A Walmart Mystic
I never wanted to be a mystic, and had I known what a mystic really was, I would have desired it even less. Nevertheless, there is something about hermetic Gnosticism that ever tugs at me, drawing down the arcane paths of esoteric knowledge. I have studied at the feet of evil men, holy men and even a few rogues. Oddly, the rogues were the more reliable teachers.
Visible magic is nearly always deceptive. It is the finger that appears to point toward God, but then the finger stealthily becomes the object of veneration, an idol, if you will. A mystic sees beyond the smoke, through the mirrors, and beholds the framework of the illusion. Though a mystic discerns the false, he commonly does not discern truth either.
This one-side discernment makes most mystics extremely unreliable guides. The mystics themselves become deceived with their myopic view, mistaking it for spiritual depth. Though they expose the lie, they misrepresent the truth, even when they have your best interest at heart.
Kabbalist (as opposed to the Madonna type hermetic Quabalism) sometimes reveal breathtaking clues into the vast mind of the Creator, yet fail to heal one person with their shadow, nor improve their relationship with that same Creator. They perceive the intricacies of the Grand Architect much the same way I perceive the x-rays of a microchip. The harmony of the circuit paths are awe inspiring in their sophistication, but I do not know what any of them do, nor do I know how to harness their intricacy.
Over time, I have harnessed great power, only to have that power quickly dissipate like smoke, and the knowledge of how I made things happen just disappeared. Few, if any, mystics today can maintain that level of authority.
I do know the secret, of course. My problem is the level of arrogance that resides in me. To me, true heroes never bow to any one or any thing. Instead of being a child who carefully watches his father and imitates him, I want to be the father and I want the universe to imitate me. I can’t seem to get beyond that notion for very long.
So on this day of atonement, Yom Kippur in the native tongue, I afflict my soul.
Good morning!
Rusty's Armory 
October 4, 2014 at 1:35 pm
Good morning, your soul seems to flow out peace. (perception based on your words here and that other place)
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October 4, 2014 at 4:18 pm
Thank you! Yes, I am at peace … usually. 😉
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October 4, 2014 at 9:43 pm
I’ve been thinking about the number Nine. It isn’t really there is it, not in the symbol of it, nor held in the synapses of our brain. It is only a pleasant mask I put on the reality to make it feel more comfortable. The illusion is one of the many that I have been given or have formed, that make up what I have come to call reality. There is no shelter in these thought, but it would feel like a lie for me to deny them.
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