When I was younger, so much younger than today, I worked for several years managing a bookstore that served a small Episcopal university — including a seminary.1 By that point I had already been working with a spiritual director for several years and took my inner life seriously — at least as serious as any anxiety-ridden 27-year-old can.

One thing was for sure: I loved the writings of the mystics, and relished the opportunity to make sure a bookstore serving a theological seminary kept a generous selection of Christian mystical works in stock.

With that enthusiasm at play, when I met Dr. Robert Giannini, the seminary dean, I made a point of mentioning that I had an amateur love for mysticism, naively thinking that might impress the scholar. But his response what not what I expected.

Twenty years my senior, and no doubt more theologically conservative than I was, he wanted to make sure I knew what I was talking about — and he knew what he was dealing with. So he asked a simple question:

“Do you mean mysticism in the Evelyn Underhill sense, or mysticism in the Shirley Maclaine sense?”

If you are too young to remember the 1980s, let me explain. Actress Shirley MacLaine wrote a string of popular books about new age spirituality, beginning with her 1984 memoir, Out on a Limb. By the time I met Dr. Giannini, she had produced a television mini-series that explored her interest in such things as crystals, channeling, and reincarnation — topics that typically were not on the menu in most mainstream churches.

By contrast, Evelyn Underhill was noted for her advocacy of contemplative prayer, the wisdom teachings of the Christian mystics, and conformity to mainstream Christian doctrine. Communicating with spirits or using divination tools were not part of her approach to mysticism.

I was surprised by the dean’s question, but as I said, I was also a bit naive. It had never occurred to me that new agers might describe themselves as mystics or students of mysticism (yes, I eventually did discover this for myself). Nevertheless, I did not hesitate to answer his question, “Well, Underhill, of course!” He smiled, and we went on to talk about our shared interest in the Anglican laywoman and her writings. It was the start of a cordial if formal relationship that lasted until he left the seminary three years later.

The Two Faces of Christian Mysticism

I tell the story of my encounter with the seminary dean to illustrate something that I have pondered for many years now: and that’s how the word mysticism gets applied to a variety of spiritual practices, beliefs and perspectives.

Nobody as best I can tell will ever accuse Shirley Maclaine of being a Christian mystic. It seems to me that she is firmly grounded in the “spiritual but not religious” world. I say this without judgment or shame, just trying to be clear: and to set the stage for the main point of this article.

Which is this: over the years I have come to recognize that even within the Christian tradition, mysticism seems to be a word that can be broadly applied to two different ways of approaching spirituality and the inner life.

The dean asked me if my understanding of mysticism was closer to Evelyn Underhill and Shirley Maclaine. A fair question but it asked me to choose between a clearly Christian figure (Underhill) and a clear alternative (Maclaine, who journalists were calling “queen of the new age”).

But I’ve come to see that there are two broad categories of mysticism even within Christianity — certainly western Christianity. To illustrate, we’ll give Shirley MacLaine the night off, and pair Evelyn Underhill with another significant 20th century Christian mystic: Valentin Tomberg.

Mysticism in the Evelyn Underhill sense does overlap with mysticism in the Valentin Tomberg sense. Both types of mysticism are clearly anchored in the Christian tradition. But from there on, the differences seem to outshine the similarities.

Let’s call Evelyn Underhill a representative of contemplative mysticism. By contrast, Valentin Tomberg represents esoteric mysticism. Both are Christian, so there’s plenty of overlap: but there are significant differences as well. Let’s take a closer look.

Contemplative Mysticism

My entry into the world of mystical wisdom came through the writings of Evelyn Underhill, especially her 1911 magnum opus, Mysticism: A Study in the Nature and Development of Spiritual Consciousness. Although Underhill appears to be trying to make a universal statement about mysticism unencumbered by religious doctrine, she does not rise about her own cultural background and so the book very much considers mysticism from a thoroughly Christian perspective. Over the remaining 30 years of her life after the book was published, she did in fact become active in the Church of England and served the Christian community as a retreat leader and spiritual director. So it’s fair to say that Underhill’s exploration of mysticism is friendly to religious Christianity — at least of the Catholic/Anglican/mainline Protestant variety.

I call Underhill’s approach to mysticism contemplative for several reasons. To begin with, she draws very much from the mystical practices and teachings of the monasteries (and of monastic mystics down the ages). She also recognizes that contemplative prayer — the prayer of attentive, adoring silence — is the central practice of this type of mysticism. Like so many monastic mystics, Underhill emphasizes the cultivation of virtue, the turning away from selfishness and sinfulness, and the humble recognition that God is both the heart and the object of the mystical life. Underhill’s mysticism tends to be heart-centered, affective (emphasizing love over knowledge), accepting of church authority, and devotional in its focus. But it’s still mysticism: it promises the cultivation of a beautiful and exalted, perhaps even ecstatic, interior life that leads from purification to illumination and ultimately to nothing less than union with God.

Esoteric Mysticism

Valentin Tomberg represents a more esoteric or even hermitic expression of mysticism, especially when compared to Underhill; and to appreciate this, I have to disobey his own wishes and point out that he was the author of a challenging but highly renowned book that was published anonymously after his death. Meditations on the Tarot: A Journey Into Christian Hermeticism has a title and thematic content that seems almost guaranteed to scare off conservative and fundamentalist Christians: for the Tarot, after all, is associated with divination rather than devotion. But Tomberg is not promoting fortune telling; indeed, this book takes an almost Jungian approach to the Tarot cards, focusing on them as archetypal symbols rather than as a tool for psychic readings.

Interestingly, this book has been warmly received by many in the Christian world, especially among Catholics: Basil Pennington, Thomas Keating, Hans Urs Von Balthasar, and Bede Griffiths were among those who endorsed this book. It is even said that Pope John Paul II was a fan (you can find a picture online of the late pope with this book prominently visible on his desk, which in itself says little but still offers much food for thought). Tomberg, it turns out, was an adult convert to Catholicism, entering Christian practice after a season of life devoted to more esoteric pursuits like the study of anthroposophy, magic, the Kabbalah, and other hermetic disciplines.

Tomberg was something of a Renaissance man, and his wide interest in occultism, ceremonial magic, eastern spirituality, philosophy and psychology informs this rich and densely written book. But the heart of his “Christian hermeticism” remains the mystical path. His vision of mysticism is not hostile to the more contemplative variety championed by Underhill — it’s just much more intellectually broad and adventurous. This is an approach to mysticism that stresses the pursuit of knowledge, a willingness to draw connections across theological and philosophical differences, and a kind of broad willingness to hold doctrine and dogma loosely. Tomberg believes in angels, but also in reincarnation.

It is my experience that many people drawn to the riches of mystical Christianity tend to gravitate toward either the contemplative or the esoteric dimension of spirituality — and likewise tend to avoid the “other” dimension. In my experience, those who love the Rule of Saint Benedict often shy away from the teachings of Hermes Trismegistus. Those who are drawn to Rosicrucianism tend to avoid the stern teachings of the Carmelites or the Cistercians. Those who dive deep into the radical silence of Centering Prayer often tend to avoid the kind of philosophical depth found in the spirituality of Theosophy. And on it goes.

This isn’t a hard and fast distinction, of course; and thanks to the insightful work of spiritual teachers like Cynthia Bourgeault and Wayne Teasdale, it seems that more people are finding ways to bridge the contemplative depth of monastic mysticism with the imaginative richness of esoteric spirituality. Perhaps in the economy of divine grace, there’s room for both.

My point in writing this blog post is to celebrate that there is a rich variety of “types” in the world of mysticism. If you enter into mystical spirituality because you are drawn to psychic phenomena, esoteric knowledge, and even occult teachings, I encourage you to explore the wisdom of the many great nuns and monks down the centuries who are renowned as mystics. Likewise, if you found the mystical path thanks to the austere serenity of Thomas Merton or Simone Weil or Thomas Keating, don’t dismiss the more colorful stream of Christian esotericism: there’s wisdom to be found there as well.

Hi friends!

Check out this video interview that I did recently to introduce me to everyone who is signing up for the “Who am I” Summit that takes place next week.

Regarding the summit: if you haven’t signed up yet, please do so now — here’s the link: Click here to register.

It’s a free online event (with paid options to download the audio and replay the video at your own pace).

Hosted by Bill Free, the summit includes some amazing speakers like Rami Shapiro, Rupert Spira, Amoda Maa, and Lisa Natoli, among many others. Many of these teachers are well known for teaching non-duality from an interspiritual or perennialist perspective. I felt so honored when I was asked to part of the team.

My session will be on November 13, and the title is “Don’t Call Yourself a Mystic — Just Be One.” I hope you’ll be able to join in! Click here to register.

Here’s more information about the summit, from the conference organizers:

If you’ve made it this far, here’s the link one more time… Click here to register.

Despite its significant flaws, Thomas Merton’s The Seven Storey Mountain is a modern classic of contemplative and mystical literature. But did you know that when it was published in England, it was given a new title? Evelyn Waugh edited (and abridged) the first UK edition of the book, which he renamed as Elected Silence.

