My entire life I’ve been surrounded by the stories of The Mystic. My mother introduced me to tales of people who embodied spiritual unity beyond what is known or understood. These individuals encapsulated a certain kind of real-world magic for me. A magic, I desperately wanted to understand and needed in my life. As a writer of fiction and fantasy today, I often create supporting characters in this image.

Through my research, I’ve often speculated that the capacity to touch the transcendental, if scrutinized enough, could be explained by logic and science. But it wasn’t until I started writing as an adult and began reading the works of other talented, pervasive, and prolific writers that this distant concept from my childhood and the tales of the numinous reemerged.

Had I indeed uncovered a certain faction of real to life individuals with otherworldly abilities on the everyday pages of books?

In their stories of human trials and tribulation, where the past meets the present and our realities manifest themselves in our imagination. Theirs are the stories with the power to alter ways of thinking. Stories that reach into the physical space of the brain and catapult us into metaphysical realms of possibility. I have to hold on to hope that these authors might be the newly emboldened heroes of triggered realities in the face of challenging times. The modern mystics who reach forward and back to help us glean the wisdom of the ancients. Those whose words move on the page with unity to transcend all human experience and history. To me, they are the modern mystics.

I have often wondered if even the practice of writing or any other act of creation verges on the fringes of this mysticism. In the same way, those who practice meditation might experience a certain ecstasy and euphoric assembly. Could the simple act of creating something out of nothing be as close to the absolute as we can come? For me the answer is clear. By definition, the mystic serves through contemplation and self-surrender. Writing and sharing ideas can lead us to this kind of sacred space.

“Oh, nature’s noblest gift, my grey goose quill, Slave of my thoughts, obedient to my will, torn from the parent bird to form a pen, That mighty instrument of little men.”

~ Lord Byron

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