What enables or allows the mystical experience is not exactly an access into some higher reality, a revelation of the world’s unity, a penetration into the ground of Being or what is. What I mean to say, the mystical experience is not the affect of something that takes place on the outside, our perception of that outside: when one is happy the world becomes bright, and when sad gloomy, and thus with the mystical experience. Life and its fecundity arrive to such an excess within us that, completely self-oblivious and no longer struggling to maintain ourselves, we are carried with the tide and blend with everything around us. The experience itself is an amalgamation of drunkenness and clarity where the world becomes transfigured through and through. We hear the volcano rumbling within us and erupting, and at the same time envision the clarity and peacefulness of a sky in an autumn lake.
But let us beware of turning that into some ultimate truth — for truth is never a question here—, let us beware of submitting our reason and with it our personal will and individuality with our want to hem ourselves there once and for all. Let us not make the mistake of disvaluing our difference in the favour of some sameness that comes under the headline of oneness. Let us not dismantle the hierarchy of values, the inevitability of rule and obedience. Let us not paint our world colourless and pale by wanting to forfeit that which is peculiarly human — our taste.