Lava flow, Kilauea, Big Island, Hawaii :
unique spiritual experiences at the lava flow
"...marrying the Great Father and Great Mother within me would come, if ever it did, on my first visit to the sight of manifest creation itself- which is to say, at the pulsating, seminal, amniotic lava flow of Mt. Kilauea, Big Island, Hawaii.
I was taken out to the flow by two very large, very unique, and very gay men who I had been hanging out with for a number of weeks by then.
One of them claimed to have re-incarnated on earth so as to endure the trials required in order to receive his next promotion in the cosmic hierarchy- archangel status. This fellow was an eclectically brilliant sort, who at one time had entered into a sublime career for the spirit, in which he was requested to undertake a number of earth-energy related activities, including flying all over the United States one autumn to specific high energy areas, and, standing at the intersection of clogged Ley lines- the Earthís invisible energy meridians- he would empty himself completely and become a conduit for the energy required to repair the flow between them. He was an immensely entertaining, knowledgeable, generous and yet untrustworthy bloke: entertaining because he was full of ancient lore, mythical anecdotes, and new age theories, and was ever spouting these forth in effusive, theatrical joy, eloquently proffering all the fringe ideas which populate the esoteric world; knowledgeable because he seemed to know not only a little bit about everything, but a lot about most things, and therefore could draw laterally upon a multifarious contingent of oblique paradigms, and occasionally bring forth a juxtaposition which greatly impressed me; generous because he had fed and housed me for over a month when my poverty had become extreme, and had given me a haven when I needed it most; untrustworthy because he was forever seeking something behind his words, forever poisoned with the remaining fragments of his false ego, which made a mess of his genius, and forever utilizing his spiritual powers in hidden and devious ways, and therefore was a hypocrite who said one thing but meant something else, which is the last thing an archangel should be, since the first piece of knowledge such a being ought to arrive upon this earth with is the absolute realization that everything is clear in the sight of heaven. Everything. And therefore all thoughts contrary to speech are exposed to the hosts above. And the angels on high laugh with scorn and no pity when words come out of us which do not match with what is in our minds.
No matter. I saw his bad side and appreciated his good, and was better off in the end for his company.
The other fellow with us contended to have been, among other things, a Hawaiian holy man- a Kahuna- in one of his last lives. He had a great many spiritual talents, or so he said, including being able to diagnose a personís faulty Ďtrimeridianí, which, according to him, was some such invisible organ in the subtle body responsible for, among other things, keeping a personís body temperature homeostatic. He also claimed to be somewhat of a psychic, crystal worker, massage therapist, and spiritual guide. He was a good lad, whom I enjoyed spending time with, though I paid little attention to his blithering, until one time when we were on the west side of the Big Island, and he was trying to convince me that I should be baptized in the ocean waters of a Hawaiian holy site which we were visiting. I told him that it was unnecessary, because I had already been baptized, to which he put up an argument, and was seemingly trying to guilt me out of myself, and so I turned viciously upon him and related, in not so soft terms, how he had no clue about what he was saying, because the baptism which Christ brings is a bludgeoning, and that he ought to stop prattling on with that pathetic chortle about how pretty everything became once you had been dipped in the sauce, because it wasnít the case at all, for when the Man comes after you, He comes so as to destroy you, and it is not an enjoyable event, and if you think it is then you merely betray your own ignorance. I gave it to him, and good.
Anyway, I still enjoyed his company as well, and had some truly remarkable times with both of them, even if they were simply megalomaniacs with outlandish and grandiose visions of their all too humble predicament of being human.
And so the three of us headed out late one afternoon, towards the lava flow, arriving from the little-touristed east approach, where we pounded a four-wheel-drive vehicle over the remains of roads devastated by Peleís last assault on mankindís feeble constructions- the Kalapana flow of í91- then onto an area of rough lava tracks made of softball sized chunks of the old Lady. Finally we had to park the vehicle and begin on foot, scrambling towards the shimmering wasteland where the living river of molten rock might be found.
We were out there about an hour and yet had found nothing except an endless field of dried lava. The sun was getting low in the sky, and it seemed our sojourn would come up impotent. And by that I mean that my initiation would not come to fruition, for, as one of my incarnate guides had stated- this was Ďmy tripí, meaning it was my dance with the Mother, my chance to make connection, or not.
As the three of us stood there, deep into the heart of the solidified lava field, watching the sky darken, I was beginning to feel the sense of a failed project, of ships passing in the night, so to speak. And so I sat down, closed my eyes, and tried to make a connection with Her.
Well, it wasnít long before I realized that I wasnít going to make the connection, because I wasnít hearing or feeling anything within, and I could not pretend something was there when it wasnít. I was about to give up, call off the exercise, and begin the long march back, like one of Napoleonís officers stumbling haplessly across Siberia after the loss. But then a thought suddenly came to me- or was given to me- which was that the Mother needed me to participate, that I was necessary, and that my will was a part of our connection. And so I entered into stillness and humbly asked Her, if She was willing, to please create a flow about one-hundred yards out ahead of us. And that was that, and I got up and stated to one of my otherworldly chums that if the flow were to happen, it might be out ahead of us about one-hundred yards or so. Admittedly, I was full of uncertainty still. But at that very moment a light sprinkle of rain began to fall, and a brilliant rainbow appeared in the sky just behind us- the Fatherís covenant with me- and I let out a cheer I donít know why other than I knew then that I had been heard. And damn if you wouldnít believe it, but by the time we had walked approximately a hundred yards or so out in the direction towards which I had made my request, a small flow had begun bubbling up through the cracks of older lava, and widening out, oozing like dark, viscous lymph from the nipple of a prone woman. She had heard me, and had answered. And the Father, the Mother, and I were one.
Into that river of glowing liquid rock I spontaneously threw, as an offering, the straw hat I had been wearing for the last month, as I had nothing else materially to give than that hat, and nothing else immaterially to give than my identity- which the hat represented- and though I have said that Pele mostly desires cigarettes and gin as gifts, I gave all that I had to give, and, either way, when such a convergence happens, and you are a living part of a world so confounding, indisputable, and intimate, one which has run you through the mill for so long that the only thing you have left to offer is your individual identity, well- you do it, because you realize that there is no such thing as separation anyway, and therefore you only give away the illusion of your difference from the rest of life, of the universe, and of God, because the Son comes from the Mother and Father, and because you are unequivocally in and of the all, for which you are now a part that is not apart, and so cannot but scream out a glory and hallelujah by throwing yourself into the tumble and so giving back all you have been given.
The macrocosmic marriage takes place when the sacred androgyne, the Christ, is pulled between the Father and Mother- belonging to both- to such a degree that the individual dissolves as the bridge between them, and the cosmic unity is won. Is One.
When finally we are embraced by both the earth and the sky, at the very same time, we become the living interface, the writhing membrane where the eternal orgy between the opposed but not separate forces of the Mother and Father- the yin and the yang- intermingle, and the Great Parents make love, and we are their orgasm creating the world."
Books by Jack Haas
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