Mystics Unmasked – Part 2.

THE STORY – Tapping into your inner mystic, and feeling into the full embodiment of who they are.

With THE STORY I’m sharing words from my soul, stories from my life, and the myth of my experience. Today I am sharing another contemplation about unmasking as a mystic and what it means to live fully embodied mystic-ness.

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Unmasking as a mystic – it almost has a romantic undertone to it when I feel into the idea. Tapping into my unmasked, mystic self, I sense a deeply grounded woman. A gentle smile is playing on her face. She knows who she is, and she is devoted to staying true to the very core within her body, spirit and mind. It’s a point where her whole being seems to unify: the essence of her, where her truest beliefs about life, her wisdom collected over lifetimes, and her deep, divine inner knowing meet. Nothing remains hidden from this core essence, and nothing is left to veil and hide it from the world. There is no pushing outwards, no active throwing of her mystic-ness at her surroundings, but just pure being. It is what it is. She is who she is. And it feels marvellously beautiful, peaceful, liberated.

I take a breath and land back in the here and now. How I love this vision of my unmasked, mystic self – I am not there yet, by all means, but I can sense the potential of the day when this has become my reality. It doesn’t feel like the kind of transformation that will hit me from one day to the next, but rather a slow, consistent path of building up to it. A path that has been years in the making, and that will take years to complete – many more years, maybe. And I am okay with that.

I lean back and contemplate my life. I look at all the nooks and crannies where hiding hides, where veiling veils itself, where forgetting lies forgotten in the gutters of the past. Sometimes I doubt my mystic identity, sometimes dark thoughts creep in, trying to tell me that the sensitivities, the seeing, the feeling, the sensing, are just distractions, illusions even, to divert my attention from what’s raw and real: life as it needs to be lived, the way society prescribes it in unspoken words and unwritten rules.

Those thoughts can become very loud during times when “normality” as it is portrayed in our culture sneaks up on me like a wild beast, and I can’t seem to comprehend it, let alone play along with it. That’s when I sense the masks coming online, when I desperately try to build a thicker skin, a clearer image of myself as a “normal” person – no mystic, and, God forbid, no autistic.

But from deep inside my body and spirit, the lies are burning holes into the masks, and the true, mystic me will seep out like lava. I cannot contain the mystic volcano inside, and if I try, it will erupt.

I am learning that the mystic inside is not one to keep in a cave. It’s not to be kept hidden from the world, because if I try, it will find a way out, always. If I try to push it under the water, it will burst forth like bubbles of air, always seeking the surface. I cannot hide the mystic in me, because the mystic is me. When I am hiding it, I am hiding myself.

But what does that mean for everyday life?

I’m thinking of times in my life when masking sneaks in big time. Times when my in-laws stay with us for a few days, for example. Where is the mystic in me when they’re here?

I struggle to show her to those who have only known rational, “as-normal-as-it-gets” me. I find it hard, still, to keep her on the surface when those I meet have never been faced with her, and think of me of a different person. And yet, when she shows herself.

She’s visible in the books on my bookshelves, blatantly obvious in my paintings on the walls. She whispers through the candles and incense sticks, the tarot decks and rune cards, and I am worried that her deep, wild-wisdom self might be misrepresented by what – on the outside – might look like standard, hyped up, eye-rolling New Age cliches.

I remember the vision I had, of the fully embodied mystic in me. I wonder, how would she approach meeting her in-laws?

I think she would just be herself.

She wouldn’t hide her opinions, and she would be bold enough to voice her truths when the time is right and the moment suits. She wouldn’t sit in silence, agree to whatever is said, and swallow down the regret over covering up her true beliefs.

She wouldn’t feel unsure about, or ashamed even, over the dozens and dozens of mystic books on her shelves, and she’d openly share about their wisdom, were someone to ask.

She might even leave the book she has written on the table, not hide it away, but gently encourage her visitors to take a look.

She wouldn’t judge others based on her beliefs about their openness to the mystery, and instead she would allow them the space to explore, be curious, and find out more, if they so wish.

I sink back into the vision, soak it up. She, the embodied mystic, she already lives in my cells. Yes, she is overshadowed by fear at times, and the fullness of her light has not yet reached all areas of my life – but her energy spreads throughout my existence, day after day, and I become more of her, merge with her, and come closer to the mystic I truly am at heart, moment after moment.

What a beautiful paradox this is: the fully embodied mystic is always there, always lives within us, from the moment we were born – and yet we need to go on a journey to find her again...

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