This! Gah. It is it painfully burned into my heart’s memory the first (and absolutely not the last) experience of sharing what was my reality, and having a deer-in-the-headlights response from the listener. Oh, the vows of silence I took, the locking away, the refusing to step through the veil. And not just in response to human rejection, but because there is no governor to control which side of the supernatural you are privy to experience at any given time.
All these years later I fear I have forgotten the language of that place, forgotten its smells and sounds, although I have found shadows of it in each of my children; and now I am desperately teaching them to be still, to allow awe to move them, to deeply wonder, and to not need the mystery explained away.
There was a moment of repentance, where I asked the Keeper of the lock to reopen the door to that Other Place. But I am still wary of speaking too freely of what I see and hear. I am rusty, to put it lightly. My heart feels hard and crusty with disappointment and disillusionment at the world I traded His for. And that coldness keeps me from finding Him in everything. But there is nothing else worth seeking. I have been ruined for His beauty alone.
I love the poem, “We Need To Teach The Children The Old Words,” by Caroline Mellor. It reminds me of the way I see the world, if I would just lift my eyes up and LOOK.
Thank you for being brave. It is terrifying to risk being sent away. But I suppose if you were sent away, you find your brothers and sisters had been sent off to the same, lonely place, and I suppose none of us would be very lonely in the end.
I too am afraid of using the title. It seems to set me apart, so I hide it. One thing I’ve noticed is that I just have a sense for spiritual ideas, and when I read say, Rohr, I’m confirmed ..”I knew It!”
Thank you for being brave. It resonates with my deepest self. I remember the girl long ago that encountered that magical space; I remember putting her away when I realized I was "weird".
In recent years I've had encounters that send me to another place, the thin place, and sometimes there aren't even words for it. When I do have words and communicate the absolute real-ness of it to someone, I'm met with THAT look -- "this isn't normal, and I don't know what to do with it".
I have been reading my own trail of mystics. Mirabai Star has several books, Thomas Merton, Rilke, Teresa of Avila, and others.
I look forward to what you will share in the future. 🌱
You scared me for a moment until I saw Footnote 2 where you presented your definition of "mystic". :-) I think the 'street' definition carries with it a connotation of other gods or wiccan-ish inclinations, so I was very interested in seeing how you navigated that. I like "Stillist", if we must put a word to it - one who can keenly and intentionally follow Psalms 46:10, "Be still and know that I am God." - hearing the rocks cry out by being in perfect tune with their Creator, all the while still mindful that it's not about the rocks. Great thoughts, my friend. I always look forward to your insights!
This is the heart of our resonance, Michael. It means a lot that you would share it! I'll suggest an author named James Carse. His books, Breakfast at the Victory and Finite and Infinite Games, have been excellent for me along my mystic road.
The Carse recommendation came to me about 10 years ago through a conversation with Cynthia Bourgeault. I’d suggest starting with Breakfast at the Victory (a memoir through the lens of a mystic philosopher).
This! Gah. It is it painfully burned into my heart’s memory the first (and absolutely not the last) experience of sharing what was my reality, and having a deer-in-the-headlights response from the listener. Oh, the vows of silence I took, the locking away, the refusing to step through the veil. And not just in response to human rejection, but because there is no governor to control which side of the supernatural you are privy to experience at any given time.
All these years later I fear I have forgotten the language of that place, forgotten its smells and sounds, although I have found shadows of it in each of my children; and now I am desperately teaching them to be still, to allow awe to move them, to deeply wonder, and to not need the mystery explained away.
There was a moment of repentance, where I asked the Keeper of the lock to reopen the door to that Other Place. But I am still wary of speaking too freely of what I see and hear. I am rusty, to put it lightly. My heart feels hard and crusty with disappointment and disillusionment at the world I traded His for. And that coldness keeps me from finding Him in everything. But there is nothing else worth seeking. I have been ruined for His beauty alone.
I love the poem, “We Need To Teach The Children The Old Words,” by Caroline Mellor. It reminds me of the way I see the world, if I would just lift my eyes up and LOOK.
Thank you for being brave. It is terrifying to risk being sent away. But I suppose if you were sent away, you find your brothers and sisters had been sent off to the same, lonely place, and I suppose none of us would be very lonely in the end.
Dear God, this is so beautiful Rachelle. Thank you so much for sharing. Your children are lucky and blessed to have you.
Thank you
I too am afraid of using the title. It seems to set me apart, so I hide it. One thing I’ve noticed is that I just have a sense for spiritual ideas, and when I read say, Rohr, I’m confirmed ..”I knew It!”
Thanks for this post and courage!
Totally relate to those “I knew it!” moments. I think maybe it’s the world that’s nuts and not us, yeah? 😊
Thank you for being brave. It resonates with my deepest self. I remember the girl long ago that encountered that magical space; I remember putting her away when I realized I was "weird".
In recent years I've had encounters that send me to another place, the thin place, and sometimes there aren't even words for it. When I do have words and communicate the absolute real-ness of it to someone, I'm met with THAT look -- "this isn't normal, and I don't know what to do with it".
I have been reading my own trail of mystics. Mirabai Star has several books, Thomas Merton, Rilke, Teresa of Avila, and others.
I look forward to what you will share in the future. 🌱
Thanks, Teresa. Yes, the realness. It’s beyond words. It’s the material world that has always seemed less real to me in comparison.
Teresa of Avila has been a great help to me as well, along with St. John of the Cross, and Julian of Norwich.
I’ve got Mirabai Star on my list, and look forward to reading her.
You scared me for a moment until I saw Footnote 2 where you presented your definition of "mystic". :-) I think the 'street' definition carries with it a connotation of other gods or wiccan-ish inclinations, so I was very interested in seeing how you navigated that. I like "Stillist", if we must put a word to it - one who can keenly and intentionally follow Psalms 46:10, "Be still and know that I am God." - hearing the rocks cry out by being in perfect tune with their Creator, all the while still mindful that it's not about the rocks. Great thoughts, my friend. I always look forward to your insights!
It is always my ambition to scare you a little bit, Kevin. :)
No doubt in my mind about that, and I appreciate it, Sir. 😂
Love you man.
This is the heart of our resonance, Michael. It means a lot that you would share it! I'll suggest an author named James Carse. His books, Breakfast at the Victory and Finite and Infinite Games, have been excellent for me along my mystic road.
Yes, Ryan, agreed. Thanks for the Carse recommendation. I've not heard of him, and look very forward to checking him out!
The Carse recommendation came to me about 10 years ago through a conversation with Cynthia Bourgeault. I’d suggest starting with Breakfast at the Victory (a memoir through the lens of a mystic philosopher).
I'll do that. Thanks!