You Are a Miracle
Mystics and philosophers have to write in extremes. Emphasize the black from the white. They have to exaggerate in order to invoke profound change. In a way, they intend to shock your system. In the old days, Zen masters would slap the faces of their 'about-to-be awakened' disciples. Some Hindu gurus were known to throw stones at their listeners. Today, as we evolved out of these archaic methods, mystics offer sharp words. Not in offense, but in challenge. Not in a demeaning way but with a powerful conscious focus. My words are not meant to be agreeable or opposed. I write because, therefore, I am. My words are my soul's expression. As an artist, and as a poet, I write my words as music. They have no point or use. My writing is completely useless. As such, it has to be extreme. It has to have clearly defined edges. When a poet writes a love sonnet, they won't be writing, I love you sometimes when it fits, and we're both at home. The poet will write I have always loved you and always will. I loved you before we met, and I'll love you even still when we'll depart.
A mystic writes a love poem to your soul. Begging, asking, pleading you to awaken to your infinite divine glory. Their words worship your inner world. They exalt your spirit to shine as bright and as full as it possibly can. The mystic sings to elevate what you consider to be your vices and weaknesses. Their words are meant to help you rise into the morning sun. They wish to offer you wholeness, to show you that you are a process. An imperfectly perfect being. Their music is meant to be a silent recognition of all that you are.
Therefore, a mystic cannot compromise. Mystics have to use words that might seem to you as an exaggeration. But in truth, in reality, they are not. You are magnificent, the mystic will say. You, as you are, in your wholeness, in your totality, are nothing short of a miracle. Every gesture you make, every step you might take. You, my friend, my glorious friend, are amazing. I am humbled by your presence in my life. I am indebted to existence in its splendor for putting you on my path. For showing me myself in and through your eyes. I, forever, am grateful for who you are. For without you being you, how can I be me?
As a mystic, I am under oath. An agreement to share in truth. To describe what I see. To be nothing more than a symbol, a gesture. A finger pointing back at itself. I am here to fight on your behalf. To argue indefinitely that you are truly magnificent, miraculous, and amazing. Even if you will be my sole enemy. Doing your best to fight back and prove me wrong.
I will fight back because your greatness is my greatness. Your light is my own. If you struggle to stay in darkness, I will have to follow. If I follow, you'll have to lead. If you lead, I'll have to follow. If I follow, I'll get to stand behind you and shine the greatest light on how magical and wondrous you are, even in darkness. I will admire your ability to imagine the dark among so much light. To be such a shining example of the illusion that you aren't light.