Torturous blessings, God, and being drunk and sober

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

page 7

 

Life offers torturous blessings at times. I came to understand this eventually, as I always have, in every life that I have lived, when I was alone in the middle of nowhere, for reasons I cannot remember, drunk or sober, up, down, sideways, or what have you, no matter, but all the useless misery I had witnessed throughout the years came thundering down again upon me, and I lay there between great gobs of tears, begging god to do something, anything, to fix it, by whatever means, because hell was all about me, and I could do nothing. And there I lay broken open to the heavens, growling out beseechment to the sky, for I had, throughout the frantic course of my merciless chastening, seen all I needed to see, thought everything I needed to think, and sacrificed all that I had. And you know what ...God heard me. And you know what else- God could do nothing. (or so it seemed)

So that what that, and I could not imagine how we would make it through. For there and then, without delay, I came instantly to conviction; I was a convict, trapped in the prison of being like all the rest. And to be quite honest (as if there were another option) I wanted only to lie still until it was all over. I did not want to move an inch. For in the somber realization of what I had seen, I felt that there was no way out, that escape was impossible.

I stood there, frozen in the drama, unable to alter the play, and yet somehow fully a player, and the whole complexity came hurling back at me, and suspended as such between disbelief and horror, I could not move. And then I moved.

 

You see, I could do not but rise. And man I rose up like a phoenix scared out of its wings. I rose up, bold and mad from the challenge, the need, the impossibility of it all, and went forth into the dark and the terrible, with nothing but hunger and breath to carry me through.

I rose up not because I wanted to, nor because I knew where I was going, but because there and then, beyond my wildest imaginings, I saw the next, still more horrible vision- I saw that nothing would change unless ...unless I changed it. It was up to me. No one could save me but myself. Indeed it was, as I said, horrible.

I had now realized what I had fought so hard to not realize- that I could depend on no one but myself. And even further, that I was weakened by mere association; that if I, of my own accord and volition, did not step out of the tide of mankind's folly, if I did not look hard inside and find out who I was, and why I was born onto this earth, if I did not with all my might seize this improbable miracle, I was doomed to never be nor know what was intended for me, and I would live and die like I saw other men live and die- in grief and stupidity.

The only one who could save me was myself, and for that a gigantic, relentless effort was needed. I saw this fully. I breathed in, swallowed hard, and quivered only for the briefest of moments at this burdening realization; a single instant of masochistic acceptance and all equivocation vanished; invigorated by the impossibility of our tangled predicament, I grew warm, turned my eyes irrevocably into myself, and without courage or fear fixed hard that stare which would never again blink, nor weary, nor die. Then it was, as my vision focused and my blood grew warm, that for the first time ever in my life ...I took a step forward, for I had chosen to hold and make my own ground, to find and be myself in the hurricane of our ubiquitous confusion. I was on my way.

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

 

 

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