Americans are so accustomed to associate election with political campaigns, that we forget the word originally meant simply “to choose.” Consider how similar the words elect and select are. When adults prepare to be baptized in a Catholic Church, they are called “the elect” to indicate that God has chosen them to receive the sacrament.

Evelyn Waugh boils down Merton’s autobiography into two simple words. Merton elected to be a silent monk, after all. He walked away from a promising academic career to immerse himself into the austere, timeless silence of a Trappist monastery.

Today is Election Day, and there is much that can be said about the state of politics in America: how divided we are as a nation, how vulgar and offensive so much of political sloganeering seems to be, how competing policy proposals seem all but lost in the insults and jeering that fills the airwaves — and dinner conversations. Political campaigns are noisy, and seem to be getting louder all the time. From the literal noise of blather from the pundits and candidates, to the metaphorical noise of relentless articles, social media posts, and clickbait, an incessant stream of words, words, words bombards us all the time.

Let’s vote, thoughtfully and with a consideration of our values and conscience. But once we have left the polling station, I think we need to listen to Merton and Waugh, and elect some silence of our own.

I’m not saying you need to run off to a monastery or a retreat center, unless of course that is your call. I believe most of us are called to “elect silence” right in our homes, our neighborhoods, our local communities. We can elect to give ourselves respite from the grinding cacophony of the media. We can choose to find rest and rejuvenation away from the noise of partisan politics. Silence invites us to create the space in our lives to truly be able to listen to the whispers of the Spirit in our hearts: whispers that are only available to us when we pause, take time to be still, and drink deeply from the refreshing well of serene silence.

We are not meant to be silent forever. We will continue to work, and will remain engaged with the public life of our nation. But let’s make sure that our activities and activism are fully anchored in the silence that rests deep within ourselves. Let’s not make the mistake of choosing everything but silence. It’s a principle of good financial management to save money before spending it. In a similar way, elect silence first: and then choose to say, and do, what is needed out of that contemplative stillness.

From the AnamChara Archive: This article was first published on November 5, 2024. New election day, but the message remains important. I’m reposting it to share with new readers and longtime subscribers alike.

Hi friends, here’s the dates, times, and topics for our Zoom meetings in November. Remember, these calls are open to all paid subscribers (either through Substack or through Patreon).

Remember, all times are Eastern USA time, and each meeting uses the same Zoom link which you’ll find below.

• November 10, 2 PM: Open-Ended Conversation (Topic idea: Mystical …

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I was texting with a friend recently, someone who shares my love for the mystical heart of contemplative spirituality; we got to talking about the concept of Memento Mori. It’s Latin for “Remember to die,” but it really means “remember that you must die.” It’s a concept that is especially associated with religious art — such as a painting of a skull on the monk’s desk. Gruesome as that may sound, the idea is actually quite fascinating: to the extent that we can remain mindful of our mortality, we will be inspired to live the life we have been given well, no matter how short it may be (or how little time we might have left).

It seems to me that there might be a corollary to Memento Mori — Para ad Moriendum, which is Latin for “prepare to die.” Again, please resist the temptation to view this as morbid or macabre. To prepare to die, from a contemplative perspective, means to prepare to die with grace and faith. We will all die. May we all do so only at the end of a long and happy life. But whether our years turn out to be short or long, whether the overall tone of our days is joyful or sorrowful — eventually, the end will come. Which leads to an obvious question: how shall we greet that moment, when finally it does arrive?

Must we consign ourselves to an end that is shaped by anxiety, by fear of the unknown, by the horror of our inability to know for sure what awaits us after our last breath? Or might there be a path toward death that is marked by a sense of peace, of trust, and even of thanksgiving for the gifts that life may have bestowed upon us?

In her wonderful book The Grace in Dying, hospice worker and psychotherapist Kathryn Dowling Singh offers this insight: that a contemplative practice is the best tool we human beings have for preparing for a mindful and serene death. It makes sense: for the work of releasing attachment to thoughts and distractions in contemplation could only help in the task of releasing our attachment to physical life as we near the inevitable end. This is not about “giving up” — but it is about touching a place of deep trust at a time when we are called to surrender everything. When, by the help of grace, that happens, then our last minutes may be filled with gratitude, serenity and a loving hope.

Memento Mori. Para ad Moriendum. For me, these are invitations not to manage the very end of my life, but to let mindfulness of my final destiny shape my capacity to live deeply and heartfully in the present moment, and in every moment to come.

In chapter 4 of The New Big Book of Christian Mysticism I look at the Hebrew Bible, Greek philosophy and pagan religion, and of course the stories of Jesus and his followers, as three distinct sources for creating the spiritual phenomenon of Christian Mysticism.

For the Jewish tradition, I offer this verse from I Samuel as a bit of insight into the mystical dimension of ancient Hebrew Spirituality:

“Then the spirit of the Lord will possess you, and you will be in a prophetic frenzy along with them and be turned into a different person.” — I Samuel 10:6, NRSV

These are words that the prophet Samuel speaks over Saul as he is being anointed the first king of Israel. These are prophetic words: Samuel is describing an event before it happens, that will help Samuel to realize his destiny not only as a the ruler of the people but as a prophet of God. The triggering event is an encounter he would have later that day with a group of prophets, making ecstatic music as they travel from a shrine. At this point, Saul himself would receive the Spirit of the Lord (literally, “the breath of Yahweh”) and would himself be transformed into a prophet — indeed, into a new (“different”) person altogether.

Could the Spirit of the Lord/the breath of Yahweh be understood as roughly equivalent to what Christians understand the Holy Spirit to be?

If we accept that idea, then Samuel is telling Saul that he is going to receive the Holy Spirit, respond with words of prophetic utterance, and ultimately becoming an entirely new person.

In the Christian tradition, there is a sense that people filled with the Holy Spirit of God will receive charismatic gifts; the most famous/controversial of such gifts if glossolalia, or “speaking in tongues,” but the ability to prophesy is also considered a gift of the Spirit (see I Corinthians 12). It’s important here to remember that prophecy does not mean foretelling the future so much as it simply means the ability to speak the words of God, which might be just as oriented toward the present as toward the future.

Saul was a king, an elite figure at the pinnacle of Hebrew society. But the New Testament makes it clear that the gifts of the Holy Spirit are meant for everyone: not just the privileged few.

Today, charismatic spirituality is controversial among many Christians because it often seems to be intertwined with fundamentalist or dualistic theology (with an overt emphasis on such things as spiritual warfare, fighting the devil, and so forth). For those of us who are drawn to the wisdom of the mystics, I think I Samuel 10:6 reminds us that the transforming power of the Spirit has roots that go much deeper than the New Testament. In fact, I would argue that the template Samuel offers to Saul is truly universal in its application. To be a contemplative is to consent to the breath of Yahweh (the Spirit who acts within us); this consent will not only guide us into the wisdom of God that leads us into community (“prophesy with them”) but also into a heart transformed by that indwelling Spirit of Life (“a different person”).

May we all find such inner transformation.

A common understanding of mysticism is that it is experiential — it’s not so much about theories or ideas, but rather about embodied experience. Whether you call it the experience of God, or of Spirit, or of Divine Union, Divine Love, the “Absolute” or whatever — Evelyn Underhill once described mysticism as “the art of union with Reality” — the life of the mystic is the life of real, embodied, encounter.

But what exactly are we encountering or experiencing? Is it only the gee-whiz, extraordinary (miraculous) experiences that count? Or is mysticism the heart of even the most mundane and ordinary of spiritual experiences, that anyone can experience, at any place and any time?

There are no tidy answers to these questions. Mysticism is a big topic, so embarking upon a mystical journey cannot be easily summed up in a special feeling or remarkable shift in consciousness. And if we take seriously the idea that God (Spirit, the Divine, however you name the Mystery) is at the heart of mystical experience, then we also have to acknowledge that this Sacred Mystery just might come to us in the most ordinary and down-to-earth of experiences, perhaps in a way that many people might not intuitively call “mystical.”

In your meditation, I invite you to dare to be radically open to the Mystery that cannot be put into words or neatly captured in a box or some similar container. You carry within you the seeds of a radical, eye-popping, jaw-dropping mystical experience. And you also carry within you the capacity to discover intimacy with the Spirit in the middle of the most down-to-earth and “ordinary” of moments in your life.

This is to say: mysticism is just as much about the attentiveness, the mindfulness, the paying-attention and watching, as it is about dramatic phenomenon which may or may not shape or dramatically transform one’s own spiritual understanding.

Meditate on love. Meditate on justice and serenity and healing. Meditate on the Mystery that you might call God or Spirit or some other name. Meditate on the fact that falling in love with Love will sooner or later take you beyond the functionality of words (or images or concepts). Be open to the Mystery. Be open to being surprised: whether in big or small ways. Your openness will be your best guide.

I am currently traveling to speak with contemplative communities in Virginia and Maryland. While I am on the road, I am reposting articles from the AnamChara archive. Today’s article was first published on November 17, 2024. I’m reposting it especially to share with new readers, while trusting that longtime subscribers will enjoy revisiting it.

