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Mist Tickling Mystical Mystery
Radiant resplendent reverie
“I know nothing in the world that has as much power as a word. Sometimes I write one, and I look at it, until it begins to shine.”
― Emily Dickinson
Mystical. Yes, that’s it. Mystical.
A mysterious word with mysterious meaning that I get to make my own.
I love how it sounds, rolling off my tongue in perfect three syllable rhythm.
My-sti-cal…
Yet if I change the emphasis just slightly, I have what sounds like mist tickle.
Now I’m walking through a deep evergreen forest, with the morning mist rising up, ticking my face and hands as it lifts — mist tickle.
Then I’m transported beyond the forest to spirit realms where the me in this skin dissolves into the Allness and Oneness of all that is. Till I am the breath that breathes the world and the world is the breath that breathes me.
There is no me and no them in this place. There is no forest or trees in this place. There was a mist but it dissolved into spirit, taking me with it.
Now I am pure consciousness inside the One.
From here, all is peace. From here all is radiance. From here, all is love. From here everything…
