Autobiography, to be born onto this earth, spirit, and becoming no thing

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AUTOBIOGRAPHY

I was born onto this earth like all others. I grew up under their coarse tutelage, doing this or that or whatever, all the while struggling, cursing, wondering, and the like.

I flailed chronically, with the intransigent passion of a caught spirit fighting to get away. But in the end I saw no progression. I remained inexplicably apart, from that which I could not comprehend. Whatever it was it still is, whatever it was not it still ain't; I had grasped for the possible only because it was possible, not because it was more buoyant than me. I had tried so desperately to understand, that I forgot how to care for the wonderfulness of being.

To return to the world means only having to die all over again. I gave up struggling and chose to drown because there was no possible solace, and no reprieve. When you come apart at the seams, you realize you were nothing but a worn-out garment anyway.

I had been clinging to what was falling faster than me, and when I finally let go, I felt ...as if I could fly.

Oh, how I had been held down by things and ideas, but I became lighter as I became no thing. Shimmering in waves of spirit, resonating at a different frequency than being, I detached into heart, or consciousness, or what have you; god-blessed and blubbering, bobbing haplessly about, I was buoyed up by the sluggish density ...of all that is.

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These selected fragments are excerpted from unpublished writings by Jack Haas; selections from the notebooks 1990-2005.