I love to tell the story of a monk, Fr. Anthony Delisi (author of Praying in the Cellar) who was my mentor as a Lay Cistercian and one of the earliest readers of my book, The Big Book of Christian Mysticism.

One time, I gave Fr. Anthony an early draft of my book. He read through it, but wasn’t terribly impressed. The next day he gave me the manuscript, and made this comment, “You never got around to defining mysticism. Then, about 90 pages into the manuscript, you finally admit that you have no idea how to define it.”

“That’s true,” I said, somewhat defensively. “After all, you can’t put it into words.”

Ignoring my excuse, he replied, “Well, why didn’t you admit that up front? It would have saved me having to read all those pages!”

So, when I revised the book, I tried to be a bit more proactive in offering my take on how to define mysticism. I also included several other definitions of the word from respected scholars like Evelyn Underhill and Harvey Egan, SJ. I pointed out that there really isn’t a snappy, quick, precise way to define this complex spiritual topic.

But people are people, and I often get asked, “What is mysticism?” In other words, how can we define this word?

The American Heritage Dictionary says it means “immediate consciousness of the transcendent or ultimate reality or God.” Underhill concurs, calling it “the direct intuition or experience of God.” These are not bad definitions, but sometimes mysticism is not just about consciousness or awareness. Indeed, core mystical concepts like The Cloud of Unknowing or The Dark Night of the Soul point to a dimension of mysticism that is devoid of any kind of experience or conscious awareness.

Andrew Harvey’s lovely definition from The Essential Mystics might help open this up a bit further. He begins with a definition from Bede Griffiths, who talks about “the presence of an almost unfathomable mystery.” Harvey comments, “This mystery is beyond name and beyond form; no name or form, no dogma, philosophy or set of rituals can ever express it fully. It always transcends anything that can be said of it and remains always unstained by any of our human attempts to limit or exploit it.”

In my book, I go on to use Ken Wilber’s four-part definition of spirituality (from his book Integral Spirituality) as a template for mysticism (only I add a fifth category, since I thought Wilber’s four-part model wasn’t comprehensive enough, at least not for mysticism). So here is what I came up with:

1. Mysticism refers to the experience of God, which can range from an ordinary sense of “practicing the presence” to a truly extraordinary “peak” experience;

2. Mysticism also refers to an exalted or ecstatic level of consciousness: the sense of being enlightened or attaining nondual ways of knowing and seeing;

3. Mysticism may point to someone who has extraordinary abilities: a truly gifted sense of Union with God, or the possession of supernatural, charismatic gifts;

4. Mysticism can also mean having an abiding belief in God’s presence and intimate activity in one’s life, even without extraordinary experience or gifts;

5. And finally, mysticism also points to the inner dimension of religious faith and practice, where religion means more than just an institution or a set of external rituals, but points to an interior transformation that has been nurtured by religious observance but ultimately transcends the limitation of religious dogma or institutional identity.

Okay, so this might be comprehensive enough to do the trick but how do we boil it down to a brief, summary definition? Maybe that’s not possible. But I’m going to try anyway. With a strong disclaimer that any brief definition of mysticism must necessarily be limited and incomplete, if you cornered me, this is what I’d come up with:

Mysticism is the spiritual encounter with a sacred mystery that cannot be put into words, but may be embodied through feelings, conscious awareness, experience, or intuition — or even through darkness or unknowing.

I would go on to say:

In theistic terms, it is typically thought of as the sense of Divine Presence or even Union with God, but again, this cannot properly be put into words, so all mystical expression remains partial and incomplete. Nevertheless many women and men down the ages — known as mystics — have attempted to describe their encounter with the divine in written ways, leaving us a treasury of mystical writings, including poetry, autobiography, theology, sermons and teaching texts. Since the sacred mystery can never be systematized, these texts will never offer a simple explanation of what mysticism is, but they remain inspiring to all who sense a calling to seek the Divine Presence in their own lives.

Now, as soon as we have a definition — no matter how limited or incomplete — this leads to a second question, after “What is it?” …. “What difference does it make?” Or, to put it even more bluntly, “Why should I care?”

Maybe, I suppose, someone can go through life without bothering to explore the mystery at the heart of spirituality. One might feel content and happy, with a satisfying career, loving family, meaningful friendships, and a guiding sense of purpose, without ever bothering to explore mystical theology or spiritual practice. To such a person I would say, with no hint of judgment or condemnation, “If you don’t feel drawn to the mystical life, then feel free to leave it alone.”

Other people, however, recognize a yearning or a longing in their heart for something they cannot name, something that cannot be put into words. It has something to do with love, with consciousness, with a sense of life’s meaning and purpose. For many people, this clearly has a spiritual dimension — it’s a yearning for God. To people with this sense of yearning or longing, I would say, “You already know in your heart what difference it makes. I don’t need to convince you to care, because you already do.”

Anyone can enter the mysteries, but the mysteries only reveal themselves to those who seek them.

Now, it is possible that someone may not feel drawn to the mystical life today, but a decade from now, after the highs and lows of ordinary life experience, that same person may suddenly recognize that yearning in their hearts. And they might even have a sense that it’s been there all along, only they never really paid attention to it before. Mysticism has been called a “second half of life” phenomenon, meaning that many people only discern the call to enter the mysteries as they enter the second half of their lives. That’s not true across the board: some people may be drawn to mystical spirituality while still children; others might be late bloomers approaching the mystery in their 80s or 90s. Everyone’s path is different; everyone’s calling is unique.

I use the word calling because I believe mysticism is more than just something that we decide we’re interested in. Here’s how I see it — the Mystery (with a capital M): call it Love (with a capital L) or God — is the initiating party in anyone’s mystical life. A person embraces the mystery because they are called to do so. Now, that call might come in dramatic ways (like Moses seeing the burning bush, or Saint Paul encountering Christ on the road to Damascus), but it could just as easily come in a very humble or down to earth way — finding our hearts opening up after the birth of a child, or the death of a parent. Feeling a sense of being touched by God in church or in nature. Reading a book that opens up more questions than answers.

Here’s the thing. I believe everyone is called. But not everyone receives the call, or is ready to receive the call. But it is precisely that inner call that makes all the difference, that explains why mysticism matters, why we should care.

Because otherwise, like mysticism itself, the “why” of mysticism just can’t be put into words. But for the heart that is open to the too-deep-for-words movement of the Spirit, nothing less than immersion in the Mystery-with-a-capital-M will ever satisfy.

I am currently traveling home after speaking with contemplative communities in Virginia and Maryland. While on the road, I am reposting articles from the AnamChara archive. Today’s article was first published on October 28, 2019. I’m reposting it especially to share with new readers, while trusting that longtime subscribers will enjoy revisiting it.

Lady Gregory (1852-1932) was an Irish playwright and leading figure of the early 20th Century Celtic Renaissance. She was a friend and mentor to William Butler Yeats among other Irish literary lights. Today she is probably best known for her colorful retelling of Gaelic myths and legends. Indeed, today’s quotation comes from her book Gods and Fighting Men: The Story of the Tuatha de Danaan and of the Fianna of Ireland.

Here’s what she has told say on the subject of virtue:

“The four essential virtues are to be generous among the weak, and truthful among one’s friends, and brave among one’s enemies and courteous at all times.”
— Lady Augusta Gregory

It’s easy to forget that mysticism is built on a solid foundation of virtuous living. Especially those of us who are Americans are so used to living in a society geared toward convenience and instant gratification. If we become interested in mysticism, it’s because we want a mystical experience, for heaven’s sake! How easy it is to forget that the mystics saw divine union as the culminating grace of a long process and deep inner transformation, that in times of old was often described using language that today we might find intimidating: purgation, purification, mortification, asceticism.

Such language can evoke frightening images of austere monks whipping themselves while drops of blood drip form their tight cilices. But that image represents the abusive extreme of mystical purgation — and while it is wise and healthy to reject such compulsive self-punishment, it is also important to remember that a balanced and moderate practice of inner purification is something different — and something consistently recommended by the mystics.

What, then, is a healthy path of inner transformation? I believe Lady Gregory gives us a great starting point. Don’t approach purgation merely in terms of what you want to let go of; but rather consider the kind of virtuous life you wish to cultivate as a foundation for your contemplative practice. She offers us four excellent invitations: to cultivate generosity, authenticity, courage, and civility. I suspect if most of us are frankly honest with ourselves, we know that we could stand to grow in at least one of these virtues (if not all four)!

The mystical life is not about shame or judgment. If you have difficulty being generous with those in need, or standing up to bullies, or being kind to your political or professional rivals, try to gently set aside any temptation of treat yourself harshly. The mystical life is about love, after all, and part of that love is the necessary work of compassion toward one’s own self. We forgive ourselves when we fail to live up to our own ideals — and we love ourselves to keep striving toward the virtues that we see as befitting a contemplative life. This, too, is a spiritual practice.

I am currently traveling to speak with contemplative communities in Virginia and Maryland. While I am on the road, I am reposting articles the AnamChara archive. Today’s article was first published on March 23, 2025. I’m reposting it especially to share with new readers, while trusting that longtime subscribers will enjoy revisiting it.

