The following excerpt comes from IN AND OF, by Jack Haas.
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There is a nude beach on the Big Island of Hawaii where the spirit runs as thick as magma, and all archetypes of the human drama are represented by those who are called to frequent this beautiful and secluded locale. It is one of those rare places on earth which has not yet been quarantined nor corrupted by the ever fearful bourgeois rabble and their henchmen. It is a place where lawlessness gives way to freedom, nature gives way to nudity, and euphoria gives way to song. It is a place with aspects of Valhalla, Avalon, and Eden, all intermixed and resonant in the confluence. It is a place where a garment of flesh is the norm, drumming circles are regular occurrences, laughter and awe are the order of the day, and nature is the church within which the congregation holds communion.It is a community of a handful of regulars, and a neverending succession of traveler's, transients, and tourists. And yet no matter what the mix of characters on any given day, the feeling is always the same: harmony.
I have seen almost every spiritual archetype- which I have come to recognize- make an appearance on this particular black-sand stage at one time or another, for it, like similarly chosen spots, is a spiritual vortex where God's own soup of souls is mixed to a particular taste on any given day.
It is also an area of incredible beauty, and oceanic delight, where I have had the privilege to snorkel naked with wild dolphins on a few occasions, an event which I can only compare to the float-flying feeling I have experienced in dreams, during periods in my life when my spirit lightened and drifted gently up and out of context.
To be out in the deep blue, warm-as-blood water, unclothed, and to be slowly meandering under the waves, in the weightless and timeless calm, amongst a graceful and carefree school of dolphins, is to return to a part of ourselves which is ever living just below the crashing surf of life, and agonizing to finally fly free.
The dolphins themselves must sense the calm on that uncommon beach, for they happen by it quite regularly, often lunging out of the waves in acrobatic somersaults and flips as if trying to express or release the explosive joy of simply being alive.
It is a joy which lives in all of us, but is so quickly obliterated by care and strife, though I believe this inherent mirth can be resurrected in a moment by anyone who up and tosses their oppressive worries aside.
…Indeed, it is the pulse of life, and not the understanding which counts. It is how we wake, and walk, and hug each other.
For to truly 'be', is to be life's orgasm, to fertilize novel happenings onto the universe, which is the erotic intimacy of life begetting life, of mystery making mystery; it is to swell and be consumed by the infinity of possibilities, of the unendurable stimulations of new nowness, of the spasmodic, quivering ejaculations of life gyrating forward into what it is and never has been.
Life is this dynamic conception into manifold wombs, through which we burst forth uncontrollably, dizzy into moments creating moments, spending our seed about like a ubiquitous colander over the world. We are these orgasmic moments tossed and piled upon one another into a wriggling, insane heap of becoming.
We do not evaporate, we sizzle, burning hot and sudden, like comets breaking up into the atmosphere, feverishly dazzled by their own incineration. And so our lives become glorious sparks vanishing as quickly as they are born, and we are the fluid movements through forgotten experiences, purged so as to let other novelties appear, for we are created to continually create, and the only rule of the game is that there aren't any. ...
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