Names and places along life's journey, a chronic filibuster of the spirit

***

These are the words of an historical being only, they are no longer mine. I have proceeded out from that gnarled mess of dark, manifest complexity, back into the glow of the unmanifest One. But that is not really it either. Both sides are an insurmountable heap of confusion, and nothing more. Believe me. It's impossible to describe. Bloody impossible.

The names and places of our journey are as important as the individuals residing in them, and yet the context which I choose not to bring to this story would merely be a backdrop to the eternal drama underway. It is the Great Play of life, in which we may all choose a role, that really matters; whether it be as puppet, prop, actor, spectator, or muse. The characters are important only in so far as they lend flow and color to the story, they are nothing in themselves.

So consider me then, within and without context: a lost hero, or found fool, dressed in another's soiled rags, wildly drunk and yet perfectly sober, blindly jabbering out this vain prattle, rapt in a somber soliloquy amidst the epic journey through the mystic flesh, and whimsically determined to describe my most recent part in the endless Play.

There is no narrative to my story, as I said, only a voice liberated from the song; only a mute spirit in the chronic filibuster of the infinite soul.

In fact, I am not even speaking. Everything is inside. You are also there. I am the absence of thought. You are the ear which creates me.

You need me only because you need yourself- because I awoke before you in your dream, so as to then awaken you; because I am in you, and of you.

I need you because I am you. So you see where we are at then.

But allow me to backpeddle once again so as to fill in the yawning abysses of this artless unfable.

Rounding a corner in the hopeless race, I suddenly  stopped and lied down in the middle of the run. I went through no finish, and received no reward. I simply stopped. I came to the end of my soul's desecration, and was born from the remains of what never was me.

Oh, perhaps I am going off a bit, lost in the verbose, dark incantations of our imperishable emptiness. Perhaps not. Bear with me though, won't you- bare with me? It will all come full circle soon enough. But not until then. Not a chance. First we must live full in the full darkness, or we shall never appreciate the light.

***

These fragments and quotes are taken from the unpublished writings of Jack Haas, selected from the notebooks 1990-2005.