A child of God, a fugitive, a free one

taken from ANARCHY OF SPIRIT: an epistle for ridiculous times,  from early writings by Jack Haas: this is a rare, online book

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                “To be "unhistorical" is the Promethean sin, and in this sense modern man lives in sin. ...He must be proficient in the highest degree, for unless he can atone by creative ability for his break with tradition, he is merely disloyal to the past.” “

                                                Carl Jung



I am a child of god, an outcast, a fugitive, a free one.

I hail from the Tribe of Benjamin, Land of the Living Void, Clan of Nescience, House of the Eagle, Church of the Philadelphians, Bridegroom to Lilith, Guardian of the lower Trinity, Servant to no man.

I have been on this earth for what seems an eternity now, and though I am weary and worn, still I must complete the greater will, and do nothing but, and never stop, for when the fullness of our cosmic complexity falls helplessly into your lap, there is little to do but rise up stoically and follow it.

I followed, like a blind puppy, nursed on the milk of the ether. What I found in the substratum of our dreams was everything we needed, and nothing which we had. The lies of our ancestors had lead us to death, the cries of our souls sprang from god's choked breath.

It was the spiritless fears of society which led to our current destruction. That is why we live in little boxes which block out the light and silence the wind. That is why we live with blind eyes that can hardly see, and with hearts that suffer from feeling. That is what they have done to us.

But when that profundity of our sick and separate lives finally became fully apparent to me, that is when I became ruthless. Ruthless to any who would stand in my way. Ruthless to the mean and pointless vulgarity of the day. Ruthless to the torture, the noise, and the desecration of the soul. I grew instantly upward in my hatred for all lies below.


My primary duty- as it has been explained to me time and time again, by countless, cryptic voices- so as to serve my vision onto this myopic earth- is to be myself, my true self, and only that, completely, and at every moment. Sounds easy, doesn't it? Well, it ain't. Not when you have realized that everything is a lie, and that ...you are a lie. Then the rules have absolutely changed. And man when they change you better change with them, or ...no, I need not tell you what will become of you if you don't, for that would only crush your already atrophying volition too completely.

I, who recover the Rose, time after time, from the tortured depths of the black, strangling hell of Hades- I, who link the archetypical with the actual- I eat only an unknown fruit caught falling naturally from the Tree of Life, and drink only early morning dew found settling in the navels of androgynous, sleeping angels.

My true home is an opulent marble castle by the great waterless sea, wherein, anyone who belongs is given a great house of beauty all their own. For, as it is said, our Father's home has many mansions.

My sword is of quicksilver, my armor of air.

When I breathe the Great Mother inhales me, when I sleep the Great Father dreams on. Strange that. Very strange.






Early writings by Jack Haas: a rare, online book.










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