Mystics speak to a reality that they know, that others only dream of. They dance with the lightness of joy, laughing at the days to come; and yet they hold the weight of the world’s sorrows. They are prophets and preachers, nurturers and teachers. Mystics are misfits, flitting in and out of time; this both a gift and a burden. It is a special calling that comes with great responsibility. They are warriors with childlike hearts; both fierce and kind. They dance with fire in their eyes and sail with the winds. Mystics are wanderers and builders. They are loved and they are hated, exposed and unknown. Mystics follow the light of an inner guiding voice; they know what they know, and they trust what they see. They live as if life neither begins nor is destroyed, it just is. They believe fiercely and they doubt. The spark of the divine they know well, and recognize it in everyone they meet. They are scandalous and they are holy. They know that anything worthwhile comes at great cost. Mystics disrupt and tear down; they protect, recreate and give birth. They are foolish and wise. A mystic knows their own limits and goes beyond them anyway.
