Love and lovelessness in the land of Cain

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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When I initially fell to this other world, I did not die but was badly maimed. Broken and lost I remained just another fallen angel, wrecked and unable to fly back to god. I was a reality, but I was not real.

And I realized instantly that I did not belong, that I would never belong, and that ...I was not supposed to belong. For if I belonged, how indeed could I see through the lie, the folly, and the futility of our so called lives. I did not belong, but I belonged for that very reason. It was one hell of a cruel joke, believe me.

I saw quickly then what I was in for- that the stupidities here had gone too far, that lovelessness was the rule of the day, and that even God, weakened from the years of lawlessness, was all but helpless.

You see, as soon as I was spat forth unto this makeshift prison of woe and poison, they got a hold of me, and the inevitable corruption began.

It was in the blood-thirsty land- the land of Cain- into which I was deposited without weapons, knowledge, or crime. Or so it did seem at the start.

Nothing happened but idiocy, let me tell you, it is all a blessed tale idiocy- a great celestial fiasco; as the full moon itself gave light to the rainbow, and the sun cast darkness upon the land, the stars themselves shone mystic anguish in retaliation to the night. There was Sol versus Luna, Luna versus Sol, but never a solution.

The whole desperate mess- of being- was like seeing something obscurely reflected in a rippling sea. But somehow everything was upside down- the sea was on top, and the clarity was hidden below. Above were the ethereal images, below was reality and the all. But that's life- always reflected, always upside down, and always fluid and moving.

It was in this mercurial, amniotic flow that I fell away from everything true. In perilous adhesion to the concupiscence of the day did I swim in the dark and godless depths. Manifold points of separateness deluded me into becoming, and I drowned gleefully in the habit of being, gasping wantonly with lungs which forgot how to effortlessly breathe.

My inward gaze was not yet strong enough to balance the show of the outer (and, take it from me, there is one hell of a show going on out there). 

Caught in the movement, and swept fruitlessly into the vast organic sea of human misery, I was in endless pain, the pain of one who belongs nowhere, because the plague of mankind was everywhere, and spreading, piling up shit upon shit, until there was no where to walk without being soiled, nowhere to run without being chased, and nowhere to sing without being caged.

Everything I had ever learned from others was a malicious lie, or, at best, a cowardly negligence burying the miracle of life with every word, burying the spirit and soul with cowardly pith and bile.

I forgive others their blindness, but I curse them for having no strength, no love, no humility. Only inertia and death.






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










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