For a Mystic, every answer suggests a new question, and the unknown stands perpetually before him in an infinite panorama of relativity… an infinite gray landscape of constantly indeterminate values sanctions every possible experience.
The reality is that all of us, including the most expert investigators of the Absolute, are products of the common mentality and the vilest reality of consensus. Consensus offers belonging and this sanctions the norms of compromise.
Compromise is split, corruption of authenticity, a yardstick by which one measures oneself and by which one is measured. The false sense of independence, of exclusivity, imposes adherence and loyalty to contemporary idols, worldly models to which one is either devoted or tries to escape.
Our views and beliefs have been programmed into us by those who have always been the first to grab the torches and set fire to the manor. Every ideal personal construction can be shattered by the rules exercised by the imposing judgment of the dominant system, which is never outside of us, but which dwells within each of us. Every form of refusal, or array, with the citadel of power leads to blind love, conflict, separation, suffering. This is the kind of cultural poison against which the mysterious magic of the madmen is a possibility and a remedy.
We are madmen, but born in the crowd and raised by the crowd; and if, for some reason, we don’t feel compelled to fall in line, to shop at the mall, to wear the latest fashion craze, to scream hysterically at every competitive sporting event, to get excited or obediently moved by every cloying media, religious, political or patriotic assembly, we risk being mercilessly dragged by the hair and torn apart before we can make peace with the judicious god praised by the herdsmen… that jealous, vindictive guy with the long white beard who takes over when Santa Claus goes away.
For a Mystic, every answer suggests a new question, and the unknown is perpetually before him in an infinite panorama of relativity… an infinite gray landscape of constantly indeterminate values sanctions every possible experience. The “Kingdom” is always within reach.
The mystical Vision is a Possibility, it is the window open on Reality, it is the Balm for blindness, it is the colorless Fire that annihilates the space of variants. The Mystic is the son of Truth, he is the one who in the aspiration to authenticity renounces the ideological limit of the crowds. Like a dart, he hurls himself against his own Sun, like a miner he scans his own Earth, like a diver he immerses himself in his own Being.
A true Mystic defines himself as a residual man. He carries few things with him, only the essential. Without ties, by renunciation or necessity, he sets out resolutely in the direction of the Sun of Suns, crossing metropolises of worn-out ideas, of ruined religions, among the corpses of false masters, near vestiges of what has been and is natural not to return. Stateless, he is the son of the Moment. Mad, he is the Father and Mother of his own Madness.
Mysticism is the expression of one who is the bearer of what remains of the human being in the true sense, after the era of the human has given way to inhumanity. Incorruptible, he is the guardian of that which in Man cannot be further reduced, compromised, negotiable, transferable, under penalty of losing his own humanity. A Mystic is one who, by circumstance or by choice, chooses the power of the impersonal over the power of the melodramatic roles that hypnotized crowds yearn for.
The Work of a Mystic is not a stable and repetitive thing, it changes constantly and has many forms. Although availability may vary, and the form of the Work may change radically over time, its nature never changes, however much many may fall into the trap of convention, devoting their entire working lives to dead forms of the past.
The fabric of Reality is woven in the Face of the Beloved.
When a teaching dies before completing its task, another appears, which completes what was left unfinished. The perennial Tradition is the golden thread that weaves the plot of every possible Teaching.
A man’s work ends at sunset; the Work of a Mystic never ends.
The Mystic is not completely crazy, when he wants to land on the Sun, he lands at night…
A Mysterical 2024 therefore resonates
in the Heart of every Sun-eyed madman.
