Mystery, identity, spirit, a wet dream, sun and moon, and an illusion

***

There was nothing but mystery plunged into vast intimate strangeness.

Identity is the cause of death.

Some of us are not here to do, some of us are here to undo.

The spirit wakes not up in the flesh, but AS the flesh.

The world fulfilled me just enough that I did not effectively long for that which might irrevocably suffice; I was fulfilled to the point where I could never be fulfilled. Just a lost being, mistaking the hungers of the self for that which could not please it. Ah, the world of false euphorias left me distastefully empty; like a wet dream- like fucking an illusion.

'Want' is what invents our being, and 'want' is what destroys it.

Brother of the sun, sister to the moon, bring us back to nowhere.

(Celebrate with capacious minds this fervent proposition.)

We are now matter, and myth, and spirit. The fabric is woven complete. Nothing is different. We have come to be One.

Come where the finished spirits go.

It is not considered a dream until one wakes up.

***

These fragments are taken from unpublished writings by Jack Haas, selected from the notebooks 1990-2005.