Just the other day was the feast day of St. Teresa of Ávila (October 15). Coming up (in December) we’ll mark the birthday of Evelyn Underhill (December 6) and the feast Day of St. John of the Cross (December 14). With all those dates in mind, I’ve dug up some old videos from retreats I did during the 2020 Pandemic. Originally for Holy Cross Monastery in New York, these online retreats were meaningful ways for us all to stay connected during a time of social isolation. Nowadays we’ve returned to having in-person retreats, thank heaven, while many of us continue to do plenty of teaching and community building online. Anyway, I’m happy that these videos are still available online, and I hope you might enjoy some or all of these.

The first series features English mystics: Evelyn Underhill, Julian of Norwich, and the anonymous author of The Cloud of Unknowing. The second series explores three of the greatest Spanish mystics: Ignatius of Loyola, Teresa of Ávila, and John of the Cross. Each conference stood alone, so just watch the ones that interest you, or create your own in-home retreat experience by watching them all.

Praying with the English Mystics

Praying with the Spanish Mystics:

The history of mysticism is a history of the love for God… For mystical consciousness, it is essential that everything internal become external and be made visible. A dream wants to be told, the “inner light” wants to shine, the vision has to be shared. — Dorothee Soelle

Dorothee Soelle (1929-2003) was a German Lutheran liberation theologian, famous for developing the concept of “Christofascism” — the toxicity that results from the union between Christianity and right-wing totalitarianism — and for declaring “Every theological statement must be a political statement as well” (in her book Against the Wind: the Memoir of a Radical Christian).

Some Christians who prioritize the social/political dimension of their faith often seem to have no time for contemplation and meditation. But Dorothee Soelle refused to throw spirituality and mysticism under the bus in her quest for a socially engaged faith; indeed, she wrote a luminous book about the social dimension of mysticism, called The Silent Cry: Mysticism and Resistance. The above quote comes from that book.

Make no mistake: Soelle rejects any “spirituality” that is escapist or otherworldly. Her mysticism is decidedly down-to-earth. But that’s been true of many, if not most, of the mystics of western culture. But in her quest to proclaim a mysticism that is socially engaged, she offers great insight into how to make mysticism practical.

And how do we make mysticism practical? We look for ways to bring our inner and outer lives into harmony. In Soelle’s words, we make our inner lives visible. We not only embody an experiential relationship with the Divine, but we manifest it in the external circumstances of our lives. If we contemplate the God of infinite mercy, then we strive to live merciful lives. If we meditate on the God of compassionate justice, then we orient the totality of our lives, external as well as internal, toward justice and compassion. And so forth.

This is not always easy, and I believe that the forces in our society that benefit from injustice and inequality would just as soon have mystics keep their spirituality to themselves. And some mystics are called to lives of solitude and seclusion — but many others are called to live out their deep love for the Divine in the midst of the messiness of ordinary life. If that’s who you are, then take Dorothee Soelle’s words to heart: cultivate your silence-loving heart, and let that heart direct your life so that you share your vision with others: a vision where love reigns supreme, we work together on behalf of justice and peace, and the experience of Divine Union is meant for everyone.

I am currently traveling to speak with contemplative communities in Virginia and Maryland. While I am on the road, I am reposting articles the AnamChara archive. Today’s article was first published on February 11, 2025. I’m reposting it especially to share with new readers, while trusting that longtime subscribers will enjoy revisiting it.

Whenever I publish a brief prayer, meditation, or reflection on a quote from a great mystic past or present, I post it on my Substack under the category of Mystical Journey. But what, exactly, do we mean when we speak of a mystical journey?

Journey may not be that hard of a word to wrap our heads around, but mystical is a humdinger. And when we talk about mysticism, we bump into an entire array of words that are all elusive or enigmatic in their own way: words like God or Spirit or ultimate reality or non-duality… So perhaps the first thing I need to say is that writing about mystical spirituality is nothing like writing about science or mathematics, because the words are mostly poetic, deeply metaphorical, and often carry a spectrum of factual and emotional meanings. Mysticism is an invitation into our inner worlds. Each one of us is a one-of-a-kind creation. So the very language we use will always be colored and shaped by our own uniqueness.

Maybe, then, I need to acknowledge that each of us is a singular miracle of divine creativity: “fearfully and wonderfully made,” as the Psalms put it. Given this uniqueness, the obvious question is: what does the concept of a mystical journey mean to you?

Whoever you are, and whatever your story might be, I am glad for us to journey together.

The mystical journey is for anyone and everyone, at any age or level of experience, who wants a deeper connection with God (the Sacred Mystery, which cannot be put into words). To be such a traveler is to seek to integrate the wisdom and teachings of great mystics and contemplatives into our own lives, our own spiritual practice, our own faith journey. This is a path for anyone who simply enjoys reading inspirational spiritual writing and finds that the insights, meditations, and reflections of the great mystics can inspire and encourage the spiritual journey today.

Why “Mystical Journey”?

First, the easy bit: Why a mystical journey? Well, life itself is a journey. For most of us, the journey from birth to death takes many years, and this is not meant to be a burden, but a joy. We experience many seasons and transitions over the course of this sojourn. We learn lessons, we grow and mature, and we attain wisdom that we can share with others.

Now, to the trickier bit: what makes life a mystical journey? Perhaps mysticism begins with a recognition that spirituality makes the most difference when it is embodied, experiential, contemplative, and visionary. This is one way (not the only way) of understanding what mysticism is: spirituality that is heart-centered, radiant with possibilities, and simultaneously both down-to-earth and joyously transcendent. Mystics tend to be found on both the margins and the cutting edge of society and faith community. They open up interior doorways to new ways of seeing, understanding, experiencing, and enjoying the Mystery that cannot be named (but for the sake of simplicity we call this Mystery God or Sacred or Divine.)

Since life is a journey, then naturally the mystical dimension of life also takes us on a journey. We do not “master” mysticism in a decisive moment or single life-event: as Brother Wayne Teasdale points out in his book The Mystic Heart, becoming a mystic is as much a process as an experience. We mature, we grow and change and blossom and unfold, in the life of contemplation and visionary knowing.

From ancient times, mystical teachers have spoken of different seasons of the mystical life, such as times of purification, illumination, and union. So let’s acknowledge (and celebrate) that everyone is at a different place in their own spiritual adventure. Mysticism is not a one-size-fits-all spirituality, and what nurtures you today may not necessarily be what you needed five years ago (or will need five years from now).

What about God?

As for “the Sacred Mystery,” there’s no good word for it, alas. Some find “God” helpful, but for others, that term seems obsolete or even triggering. Less fraught terminology like “Spirit,” “Sacred,” “Divine” or “Mystery” works for some, but not others. Likewise, “Goddess” or even “God the Mother” feels freeing to some, and unsettling to others. I will use a little bit of all these terms, and occasionally throw in other signifiers as well, to remind us that mysticism invites us to experience something that simply cannot be put into words. Please be patient when the language is not “your” language, and try to remember that the language you like will be problematic for others. I hope we can all be generous and hospitable as we seek to communicate what ultimately is beyond description.

If you’ve read this far, I’m assuming that spirituality matters to you, mystical experience and wisdom interests you, and that your heart seeks deeper intimacy with the Heart of the Mystery. This means you and I are kindred spirits. I certainly do not claim to have all the answers. We are co-learners here. Your comments, feedback, suggestions, insights, and ideas truly help me as I write this newsletter. Please, if something occurs to you, share it with me. I can’t promise that I can answer every idea or comment, but I do pledge to read them all, and to consider your input as I shape the future of this Substack. In a very real way, this is our project. A journey is so much more fun when you have travel companions. It is an honor to explore the mystical path with you.

Finally, a brief word about me. I’ve written a few books on this topic and have been blogging about mysticism for a number of years now. Ah, when I was in college and sweating about what I wanted to be when I grew up, if only some friendly counselor could have told me I would become a mysticism blogger. That would have cleared things right up! Never mind that the word “blogger” didn’t exist back then.

I live outside of Atlanta, GA with my wife and several pampered cats; I’m a spiritual director and retreat leader in addition to the writing I do. I grew up Christian and still primarily identify as such, but I am also a student of the Buddha so I think of myself as “interspiritual” or “perennialist” or simply a “dual practitioner.” Like many people drawn to the mystical and contemplative dimensions of the inner life, I struggle with the institutional side of religion, so I try to write for both people who are religious as well as people who prefer to simply identify as spiritual. I had my first mystical experience when I was sixteen years old — almost half a century ago now — and I am still integrating it. Mysticism will do that to you.

Thanks for being here on this Substack with me. Until next time: please breathe gently, live deeply, love lavishly, and trust that you are a miracle in human form.

Blessings,

Skye

From the AnamChara archive: This article was first published on November 9, 2024. I’ve revised it slightly and am happy to share it with new readers and longtime subscribers alike.

