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Flores Island, Clayoquot Sound :

modern memoirs of a mystic journey

                                                   

                "I recall being out on Flores Island- one of the outer islands populating Clayoquot Sound, on the west side of Vancouver Island- in the early spring. I recall having been driven out there by a greater will than my own, forcing me out and away, to face the loneliness again, because to not face it meant to lose the beauty, the wonder, the message, the dream, and instead to face only the cold stare of concrete and plaster. And so I thumbed and bussed my way out to Tofino, walked down to the government wharf, jumped on a water-taxi destined for the native town of Ahousat, and from there marched for two hours out to the wild coast. There, alone, I spent the next four days, walking up and down the brilliant expanse of untrammeled, driftwood-laden, wind-whipped beach, with the surf crashing, eagles soaring overhead, and not another soul in sight. No one.

                Where was everyone, I wondered? In a place as incredible as this, with a brilliant break in the weather. Why am I the only one out here- one of the most peaceful and beautiful places on earth- where are you my people? my kin? my peers? my fellow wanderers, sisters, brothers, and freedom lovers of any kind, where are you? It was maddening. Everyone else was locked away in comfortable cement mausoleums, under warm duvet blankets, with toast and eggs, coffee and light conversation awaiting them in the morning, and I was out there under the moon, alone, marching up and down that glorious beach, trying to burn the madness of a world gone wrong out of me. ...

                On that specific trip out to Flores it was on day four, alone and walking up and down the desolate, wind-swept beach, in which the bubble finally burst for me. And by that I mean that the haze of society, the clutter of spirits, consciousnesses, and souls mixed within me, and the discord of all my own worldly thinking and ways had at last vanished, and all that remained inside ...was me. I became again a clean and polished vessel staring out from nothing at the deep blue, unvexing sea. I was as if virginal again, and inside of me were my real eyes which had for so long been closed or not allowed yet to see.

                 I am describing this now, though it wasn’t until many years later that I would fully understand why the urge and directive came to me regularly to leave the cosmopolitan refuse heap, to go and be alone for a while in the wilds, and to let the cosmic bowel movement happen through me.

    After the cleansing, when finally I was empty of the chaos and confusion I had been carrying, and could again sense my own spirit within, then I could finally feel the self behind my eyes, could rejoin the subtler rhythm, and somewhere in the hidden vestiges of my soul I could remember what it was like when we were a living part of the earth, and of God- the days of yore when life had been beautiful and without separation nor struggle. ..."

 

Excerpted from IN, AND OF, by Jack Haas           

 

 

 

 

 

 

What the critics have said about Jack Haas' books:

 

"...very strongly recommended reading..." Midwest Book Review

"The Kerouac of the new millennium." Frank Wolf (author of Blind Bay)

"...inspires us to rediscover the mystery of ourselves..." Judine Slaughter (Express Yourself Books)

"...Read in awe." Benjamin Tucker (author of Roadeye)

"...groundbreaking..." Joanne Turner (The Messenger)

"...an embarrassment of riches..." George Fisk (author of A New Sense of Destiny)

"...poetic and stunning..." Nancy Jackson (Dog-Eared Book Reviews)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Books by Jack Haas

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