The Mystic

Chapter One ~∆~ Master

Chapter 1

~∆~

Master

I met him near an ashram in Tamil Nadu, a place where the earth itself and every living thing seemed to breathe with whispered secrets of the divine. He was a transformed human, a beacon of light cloaked in the humility of flesh wandering about among normal people. The molten orb of the sun began its descent just before dusk, painting the sky in hues of fire and rose, as I sat, immersed in the atmosphere, under a pretty pipal tree that reached towards the heavens with limbs like the arms of a supplicant.

Crushed orange blossoms, their fragrance rich and intoxicating, mingled with the heady scent of sandalwood and jasmine, created a sacred balm that caressed the air, soothing the soul. The gentle breeze, carried the fragrances, infusing each breath I took with a note of sacredness, and for the first time in my life, I felt as though I had come home. I gazed off into the vastness of nothingness, where everything and nothing became intertwined in that place as one.

The streets teemed with life, Yogis with ash covered bodies, wanderers who had descended from the high Himalayas, priests, and worshippers, thronged the streets of the sacred festival that animated this land. Fires burned in the distance, their flames like tongues of spirit, reaching upwards. I watched as a single spark ascended, merging with the indigo sky in a spark filled kiss while the sound of the damaru drum, sacred to Lord Shiva, echoed through the night, drumming a steady, melodious beat that resonated with the rhythm of my own heart. Was this the river of joy Rumi had spoken about? That unending flow of bliss which carries the soul beyond the shores of ordinary life into the ocean of the all?

I understood then why the damaru was sacred to Lord Shiva in his aspect of Nataraja, the cosmic dancer whose movements weave the fabric of existence. In that moment, infused with the essence of creation, I saw a mote of sunlight dancing upon a nearby orange blossom, and I marveled at how I had never before truly seen the world's miraculous display. It was as if I had been blind, wandering in a drunken stupor, unaware of the infinite beauty that surrounded me. How could I have missed this? How could my soul have been so blind?

A smile breathed from the depths of my being, a breath of freedom as though seeing life for the first time, and with it came the undeniable certainty that I was dwelling within a miracle. The world around me, every tree, every flower, every breath, was a display of the divine magic that permeated all things.

As this thought blossomed in my heart, a warmth began to spread through my being. Then, without warning, I was suddenly plunged into subtle darkness. Night enveloped me, and the moon, full and glorious, hung in the sky like a pearl in an ocean of midnight. And I knew it. I had known it always, for as I stood there, gazing up at it, a deep certainty took root in my soul. This is all I have ever known, all I have ever done. It is what I always do, stand here and watch the moon. I watched it rise and fall through endless nights, and I smiled, content in the embrace of its light.

Yet this thought was not the end, but the beginning, a wave of realization washed over me, a blanket of energy that soaked me from head to toe, sharpening my awareness with a sudden clarity. Panic and awe arose then, twin forces that held me in their grasp, surged through me as I grasped the immensity of the moment. Where am I? How can I be here, when I am sitting under a tree just before dusk in Tamil Nadu? The wave receded, and with it, my awareness returned to the present, leaving me trembling in the wake of what I had experienced. I watched as the inky blackness faded, merging with my surroundings, two realities intertwining until I was once more beneath my tree, the drum of Shiva guiding me back to the world of form.

My long dark hair fell around me like a veil, and I looked down at my pale salmon sari pants, at the brass bangles adorning my wrists. I sat frozen in my own world, clinging to the drumbeat as though it were a thread, a pulse of life that anchored me to the earth, to the now. I uttered a heart felt prayer to Lord Shiva, beseeching his presence, for his guidance and protection as I contemplated what this meant. An impossibility that I had just slipped into had been witnessed. It was then that I heard it, the pure tinkling of bells, a sound so delicate, so otherworldly, that it drew me from my reverie.