“Our soul is like a castle made entirely out of a diamond or of very clear crystal, in which there are many rooms… it is nothing else but a paradise where God finds delight.” — Saint Teresa of Ávila

Teresa of Ávila (1515-1582) is widely considered one of the greatest mystics of the Catholic Christian tradition. A Spanish Carmelite nun who lived at the time of the Protestant Reformation, her writing is colorful, intuitive, non-linear, and filled with striking images and useful insights into the experience of Divine Love. The Interior Castle, one of several books she wrote on the mystical life, is her most enduring classic, but other books well worth reading include her autobiography and The Way of Perfection.

Teresa lived in a tumultuous time — the Protestant Reformations began in northern Europe when she was just a small child; closer to home in Spain, the papal-sanctioned but state-run Tribunal of the Holy Office of the Inquisition — in other words, the Spanish Inquisition — was actively at work seeking to enforce orthodoxy and suppress heresy, but in practice this was mainly about oppressing Jews and even Catholic converts from Judaism who were accused of remaining observant Jews in secret. Several thousand people were executed because of the Inquisition’s power. She herself was the granddaughter of a Jewish converso who in 1485 was investigated by the Inquisition, and while he was not condemned, he nevertheless was very publicly humiliated for his alleged “crimes.”

Given this background, it’s rather amazing that Teresa had such an optimistic view of humanity that she could see our souls “made entirely of a diamond or of very clear crystal!” Especially given that during her lifetime, Reformers like John Calvin were developing theological ideas that would eventually result in the concept of “total depravity” — a profoundly pessimistic assessment of humanity. By contrast, the soul as a shimmering, sparkling castle suggests that humanity is not depraved so much as divine. Even though we may make many mistakes (a fact Teresa never soft-pedals), still, her sense of the beauty of the soul is both mystically inspired and a source of deep hope.

October 15 is Saint Teresa’s feast day. As we remember her, let’s not lose sight of how precious (and diamond-like) each and every soul is — and if we cannot see that beauty, we know it is not hidden from the eyes of the Divine.

From the AnamChara archive: This article was first published on November 19, 2024. I’ve edited and expanded it, and am happy to share it with new readers and longtime subscribers alike.

Note: I’ll be on the road speaking in Virginia and Maryland now through October 27. I’ll be sharing several of these archival posts while I’m traveling.

Recently I posted an article about some questions I received from a student in a class I am teaching on mysticism (read it here). That class is part of a Spiritual Direction Formation Curriculum, so it’s only open to students in that particular program. But it did inspire a reader to send me this message:

Hello Skye, I feel drawn to connecting deeper with Christian mysticism and your mentorship. I went to your website to see if I could join your group of students but didn’t find a link to register or if you have a yearly mentorship program. You offer so many wonderful events and retreats. Is there a group mentorship program that I can join? Or are they separate events or private spiritual direction?

Thanks for asking! There are several other ways you can connect with me, including one-on-one spiritual direction, monthly Zoom meetings, and in-person events. Here’s a quick rundown of how you can do any or all of these:

Zoom With Me (and Other Students of the Mystical Life)

I host three to four Zoom calls each month through Patreon. Patreon is a membership website that you can join for as little as $11 a month. We gather at different times to accommodate folks from around the world, with most calls happening either on Saturdays at noon Eastern Time, or Wednesday evenings at 7 PM Eastern Time (I also host some on weekday afternoons). Meetings typically last 90 minutes, and always begin with Centering Prayer. Some calls feature me giving a talk, usually based on a chapter from a book (currently we’re working through Practical Mysticism by Evelyn Underhill, and my own New Big Book of Christian Mysticism) but one session each month is dedicated entirely to conversation/Q&A.

Most of these calls are pretty intimate, with anywhere from 5 to 15 attendees, so it’s easy to chime in with whatever question or topic is bubbling up for you. And if you can’t make the live calls, I always record the presentations I give, so those recordings are archived for you to watch (or re-watch) at your convenience. The Patreon archive also features an assortment of meditations both written and recorded, and commentaries on several books, including works by Howard Thurman and Julian of Norwich. If you’d like to interact with me in a group setting, Patreon is by far the best value. Click here to join.

Spiritual Direction (Spiritual Companionship)

Spiritual Direction — also known as spiritual companionship or spiritual accompaniment — is an ancient practice in the western spiritual tradition with roots both in ancient contemplative Christianity and the Celtic world. Indeed, this Substack newsletter, “Anamchara,” takes its name from the Gaelic word for spiritual companionship (it literally means soul friend). It is similar to other forms of spiritual guidance and one-on-one mentoring/support found in mystical traditions around the globe. It involves meeting either in person (in Atlanta) or on Zoom for an hour each month, where you share the dynamics of your own interior spiritual practice with me. I won’t “direct” you like a boss or a drill sergeant; rather, we commit to being co-listeners seeking the guidance of the true “spiritual director” — the Spirit who calls you into the mystical life.

For anyone who is serious about exploring mystical Christianity (or mystical spirituality in general) as an embodied practice and not just an interesting area of study, spiritual direction is an invaluable practice. I myself have been meeting with a spiritual director for more than 40 years now, and I value it as an essential part of my ongoing contemplative work.

I also should mention that my life partner, Fran McColman, is also a spiritual director and has been trained especially to work with people who want an eclectic or interspiritual approach to spiritual accompaniment. You can learn more about spiritual direction in general, or about Fran’s or my approach to this intensive spiritual practice, by clicking here: Spiritual Direction with Skye or Fran McColman.

Meet Me In Person (Or Online)

Finally, my Events Calendar lists both in-person and online retreats, conferences, and classes that I have coming up. As of this writing (October 2026), for example, I have in-person events coming up in Virginia, Maryland, South Carolina, Connecticut, and New York; down the road, you can also look for me in Chicago, Arizona, and North Carolina (and that’s just the events that are already booked). I also usually have a number of events in the Atlanta area each year, as well as a number of online events (for example, I currently have the Who Am I? Conference coming up in November, and next year I’ll be teaching a seven-week online course in July and August).

If You Simpy Wish to Donate…

Occasionally I get asked, “Can I just support your work?” I receive such requests with gratitude and humility. Obviously, you can provide support either by joining Patreon or simply upgrading to a paid subscription to this newsletter. A third option is Ko-fi. Ko-fi is the best option if you want to make a one-time gift, or even a monthly gift without any benefit attached to it. Ko-fi has the lowest fees, so more of your money reaches me. To make your gift, go to www.ko-fi.com/carlmccolman.

Thanks again for asking about the ways I can support you on your journey into contemplative and mystical spirituality. Even if you don’t choose to work with me, I wish you abundant grace. The spiritual life can bring you meaning, purpose, and inner healing — and it can also bring you joy. Many blessings!

Thích Nhất Hạnh was born on October 11, 1926. So today would have been his 100th birthday.

Propelled onto the world stage by his anti-war activism during the Vietnam era, and renowned as a friend to Thomas Merton and Martin Luther King Jr. (who nominated him for the Nobel Peace Prize)1, Thích Nhất Hạnh (affectionately known as Thầy, which means “teacher”) will deservedly be recognized not only as one of the great Buddhists of our time, but also as one of the great contemplatives of any spiritual tradition.

He did more than perhaps any other recent world-renowned spiritual teacher to elevate the concept of mindfulness as a core spiritual practice. As Thầy used the term, it meant far more than just focused awareness — his distinctive understanding of mindfulness revealed a truly contemplative sense of the word, referring to the fruit of a stable and sustained meditative practice. Mindfulness quickly transcended Buddhism to become a widely recognized word for the deep abiding calm that emerges from the practice of meditation or contemplation. Mindfulness, in this sense, seems to be roughly analogous to the ongoing sense of heightened consciousness that, in Christian tradition, might be seen as equivalent to “the practice of the presence of God.”

Thầy died at the age of 95 in early 2022, after a long life in exile (he lived in France for over half his life) and seven years after surviving a debilitating stroke that left him incapable of speaking. Despite a stormy relationship with the Vietnamese government, he spent the final years of his life back home, and died while in residence at Từ Hiếu Temple in central Vietnam.

To celebrate what would have been his 100th birthday, I’d like to highlight some of his many books. He wrote more than 100, so I’m just going to focus on a few titles that I personally have found meaningful or helpful. This is not meant to be a comprehensive “best of” list. If you love Thầy as much as (or more than) than I do, it is likely that my list will exclude one or several books that are especially meaningful to you. Such is the nature of lists like these; they always are somewhat subjective. If you are bemused or horrified about a book that I have ignored, please leave a comment and make the case for the book you love. It may be nothing more momentous than that I just haven’t read your particular favorite yet, and your recommendation will be helpful to me as well as to other readers of this Substack.

Living Buddha, Living Christ — This was my introduction to Thầy and his wisdom. A deceptively simple book that functions partially as a manifesto of the author’s own spiritual pluralism, as a Buddhist monk with longstanding ties to the Christian Community — but it’s more than just a confessional book. In its discussions of mindfulness, interbeing and enlightenment, Living Buddha, Living Christ offers a practical map for a spiritual integration of Christian and Buddhist contemplation that is accessible to everyone.

Going Home: Jesus and Buddha as Brothers — Gathering together a number of talks giving by Thầy at his monastery in France during the Christmas season, this book is more or less a sequel to Living Buddha, Living Christ — not as groundbreaking as the first book, but a solid companion volume and a nice glimpse into what a truly interfaith/interspiritual conversation between Christianity and Buddhism can look like.

Being Peace — A classic text drawn from talks given to peace activists. Building on his understanding of “engaged Buddhism,” in this book Thầy calls for peace as more than just an activist’s project, but truly as an embodied way of life.

Peace is Every Step: The Path of Mindfulness in Everyday Life — If Being Peace was Thầy’s teaching on peace for dedicated activists, Peace is Every Step expands his teaching on peace — and mindfulness — for a wider, general audience. Given Thầy’s longstanding reputation not only as a Buddhist but also as a spokesperson for peace, this is to my knowledge one of his most beloved and acclaimed books. If you want to enter his wisdom from a Christian perspective, begin with Living Buddha, Living Christ, and then move on to this one; if the interfaith angle doesn’t interest you, this is the book to start with.

Silence: The Power of Quiet in a World Full of Noise — Thích Nhất Hạnh joins the ranks of authors like Sara Maitland, George Prochnik, Maggie Ross and Diarmaid MacCulloch in writing an engaging book about a topic that is impossible to put into words. Naturally, Thầy invites us into silence both as an antidote to the noise and intensity of contemporary world, and also as a way to settle into the healing gifts of mindfulness.

The Heart of the Buddha’s Teaching: Transforming Suffering Into Peace, Joy and Liberation — This and the final two books on my list invite us deeper into Buddhist teaching as interpreted by Thích Nhất Hạnh. Before he was a peace activist or an advocate for mindfulness, Thầy was first and foremost a Buddhist monk, and so many of his books are based on his dharma talks or otherwise geared toward Buddhist practitioners. This book, also considered one of his essential works, starts at the beginning by presenting Thầy’s commentary on the Buddha’s Four Noble Truths and Noble Eightfold Path, along with some other foundational teachings.

The Other Shore: A New Translation of the Heart Sutra with Commentaries — The Heart Sutra is one of the most important documents in Mahayana Buddhism, but it’s also quite a puzzle for those of us steeped in Western ways of thinking and meditating. Thầy offers a lucid new translation of the Sutra and an accessible, thematic commentary that helps to make this ancient text truly come alive.

Awakening of the Heart: Essential Buddhist Sutras and Commentaries — If you enjoyed his basic books on the Buddha’s teachings and the Heart Sutra, Awakening of the Heart is an invitation to go even deeper. Important texts like the Diamond Sutra, the Sutra on the Full Awareness of Breathing, the Sutra on the Four Establishments of Mindfulness, and others are cracked open for readers who enjoy Thầy’s gentle, spacious teaching style — whether or not you yourself are a Buddhist.

I’m currently teaching a class on mysticism for a Spiritual Director formation program; I’ve taught this class several times over the past few years and it’s always a highlight of my year. We read Wayne Teasdale’s The Mystic Heart and reflect together on what mysticism is, how it gives us insight into the nature of reality, and — especially important for this particular program — how mysticism informs the sacred work of spiritual companionship and spiritual direction.

Last week one of the students sent me the following letter, and gave me permission to respond to it here. I have edited it slightly for the purpose of clarity.

And now, my reply. While I am addressing specifically the author of this letter, I hope this might be of interest to anyone who reads these words.

Hi friend. Thanks for such a thoughtful and articulate message.

Here are some initial thoughts, to orient us; and then I’ll try to get a bit more granular and attempt to address your concerns and questions point by point. Let me apologize in advance for how long this post is! But you raise so many important questions, not only for your own process but for anyone learning mystical and contemplative spirituality, so I want to take my time and respond as carefully as I can.

My initial thoughts: first of all, mysticism is like a snowball rolling down a snowy hill and getting bigger and bigger as more snow sticks to it. For 2,000-plus years, plenty of different theologians, philosophers and spiritual guides have chimed in on what they believe mysticism is all about; frankly, there are many inconsistencies and contradictions. The best way to approach it is to think in terms of paradox: where two contradictory statements might both be true, but not in a way that cancel each other out. It’s like the Christian understanding of God: God is three persons, but God is one. Or Jesus is fully human, but Jesus is fully divine. There are lots more where those came from! So what often happens is that certain mystical teachings and ideas will speak to part of the human experience but not the totality of it, and depending on where we sit, some of those teachings may feel out of date, or maybe inconsistent with our experience (or our needs), and it seems almost impossible to reconcile it all.

Yes, there are a lot of assumptions (that’s kind of what dogma is, ultimately: codified spiritual assumptions), and some may be quite creative and life-giving, but others can be really problematic. And then throw in that paradox issue, and it’s easy to see how almost anyone who is being mindful and conscious as they approach a meaningful spiritual practice will, sooner or later, feel caught up in a kind of Gordian knot. And just like the best way to cut through the impossible knot is with a knife or a sword (!), sometimes we have to cut through the knots of spiritual and mystical paradox with the penetrating silence of deep contemplation. This is very similar to what the Buddhists do with koans: short stories or riddles that are impossible to “solve” but that can trigger an enlightenment experience for those who patiently work with them, sometimes over years!

So with those initial “big picture” thoughts in the background, let me try to dig in a little and offer some specific thoughts in response to what you have written.

On Deepening Your Formation

Your desire to go deeper in your own spiritual practice is evident from the quality of this email. You are asking some important (and perennial) questions. I don’t know that anything I can say will help you with your sense of grappling or struggling with the material — and it would be intellectually dishonest for me to claim that there is one simple truth at the heart of mysticism. There simply isn’t. The deeper you go, the more mysterious it gets. This can feel liberating but it can also feel disorienting or even somewhat anxiety-producing. Part of the anxiety might be an idea (that many of us inherit from mainstream religion) that spirituality should be clear-cut and unambiguous. But says who? What if the unknowing and the mystery, disorienting though it might be, is just the price we pay for moving into a space where we are more existentially free to meet Divine Love with pure freedom, pure authenticity and infinite availability? In other words, when we find ourselves available to breathe into the uncertainty and even the chaos of it all, what we find on the other side is a place where we get to truly co-create our mystical life, dancing with Divine Love, where we are not required to submit or conform to any kind of external doctrine or dogma. Again, that can feel like vertigo at first; but when we relax into it, it can also feel like flying.

The Irreconcilable

Yes, the mystics disagree with one another. They do it within any one tradition, and especially across traditions. What are we to make of this? I agree with you: on some level it’s impossible to reconcile it all. But perhaps the key to get out of the locked room is the surprising but liberating idea that it’s okay to live into the irreconcilable nature of paradoxical truth. This is not about abdicating a natural desire to seek out truth, to measure what we believe and value in the light of the wisdom of the great spiritual teachers of the ages. But it is a reminder that some things in life are simply messy and imprecise, and will never be tied up in a neat bow. We can try, of course: that’s what fundamentalists do. But there’s always a shadow somewhere, isn’t there? Fundamentalism always seems to result in some sort of scapegoating. God loves you — unless you’re gay, or unless you’re a Muslim, or unless you’re a liberal: the list goes on. And different fundamentalists have different lists of who gets rejected! But they all have a list. So while fundamentalism seems to be neat and tidy on the surface, underneath it extracts a terrible price. It rips families apart. It sows seeds of mistrust and fear. The price for all that “reconciliation” seems, to me at least, to be too high for anyone truly committed to Divine Love to pay.

Dissolution, Ego-Death, and the One

Why do mystics — at least, some mystics — appear to promote “dissolution, ego-death, or disappearing into the One” as desirable goals of the mystical life? Especially since those goals seem also to imply that “individuation, particularity, and personhood are so often treated as things to transcend” rather than as themselves “potentially sacred expressions of the divine”?

As I read this thoughtful (and completely understandable) question, I am reminded of an important book that was published in 1988: Women at the Well: Feminist Perspectives on Spiritual Direction by Kathleen Fischer. Reading Fischer first helped me to see that there is a gender bias baked into traditional mysticism — that the goal of mysticism being the transcendence or annihilation of the ego seemed more appropriate for men because of their privileged status in our society and our religious communities. Men need to dissolve their ego because men have been encouraged to develop overly strong egos to begin with. Women, on the other hand, are often given the message in our culture (and especially our religious institutions) that their job is to be of service to others — no need to develop their own ego, since their role is to help others.

The mystical tradition has been much more open to the wisdom and authority of women than most other aspects of religious traditions. But even mysticism is not immune to the distortions caused by sexism. Grace M. Jantzen’s challenging but important book Power, Gender and Christian Mysticism details the long and tragic history of sexism within the Christian contemplative tradition.

My friend, I believe it’s important to remember that no mystical teacher (or any other kind of spiritual teacher) ever works in a vacuum, and the points that they might be making could be appropriate for a specific audience or a specific kind of student. Yes, some people may very much need to grow spiritually through a kind of egoic surrender. But that does not apply to those who have historically been denied the space or support to foster a strong ego to begin with. In fact, for such individuals, the most spiritually important task might actually be a process of learning to truly love oneself, to release shame and self-contempt, to learn to set appropriate boundaries especially with others who might try to take advantage of their socialized bias toward helping others.

