing left on and they were suddenly splashing and swimming about and then taking photos of each other and I was watching the whole innocent burlesque show in disbelief.
It was a similar experience the first time I went with a couple of buddies and a car load of women to one of the many geothermal pools which dot the coast, and I was joyously astounded to see how they, like we, couldnít wait to get to the tubs, strip down, and prance about in natural glee.
I must have been cornered as a youngster by a demented Calvinist or something, because I had no clue that this kind of thing went on. But soon enough I had assimilated this delight into my working reality, and it was a solid fact that if you took a bottle of wine and one or more of the hussies out into the wilderness, all of the sudden you were Krishna with the gopis and the pastures were limitless.
To take your lover from behind, doggy-style, on a big, flat rock overlooking the sea, is to inscribe the Kamasutra on the trade winds, and send your liberating incontinence across the entire frigid land.
I was gaining some notoriety with my colleagues at work who saw my occasional parleyances into the vulvic playground, which caused them to gossip a little flame into a wildfire of licentiousness. Little did they know that I spent most of my time alone, staring off away from the fleshy forum and its contextual limitations. Little did they know how nothing in my seemingly free-spirited and bountiful life had sufficed to quench even a fragment of the eructating miasma welling up within me. Little did they know that I was riding on a conveyor belt through a chasm whose walls were a thousand feet high, and within which, as I was going along, I would come irregularly upon one of these delightful female companions for a brief encounter, only to find that they were not on the same conveyor belt as myself, and I couldnít get off of mine, though I tried desperately often enough. And so the tryst or friendship would soon become a memory full of longing and loss as I watched one after the other drift away and out of sight while I turned another bend in my unassailable canyon.
(excerpted from In and Of: memoirs of a mystic journey, 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.