Mysticbeing

You hit a wall that your logic cannot explain. A death. A betrayal. A collapse of everything you built your identity on. In that rubble, you either harden or you soften. The Mysticbeing softens. She stops asking “Why me?” and starts asking “What is this pain teaching me about the nature of life itself?”

We are so busy doing—optimizing, earning, replying, scrolling, performing—that the simple, radical act of being has become foreign. And when you add the word mystic in front of it? You get something that feels almost extinct.

If you call yourself a Mysticbeing as an identity to feel superior, you have missed the point entirely. The true Mysticbeing has no need for the title. The title is just a signpost pointing back to the simple, impossible truth: Mysticbeing

A is not a person who levitates or lives in a cave. It is not a label reserved for saints, gurus, or the exceptionally holy. In fact, the more I sit with this word, the more I realize:

A Mysticbeing is anyone who has remembered that the invisible is more real than the visible. We tend to think mysticism is about escaping the world. About transcending the body, silencing the mind, and dissolving into some formless white light. But the old traditions knew better. The Desert Fathers, the Sufis, the Tantrics, the Zen poets—they weren’t running from the world. They were running into its deepest layers. You hit a wall that your logic cannot explain

What would change in your life today if you acted as though everything—every sound, every breath, every ordinary moment—was secretly holy?

And in that trying, remember who you’ve always been. A collapse of everything you built your identity on

So here is my question for you, fellow traveler: