Questions from a Student of Mysticism

“I feel a little unmoored... Am I missing the point?”

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.

Hi Skye,

I wanted to reach out because I’m finding myself struggling quite a bit with the mysticism material, and I’m not entirely sure what to do with the grappling.

I genuinely want to deepen my spiritual formation, but I keep noticing recurring assumptions across different traditions and texts that I’m having a hard time reconciling.

For example, I’m finding myself especially resistant to mystical language around dissolution, ego-death, or disappearing into the One. I keep wondering why individuation, particularity, and personhood are so often treated as things to transcend rather than as potentially sacred expressions of the divine.

I’m also confused by the tension between teachings that say “all is divine” and the repeated tendency to cast certain things—ego, rationality, individuality—as spiritually inferior or suspect. I find myself thinking: 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?

It’s not that I reject mysticism. 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.

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.

What I don’t know is what to do with the grappling. I don’t want to disengage or become cynical, but I also don’t want to override my own discernment simply because a text is considered spiritually important.

I would really value your perspective on how to work with this. 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?

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

🙏🏼