Meeting a Mystic

My writing group is meeting this weekend at Glenstal Abbey and we have just finished our morning session. We meet about once every three months and when we gather there is such wonderful joy and sharing. Our group was formed last January during my first visit to Glenstal Abbey. I was thrilled and honored to be asked to join with such splendid and poetic writers in a writing group where we share and praise and gently suggest, but never criticize. Each time we meet someone is in charge of creating and leading some writing exercises. Today Michael is the leader and he inspired our first 15-minutes of writing by sharing a poem, Little of Distinction, by Ruth Bidgood. I wrote about how everything, life in specific could become very distinctive, if we learn to leave our expectations behind and step into the journey. Then even what is seemingly mundane can hold a hidden treasure or surprise.

Our second writing exercise was inspired by a series of pictures that Michael shared. We each picked one. I ended up writing about meeting a mystic. While not in its polished form, I want to share my story with you. It is inspired by a few true life moments that have happened very recently. Only the form of the mystic changes in my story. The wisdom I discerned is the same as in this imagined journey that follows.

I Met a Mystic...by Marsha Eger

The journey up the mountain was long and arduous, but more than worth the effort. I started early morning of a promising spring day, just at first light. The sun was up enough to begin casting its gentle radiance on the rock covered hillside, revealing the winding path that was to lead me on my way. I was told by some of villagers, the previous evening, about a mystic that lived half way up the mountain, and that he could often be found just following the dawn, at the first plateau at the top of the trail. I was advised that if I stayed on the well-trodden path that I would eventually come to him, and perhaps if I was in just the right mindset, he would share his ancient wisdom with me.

I couldn't resist this opportunity and so here I was, at dawns first light, making my way up the mountain path. It was a strenuous walk. I found the path difficult to navigate, very rocky and uneven, and often I had to support myself as I ascended the mountain, by grabbing a hold of a nearby shrub that seem to extend a helping hand from among the rocky terrain. At the end of a half-hour journey up a very steep incline, I reached my destination. By that time the sun was up in all its glory. As I stood on the bit of level ground and short grasses, catching my breath, I turned slowly around and found myself face-to-face with a beautiful and very regal being. He stood erect, head up, long brown and white hair and beard, moving slightly in the gentlee wind. His eyes were very dark, his demeanor serious and discerning. Not a word was spoken. In the silence we gazed at each other and I sensed an overwhelming joy. I felt a great sense of love in the heart of this mystic, who just seemed to be, to be one with his surroundings and with nature. This was his wisdom, that he could effortlessly and instinctively be at One by just being fully and authentically who he is, an Irish mountain goat, perfectly at home in his own presence, hooves firmly planted on the earth and beautifully formed ram-like horns emanating from his crown towards the heavens. In his presence I was the same, fully me and at one. This was not the mystic I was expecting when I started up the mountain path, but he was yoga beyond all compare.