Everyday Mysticism

by Ron Roth

No one spiritual concept causes more misunderstanding than "mysticism." The term can bring to mind wild-eyed fanatics and unbelievable accounts of psychic feats. Even accomplishments that have been scientifically documented are often looked upon with great skepticism.

The word "mystic" derives from the same Greek roots as does "mystery," a root meaning "close-mouthed," which was how members, initiated into Greek "mystery schools," were supposed to remain about what went on there.

To me, a mystic is someone who has ascended the mount of transfiguration as Jesus did, and who has returned to the flatlands to become a center of creative energy and power in the world. In whatever life a mystic may engage, he or she partakes of the divine energy of God and becomes united with that ultimate Reality called God. Inflamed with divine love, peacefully serene, the mystic possesses a creative strength and power that those of us caught up with our primitive self do not possess.

By this definition, I consider myself a mystic-in-progress. I certainly wouldn’t compare myself with Teresa of Avila or Terese of Lisieux, or Yogananda, but I genuinely feel that’s my calling — and yours, too.

Mysticism is not about a romantic withdrawal from the world into a monastery or ashram. It is not about entering altered states of consciousness to experience blissful raptures. On the contrary, mysticism requires an understanding that true spirituality is about staying grounded. A spiritual person cuts the grass, makes dinner, does the dishes, and cleans the toilets. At one point in my spiritual practice, I mistakenly believed everything should be done for me because I was devoting most of my time to prayer. The net result was that after a time, I felt burnt out. I didn’t realize that making dinner, doing the dishes, and cleaning the toilets can all be forms of prayer.

The seventeenth-century Christian mystic, Brother Lawrence, talks about this everyday active prayer in a book called, The Practice of the Presence of God. Formerly a footman and soldier by the name of Nicholas Herman of Lorraine, Brother Lawrence had a conversion experience at eighteen that altered his life forever. While gazing at a winter tree stripped of its leaves, he suddenly realized it would shortly be renewed and spring forth with flowers and fruit, and the same was possible for him. Entering the monastery shortly afterward, he found joy in his daily work in the kitchen, which became a form of prayer for him. A correspondent of his wrote, "with him the set times of prayer were not different from other times; he retired to pray, according to the direction of his superior, but he did not want such retirement nor ask for it, because his greatest business did not divert him from God."

Brother Lawrence knew you cannot separate the spiritual life from the daily life of work and pleasure. I learned this lesson in a very distressing way in 1983, when still a parish priest. As I was attempting to perform healing rituals and immerse myself in a life of prayer, I forgot I was still in a human body. Endeavoring to focus on the "spiritual" side of life, I became depressed and disoriented. As somebody once put it, I was becoming so heavenly minded, I was no earthly good to anyone.

Many are turned off to the spiritual life because they mistakenly believe that to be a mystic and live a holy life they will have to give up everything they love. Mysticism is not self-abnegation, however; it’s living in harmony. To live a spiritual life you don’t have to give up things; rather, bring joy and refreshment into life. Psalm 16:11 declares, "O Lord, you’ve shown me the path of life; in your presence is fullness of joy, and in your right hand are pleasures forevermore." Of course, when Peter quotes that Psalm in the Book of Acts (2:25-28), he (or whoever wrote or later edited Acts) leaves off the last phrase about pleasures in the right hand of God. Somebody in the Church didn’t think the path of life, the fullness of joy, and pleasures belonged together. In our own time, the Vietnamese Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hanh teaches that living in the present moment, or mindfulness, is the aim of contemplation and meditation. The present moment includes everything, both spiritual and material. Thich Nhat Hanh teaches that we can be in a meditative state while walking the streets of a big, noisy city. You don’t have to go to your room and sit in the lotus position to be meditative — unless, of course, you are guided to. Even if you are guided to solitary meditation, you can carry your deeply meditative state into daily activities, like paying the bills or doing housework. We strive to be in the present moment because God is in the present.

We speak of the Divine Presence, but have you ever heard anyone refer to the Divine Future or Divine Past? To live in the present means to be consciously aware and connected with the Source in every moment — which is why taking prayer breaks throughout the day, for instance, is such an essential part of everyday mysticism. Being in the present moment also means letting go of regret for the past or fear of the future. If you have fears about death, or about separation from your material existence or loved ones, you will not be able to live in the present. Once we start plugging all our circuits into the future or past, we lose power rapidly because we forget how to live in the present. The purpose of prayer and meditation is to bring you back to where you belong in the present. To live this moment as fully as possible, right now, wherever you may be, is living in the presence of God. Zen Buddhists, who don’t speak of God per se, but who have made a science of living in the now, have a saying: "When eating, just eat; when walking, just walk." Be fully present in your simplest actions and do not overlay them with fantasies, fears, regrets, and other distractions.

Take a few minutes to perform one of the most familiar spiritual exercises of mystics…being present. It is as simple as breathing and as difficult to maintain as keeping your balance on a tightrope — which is what the mystical author of Katha Upanishad meant when he said the spiritual path is as narrow and difficult to follow as walking on the edge of a razor. (Jesus seems to be paraphrasing him in the Gospel of Matthew, 7:13; "For the gate is narrow and the way is hard, that leads to life, and those who find it are few.") We tend to fall to one side or the other of consciousness, whether drifting into the past with nostalgic longing or regret, or sailing into the future with elaborate fantasies and plans of what we’ll do tomorrow or next year. The aim of mystical life is to remain in the ever-changing present moment, rooted only in our awareness of the unchanging Divine.

Whether you are riding on a subway or airplane, sitting at your desk, or lying in bed, begin taking note of every sound you can make out around you. Simply hear it, identify it, and let it wash over and around you; then let it go. Notice the layers of distance, from the barely audible whir of a fan or ventilator or chirping birds just outside your window, to the more distant sounds of an oil furnace in the basement, cars passing on the street, sirens, or bells tolling far off.

Now carry on a similar process of observation for smells, including those that may be offensive, like chemical smells or polluted odors of city air. Of course, don’t ignore the many pleasant smells that may reach you from flowers or trees, the smells of food or perfume, or of your own body. Let each discreet smell enter your awareness; stay with it a moment, then let it go — like a passing thought during meditation.

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