An engaging journey from someone entrenched early on, and deeply, in the Christian faith.
Well written, in a personal, conversational style. It tells the story of someone struggling to come to terms with the organized faith of his past, leading to a kind of personal epiphany, which I would imagine would resonate with many like myself, who are somewhat perplexed by the way doctrines of Christianity are portrayed in the traditional sense.
It follows the internal battles and conversations that are undertaken as he wrestles with the past, reasons for his faith, and the subsequent contradictions placed before him.
I was gripped and finished the book in two days, despite the continued moments of reflection it forces the reader to think about.
Here’s a snippet from a review by one of the earliest readers:
“The Naked Mystic is not for the faint of heart, but it is for those of us looking for guidance through this labyrinth we call life. A beautiful story of a man’s journey into, and out of, the darkest corners of his mental struggle to know God. For anyone who believes the bible is the beginning and the end of spiritual understanding — this book is for you. For anyone who questions the role of institutions in the world of God — this book is for you. For anyone who struggles with loneliness and fear — this book is for you. A story about the end of stories. While intimate and particular to one man’s struggle, it remains extraordinarily relatable and helpful — Woven in such a way that helps us understand the bible in a way that helps us understand our Self. In these times of widespread fearmongering and quarantine, The Naked Mystic offers us a guide to being okay with being alone. No doubt, The Naked Mystic is a spiritual autobiography worthy of the name.” ~B.R.
A voice came clearly:
Tell me what it is,
if you can, that knowing
that knows that you are mad.
And then tell me
what you will choose to be:
the knowing or the madman?
And I heard the voice say to his friend:
Tell me, which one
you think he will choose?
At least a madman is something to be.
And then tell me,
if you can, whether he will
prefer that to the nakedness of knowing.
How does one say
the same thing about
Nothing, again and again?
Lay the first course of bricks
from a corner-dream-stone, and
on a strong foundation of fresh air?
Paint seven pictures of the night in
seventy times seven misty colours, and
watch the morning sun consume them all?
Put a story-capstone on an ever changing
tide of nameless feelings labelled into thoughts,
then fence a portion of that sea and call it Me?
My plans point at me and laugh from the
rubble they have left behind, and watch the
smoke rise and dance from the end of my cigar.
How is it that when I dream
I am the father, the source
and the creator of worlds?
Aren't I the one who also
seems to love and fear in
those same landscapes?
As I sit the thought arises
out of nowhere - a place
I know but can not find.
I am being dream-spun by
the father, the source and
the creator of these worlds.