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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:
Not because you believe it. But because for ten seconds, you might try it on.
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: Mysticbeing
What would change in your life today if you acted as though everything—every sound, every breath, every ordinary moment—was secretly holy?
5 minutes There is a word we don’t use enough anymore: being . If you call yourself a Mysticbeing as an
The difference is not in what we do, but in what we notice . A Mysticbeing hasn’t left the world. She has finally, fully, entered it.
Have you ever stood somewhere—a forest at dawn, a concert where the music seemed to breathe, a moment of such unexpected kindness that your throat tightened—and felt the boundaries of your skin dissolve? That is the other door. Beauty that breaks you open is just as initiatory as grief. But because for ten seconds, you might try it on
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.
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?”