Mystic for Life

Original Post January 2023

I took a class called Practical Mysticism through a Science of Mind, or New Thought, church. One of the first questions posed was deceptively simple: What is mysticism?

The dictionary offers a couple of definitions. One describes mysticism as the spiritual apprehension of knowledge that is inaccessible to the intellect, obtained through contemplation and self-surrender. That definition resonates deeply with me. The second describes mysticism as a belief characterized by self-delusion or dreamy confusion, often rooted in assumptions about occult or mysterious forces. That, unfortunately, is the definition many people think of when they hear the word.

The term itself is a bit foggy, much like mist. Mysticism resists sharp edges and precise boundaries. In that way, it’s similar to enlightenment. The more you try to grasp it intellectually, the more it seems to recede. You can orient yourself toward it, but like a rainbow, it always appears to move farther away as you approach. The question then becomes whether mysticism is something one achieves at all. I suspect it is less a destination and more a way of traveling through life. Once you understand that some forms of knowing are absorbed rather than learned, you are already participating in mysticism. That knowledge becomes part of you rather than something you possess.

My teacher described a mystic as someone who seeks union with God, or more broadly, who recognizes an internal interconnection with sacred wholeness. That definition feels like a distillation of my entire life’s pursuit. The desire to experience spiritual connection more deeply and consistently has been the catalyst for my seeking across many traditions, frameworks, and disciplines. Ultimately, I don’t want spiritual insight to be something I visit. I want it to be who I am.

Alongside this class, I picked up Everyday Zen, as we are encouraged to choose a spiritual path to explore more intentionally. For several years, I have resisted identifying with any single religion or practice. My concern has been that exclusive identification can limit perception, closing the door to truths that may arise elsewhere. Still, despite my reluctance to label myself, I’ve been consistently drawn toward Buddhism ever since I began questioning my Christian faith many years ago.

My first real encounter with Buddhist teachings came through A Wise Heart by Jack Kornfield. What struck me immediately was how similar Buddhism and Christianity are at their core. My critique of Christianity has never been about the teachings themselves, but rather about how they are often practiced. The emphasis on exclusivity—the idea that salvation is only accessible through specific beliefs—has always troubled me. If that premise is set aside, Christianity centers on principles that are nearly universal: love your neighbor, practice forgiveness, show compassion, and resist selfishness.

My discomfort arises when people profess belief in Christ while failing to embody Christlike qualities. There is something dangerous about espousing an ideal without living into it. Too often, faith is treated like a transaction rather than a transformation, as though belief alone secures a promised outcome without requiring ongoing inner change. Buddhism, by contrast, does not concern itself with what happens after death. It focuses on how we live now, how we reduce suffering through non-attachment, how we cultivate compassion, presence, and the intention to do no harm in everyday life. Practiced sincerely, Buddhism is not in conflict with Christ’s teachings; it is another path toward becoming Christlike.

Perhaps we would all benefit from setting aside the fear-based narratives about the afterlife and focusing instead on how we treat one another now. Rather than debating who gains entry into an exclusive spiritual destination, we might ask how fully we are living into compassion, non-judgment, and presence. Striving, by its nature, keeps the goal just out of reach. Peace seems to arise not from pursuit, but from surrender—from learning to be rather than trying to arrive.

That, to me, is the path of the mystic. It is not about withdrawal from the world or adherence to mystery for its own sake. It is about allowing deeper knowing to shape how we live, how we relate, and how we love. In that way, mysticism is not impractical at all. It may be the most practical spirituality there is.