The bottom line, it seems to me, is this: mystical spirituality (and mystical teaching) is “large, and contains multitudes.” Each person seeking to embrace the mystical path must find a way to trust their own inner guidance (perhaps by working with a spiritual director) to embrace the teachings that are life-giving and spiritually nourishing for them, learning to gently set aside the teachings that seem to be a distraction or even a detour.

All is Divine But Don’t Trust the Ego?

You write, “if all really is divine, then why is there so much subtle contempt for parts of human life? I’m genuinely confused why dissolution is the goal? Won’t we potentially experience that (or a version of it) when we’re dying or dead? Why the rush to get there?”

Here, again, the insight we get from Fischer and Jantzen is helpful. The language that strikes us as contemptuous for human life is drawn from some similar language in the Bible:

• "It is no longer I who live, but it is Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by the faith of the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me." (Galatians 2:20)

• "For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it." (Matthew 16:25)

• “For you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God... Put to death, therefore, whatever in you is earthly: sexual immorality, impurity, passion, evil desire, and greed which is idolatry.” (Colossians 3:3, 5)

• "Very truly, I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain, but if it dies it bears much fruit." (John 12:24)

• "Vanity of vanities, says the Teacher, vanity of vanities! All is vanity. What do people gain from all the toil at which they toil under the sun?" (Ecclesiastes 1:2-3)

• "A voice says, “Cry out!” And I said, “What shall I cry?” All flesh is grass; their constancy is like the flower of the field. The grass withers; the flower fades, when the breath of the Lord blows upon it; surely the people are grass." (Isaiah 40:6-7)

So even the Bible seems to fall into this “life is contemptible, we need to transcend it” mindset. It’s helpful to remember that for so much of human history, life for most people was “poor, nasty, brutish and short” — even just 100 years ago, the average life expectancy across the world was under 40 years (this was impacted somewhat by higher infant mortality, but even without that consideration, life was much shorter for most people). The “contempt for life” that seems so dark in scripture and much mystical writing was often shaped by the harsh reality of life for many people.

Thankfully, we have made huge strides in human quality of life and longevity (even though that creates its own problems, such as the increasing consumption of natural resources, resulting in climate change and political instability). It’s easier for us today to see life primarily in terms of its beauty and blessings. But this means that the “life is harsh, why value it?” language of older generations can come across as both negative and useless.

There’s one other side to this — that’s based on the verse from John 12:24. Mystical teaching implies that death is never the end: it leads to new life. This is true whether you believe in reincarnation, or some sort of ascension or heavenly paradise. You asked me, “Why the rush to get there?” as if we should just ignore the dying/rebirth theme of mysticism until the end of our physical lives. But for many of us, we experience many “deaths” before we physically die. For example, my daughter died in 2014 at the age of 29, after living her entire life with polycystic kidney disease. Her death was a blessed release from a very sick and limited body, and I trust for her it was a liberation. But my wife and I live on, dealing with the grief and loss. Our roles as parents “died” when she died. Other people experience the death of marriages that fail, careers that go sideways, financial loss, and eventually the onset of old age and illness. As harsh as it is, the language of contempt can train us to hold all of our life experiences with a kind of spiritually wise non-attachment, which makes it easier to meet and live through the many painful losses that come our way. I know that may land differently in the lives of different people, so I want to tread lightly here. But I do believe that we can find a direct pathway to peace and renewal when we hold all of life — the good as well as the bad — gently and loosely. At its best, I believe the mystical language that seems harsh and negative can help us, merely to find that path to liberating non-attachment.

Grounding and Feeling Unmoored

I simply love the desire you express: “I want a spiritual life that feels spacious enough to hold mystery, transcendence, embodiment, moral responsibility, agency, limitation, individuality, relationship, and even contradiction without forcing everything into a single metaphysical frame. I especially want to be a spiritual director that is grounded for my directees.”

That’s beautiful and I support you wholeheartedly. I hope we all might find a pathway into such a mystical spaciousness!

But then you are so honest when you write, “But right now I feel a little unmoored. I’m not sure whether what I’m experiencing is a normal part of spiritual formation, whether I’m misunderstanding some of these traditions, or whether I’m simply discovering that certain strands of mysticism are not a home for me.”

I imagine it’s a little bit of all of the above. I do think that mysticism can create a kind of spiritual vertigo within us. I come from a very theologically conservative background, and it seemed both deeply liberating and profoundly disorienting to begin to sense just how real Jesus’s words were: “You will know the truth, and the truth will make you free” (John 8:32). People (like me) who grew up in authoritarian or high-control religions never got the kind of training that would help us to recognize, and appreciate, that contradictions and paradoxes naturally exist within mystical teachings (and spiritual teaching in general). Now as adults, we have to learn to trust our own hearts — perhaps with the help of a caring community and/or spiritual companion — and we need to be clear about what teachings we conscientiously set aside as unhelpful or unhealthy. So it takes some time learning how to stand tall on this “unmoored” boat, but the freedom that this “standing tall” represents is worth the effort.

Based on your letter, I’m not sure that you are misunderstanding too much; but speaking for myself, after almost 50 years of studying mysticism and the wisdom of the mystics, I still have so much to learn! So I think being a bit humble about the possibility that we might be misunderstanding the tradition is generally a good thing. And then finally, discovering that not all mystical wisdom speaks to us: well, that’s a good sign that those sea legs are finding their strength.

Yes, feeling unmoored is tricky. You might need some “spiritual dramamine” to get you through it. By that I mean activities that help you feel grounded, the love and care of friends and (hopefully) a healthy spiritual community, general practices of self-care like good diet, exercise, and so forth… these things may not seem very “spiritual” on the surface, but they tie in with the embodiment you mentioned that you desire. A healthy mysticism is, in fact, an embodied mysticism, so taking good care of the body is vitally important (and again, something that the tradition often wasn’t very good at prioritizing).

Discernment and Grappling with those “Important” Texts

“What I don’t know is what to do with the grappling… I don’t want to override my own discernment simply because a text is considered spiritually important.”

More wisdom here. My short response: by all means, don’t override your discernment! Be curious. And that curiousity can include talking to others and getting their takes on things; yes, sometimes our discernment can also make mistakes. But I think it’s important to learn that we can respect a spiritually renowned writer or book without having to obey or conform to everything they say. I don’t like it that Jesus cursed a fig tree, for example. And I know that this story was probably folklore and may have been included in the Gospels as a kind of allegory; nevertheless, it hasn’t aged well and I find it refreshing to simply be able to say “I don’t like that very much.” And I definitely don’t like the sexism and anti-LGBT messages in the Bible (some of which may have been edited into the texts at later dates, or even were distorted when the Bible was translated from one language to another). If we can respectfully but sincerely be honest about the ways we disagree with the Bible, then certainly we can do the same with all the other sacred texts (and mystical writings) that have come down to us through the ages.

Our spiritual ancestors taught us so much, but they, just like us, were imperfect beings capable of making mistakes. Perhaps discernment means we can respect the power and beauty in ancient teachings while also being honest about how some of those teachings simply haven’t aged well. We don’t have to believe the earth is flat, we know better now than people did in ancient times. Spirituality works the same way. We don’t have to hold on to old beliefs that simply are now obsolete. On the contrary, discernment means we need to be clear about what we do — and don’t — accept as true. And relying on the shared wisdom of others can help us to avoid mistakes as well.

Final Thoughts

You concluded your wonderful letter by asking, “Is there a way to approach mysticism that allows for deep disagreement without feeling like I’m missing the point? Am I missing the point? Are there traditions or thinkers you would suggest I read while I grapple?”

I don’t know that I can promise you any safe haven from the feelings of vertigo or being unmoored or even some anxiety that you’re missing the point. But I am pretty confident, based on this letter, that you are not missing the point. On the contrary, I believe you are bringing plenty of head and heart to your studies. Trust the deep disagreement, but also be playfully non-attached even to your own views. Some of these seemingly difficult teachings just might have a jewel of wisdom for you that you might discover — if not now, then at some point down the road. I choose the word “playful” intentionally. Jesus encouraged us to be like children in our spiritual lives. I interpret that to mean: be playful; be trusting; ask lots of questions; be willing to try new things (and new ideas and new perspectives); and be honest and authentic. And again: play. Really important, that.

We have a tendency in our culture to take spirituality way too seriously! Let’s remember that the second fruit of the Spirit, second only to love, is joy. So let’s try, among other things, to find joy and enjoyment in our spiritual practice.

Finally, as for suggestions in the “traditions or thinkers” department: I suspect that in general you might really enjoy diving deeper into feminist wisdom. Some amazing women spiritual teachers can help us all (regardless of our gender). A few names that come to mind: Zenju Earthlyn Manuel, Beverly Lanzetta, Pema Chödrön, Joan Chittister, Starhawk, Bernadette Roberts, Pamela Ayo Yetunde, Angel Kyodo Williams… the list could go on. But that’s probably enough to get you started! And if you like more academic writers, try Barbara Holmes, Monica Coleman, Cynthia Bourgeault, Sarah Coakley, and Melanie L. Harris. Academic writers often seem more heady than truly mystical, but I trust all these I’ve listed, and I suspect if you read them you’ll find mystical wisdom encoded in their words.

