something more

I think that deep down in our souls, all of us are probably aware that some kind of mystical evolution is our true task here. But, in my mind, we don’t talk about the mystical experiences we have enough.

I suppose we feel it’s a little too “woo-woo.” It definitely grates against a rationalist view of the world. Or maybe we don’t admit the notion of the mystical in our lives because to admit it would be to admit that most of life – our political beliefs, religious dogmas, social ambitions, and relentless pursuit of material things – are not only counter-productive, but they’re actually pretty trivial.

I’m saying all of this because I recently had a kind of mystical experience. An other-worldly, beyond time and space kind of thing. An awakening, a faith experience, a ‘woo-woo’ few minutes, or whatever you want to call it – that happened as part of a guided intuitive energy session. Which is just a different way to access the truths at the centre of yourself.

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. It was about holding on to grief. Which happens to be my super-power.

If I could tell you what truly happened in those few minutes, I would. The short story is that I was mostly somewhere above myself. Watching as I floated under the waves, turquoise waters rolling over head – receiving and repeating messages the whole time. And then, I watched from behind as I sat on stone bench in a garden, next to my own grief. My particular brand of grief looks like a gargoyle, a cold grey thing with veiny wings, except they’re coiled up tight on his back. He can’t use them — because I won’t let him.

In that few minutes, I learned transformative and painful things about the reasons why. I heard and saw flashes of truth that propelled me out of my limited sense of self. It felt mystical in the sense that it took an abstract concept like grief, and how things are divinely given to us, and transformed that into a vivid personal reality that I felt deeply. I won’t look at holding grief the same again because of it.

That’s still kind of a fuzzy explanation, I know, but it’s the best way I can say it.

These experiences – this wasn’t the only one – make it clearer to me all the time that each of us harbours a greater, deeper, richer life inside us than we can ever imagine. But, in a world of facts and data and science, we get so conditioned to only trust what we think we know. More and more, it feels naïve to me to believe that the world is only what it seems. There are dimensions of reality that exist beyond this material plane – and sacred dimensions right inside of us – and sometimes, if you’re ready and the conditions are just right, you’re given a glimpse of it.

I don’t know if that’s mystical. Or miraculous.

All I do know is that life itself is a mystical and tragic thing. It’s so often a journey of fear when it should be a journey of hope. It’s fascinating to look back on your life in a new way and feel as though most of it is a precursor to the rest of it; to what it was always supposed to be. To begin to find a way to love what’s happened to you, because you trust that it’s here to remove a veil.

I don’t know how it all works and I don’t need to know. It’s enough to trust that it does.