This poem by So Sinopoulos-Lloyd @borealfaun was originally shared on Instagram several months ago.
Mysticism is a Survival Skill
Mysticism is a vital practice during times of collapse.
The mystics have always been so good at embracing unknowing, longing, and paradox.
They’ve been good at being curious about death, and rebirth.
They’ve been good at balancing perseverance with surrender.
So why does (mysticism) feel so out of style now?
It’s delusion. It’s escape. We activists say, as we fear yielding any ground in this war of dreams.
What about the mystics who didn’t try to transcend suffering, but gave themselves fully to it? Let it shape their life, their purpose? For whom grief was prayer?
They lived during times when the world was changing.
And their hearts were like the lichens.
Their souls were like the coral reefs.
Howling with pain at a world out of touch with mystery
and the howls alchemized into strange bewitching music that no one had heard before. Dirges. Laments.
These melodies contain every emotion. Joy, love, grief, terror, anger, reverence.
Anger is necessary but it’s not the only emotion related to the desire for justice.
What about also sharing our despair?
:: Mysticism is the only type of ancient thought I know of that makes despair holy ::
Without despair’s re/enchantment, anger is like fire without water.
Oh yes, Mysticism is related to justice.
Because in courtship of mystery, in longing for a different world,
Justice is dreamt that can also reach beyond the human.
That’s Pretty Fucking Big.