Thanks for such a great letter! I hope this response is helpful.

Many blessings,

Skye

🙏🏼

Hi friends, just a bit of news from my corner of the world.

My personal website has a new look and a new name…

Here’s the link: www.oceanic.love. Why the change? To begin with, it’s now not just my website, but also a way for you connect with my wife, Fran, as well — since she is now a certified spiritual director.

It also reflects how my online center of gravity has increasingly moved toward Substack and Patreon. If you want new writing from me, subscribe to this newsletter. My website is now mainly a hub to connect you with all that I (and Fran) do:

1. Information about spiritual direction, either from me or from Fran;

2. Information about my books;

3. Links to my current work online, including this Substack and Patreon, as well as my Radical Mystics and Encountering Silence podcasts;

4. A calendar of upcoming events.

So check it out — especially if you are in discernment about working with a new spiritual director. Either Fran or I would be honored to be in discernment with you to see if one of us might be a good person to walk with you.

Below the paywall — information on my upcoming Zoom calls, where we’ll be discussing Evelyn Underhill’s Practical Mysticism and my New Big Book of Christian Mysticism. If you would like to participate, please sign up for a Patreon membership or upgrade to a paid Substack subscription.

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Whether we remain in the church or leave it, or follow a path somewhere in between, we are living in an age that is characterized by exile and spiritual search. Something new is trying to be born within us and among us. — John Philip Newell1

I have lost track of how many times I have recommended Brian D. McLaren’s book Do I Stay Christian? A Guide for the Doubters, the Disappointed, and the Disillusioned. It was not an easy book for me to read; and I would imagine it would be challenging — but possibly also liberating — for anyone who devoted much of their life not just to the teachings of Jesus and his followers, but also (and perhaps most especially) to the institutional and cultural experience of being “a Christian.”

We are living in a time when more and more people are questioning being a Christian — and not just rebels and outcasts; these days, even the most dedicated Christians — pastors and lay leaders and other “pillars of the church” — are wondering if the church is where they belong.

Wisely, McLaren never tries to answer the question that forms the title of his book. He recognized that conscientious and thoughtful people will reach different conclusions when grappling with this question — even if their circumstances seem on the surface to be similar. His book is not meant to show people the door, nor to try to convince them to stay. Rather, what McLaren tries to do is to help his readers be thoughtful and discerning as they reflect on the future of their relationship to the institution.

In The Great Search, John Philip Newell takes a slightly different approach to the questions that McLaren wrestles with. Newell writes not about discernment in the way McLaren does, but rather seeks to make sense of the fact that in our time, so many people are leaving the institution behind. Celt that he is, Newell sees this “search” as leading ultimately back to nature and to forms of community that live close to the earth. But just as Thomas Merton felt that the existence of monks and nuns carried meaning for everyone, not just to those who lived in the cloister; Newell recognizes that the great exodus from religious observance is a “sign of the times” that likewise has something meaningful to say for everyone. We are all meant to participate in the great search, regardless of our religonship to institutional religion.

Someone told me recently they struggled with religion because they preferred asking questions to just having all the “answers.” I believe a healthy religion, at its best, is not afraid of wondering and questioning and seeking — but probably the old-fashioned church has some more changing to do before that kind of religious “best practice” truly becomes the mainstream standard. In the meantime, we are all equally responsible for visualizing (and manifesting) that “something new” that wants to emerge from our hearts. Some of us will give birth to this new kind of spirituality even while remaining “in the pews,” whereas others will do so only in the wilderness. Where you happen to be is not the point. The point is this: are you ready to, spiritually speaking, give birth to something new, to something born of love that will transform us all? That may very well be the only question truly worth asking.

God’s Spirit is continually challenging, changing, and maturing us. Although we may be able to point to a single and decisive conversion experience, remaining faithful involves a journey of continual conversion. It can never be said in our lifetime that we have “arrived.” The spiritual life invites a process of transformation in the life of a believer. It is a process of growing in gratitude, trust, obedience, humility, compassion, service, and joy. — Marjorie J. Thompson1

I am a busy person. I don’t say this to complain; I love the work I do and the role I get to play in sharing mysticism with others. I love hanging out with friends, traveling with my life partner, and investing in the simple pleasures like taking walks or listening to music or reading a good book. There are many things I could say about my life, both good and bad, but one thing is for sure: I am not bored.

In her wonderful, invitational book on the spiritual life, Soul Feast, Presbyterian minister and spiritual director Marjorie J. Thompson offers a full description of the spiritual life as a transformational process. She lists seven dimensions of this process, qualities that the Spirit calls us to cultivate in our lives:

• Gratitude, a sense of appreciation and thanksgiving for whatever life throws our way;

• Trust, a letting-go of anxious control and a discovery that the Spirit does provide for us;

• Obedience, or deep listening, where we offer our will to the guidance of the Divine Will;

• Humility, a down-to-earth quality of gentle humor and self-forgetfulness as we live in simplicity;

• Compassion, a heart calibrated toward empathy and care rather than indifference and defensiveness;

• Service, an impulse to generosity and helpfulness, especially to those in need; and finally,

• Joy — which, if you have been reading me for a while, you know is a quality I believe most spiritual seekers (really, most people in general) tend to be deficient in.

I love this list, and I can think of even more qualities to add to it: silence, mindfulness, hospitality, awe, reverence, stillness, and wonder. Spirituality, after all, is about life — life encompassing the totality of the human experience — so perhaps even suffering, grieving, doubt, and (righteous) anger have their place on this “to-do list” of spiritual growth.

Do you see where I am going with all this?

These spiritual to-do’s seem to bring us blessings (and hopefully can contribute to that joy we all seem to need more of). But if we consider the entire list, and begin to see it as, in fact, a task list, the promise of joy gets a little wobbly and it all begins to feel rather overwhelming.

So we need a bit of balance here. Yes, there are lots of life-giving qualities available to us as spiritual seekers. But there’s also a need to live slowly, intentionally, and at a “human” pace. We don’t have to have spirituality or mysticism all figured out and tied up in a neat bow by this time next year.

The spiritual life is an invitation into the cathedral of time, the spaciousness of eternity. We can take our time as we seek to respond to the invitations and challenges that the Spirit brings us. Because spirituality is about love, even deeper than joy: and when we’re in love, we have nowhere we need to be, nothing we must attain. We simply live in love. Which, come to think of it, might be the most direct route to joy after all.

When I began my research into the myths most responsible for our understanding of masculinity today, I discovered that the masculine hadn’t always been conflated with the violence of hierarchy and domination. Long before the sword-wielding heroes of legend readily cut down forests, slaughtered the old deities, and vanquished their enemies, there were playful gods, animal-headed kings, mischievous lovers, vegetal magicians, trickster harpists, and riddling bards. These archetypes of ancient masculinities are mirrored by contemporary discoveries in biology, genetics, ecology, and quantum physics. My deepening study into myth and science blurred my ideas of gender distinction and, even more excitingly, my ideas of bounded individuality. — Sophie Strand1

At first, I was a bit skeptical about a book on sacred masculinity that was written by a young woman like Sophie Strand, who was not yet 29 when her book The Flowering Wand was published. Just as women are understandably wary of men appointing themselves as explainers of the feminine, I worried that even a well-meaning woman simply would not be able to navigate the volatility of testosterone and the challenges of inhabiting male bodies and identities in our troubled and fractious world. But my anxiety was allayed by this paragraph, found in the book’s introduction.

Men liberated from violence are men set free to play. Perhaps this is what Jesus was getting at with his instructions to “become like children” (Matthew 18:3). He wasn’t telling his followers to be immature, or powerless, or incapable of self-care. He was encouraging them — and by extension, all of us — to play. There’s nothing implicitly gendered here: Jesus is not just talking to men, but to us all. But then, like now, Jesus’s words come to us in a world marked by systems of power and privilege that benefit straight, cisgender men, at the expense of everyone else. But even the straight cis guys can be harmed by the “filthy, rotten system” (as Dorothy Day called it) that we live under. Powerful men make life hell for those with less power, in both big and small ways. Any system that is based on the unequal distribution of power will sooner or later bring suffering to everyone except those at the very top (and they, too, have their relatively mitigated suffering of having to always watch their back).

Playful gods, mischievous lovers, trickster harpists… Sophie Strand points out that there is something truly goofy and silly about masculinity at its best. This might be why Jungian analyst Ann Ulanov wrote a book on human sexual archetypes that paired “the clown” with “the witch.” Both clowns and witches subvert traditional hierarchies: the powerful witch undermines the limitations placed on women’s autonomy, while the clown liberates men from the role of oppressor by unleashing their inner foolishness.

Little boys can often be rascals, can’t they? They just love to play. I once read an article (I can’t recall the author) that suggested the reason why women like to have men around is because, at their best, men are playful and fun. Sophie Strand reminds us that there is a mythical foundation to this — and the wise, childlike Jesus seems to clearly agree.