The Philosopher-Mystic’s Creed

I believe the universe is a riddle wrapped in a metaphor disguised as a joke—and that the punchline might be love.

I believe in mystery—not the “unsolved crime” kind, but the capital-M kind. The kind that sings behind things, that pulls on your gut at 3 a.m., that makes children laugh for no reason and old men cry when they smell lavender.

I believe my soul isn’t a machine to be fixed or a ladder to climb, but a strange garden where light and shadow are trying to figure out how to dance.

I believe Jesus might’ve whispered more than he shouted, that Mary Magdalene probably understood him better than Peter did, and that most spiritual breakthroughs happen when nobody’s watching—not on stages or in comment sections.

I believe in symbols—crows, dreams, broken clocks, old cars, the smell of rain, the silence in a film just before the music swells. I believe the world talks back, if you’re paying attention.

I believe God doesn’t mind being called “The All,” or “The Mystery,” or “That Thing I Felt at the Ocean.” And I’m pretty sure God has a sense of humor, or else platypuses wouldn’t exist.

I believe imagination is not decoration—it’s navigation. It points the way when maps go blank.

I believe in alchemy—not the lead-into-gold kind, but the despair-into-insight kind. The ache that makes art. The failure that wakes you up. The darkness that teaches you how to hold light without breaking.

I believe I am here for something—maybe not a reason, but a resonance. A thrum in the tuning fork of time. A beat I was born to play.

I believe that shadow isn’t sin. It’s just the part of me that hasn’t learned how to speak without screaming.

I believe the veil is thin. I believe some things are real even if they aren’t factual. I believe angels wear flannel and the Devil quotes TikTok. I believe you can be mystical and skeptical and still get something out of both.

And I believe—no, I know—that there’s more going on here than we’re supposed to admit.

So I will walk with mystery.
I will name my demons and pour them coffee.
I will kiss the symbols and follow the silence.
I will keep one foot in the myth, and one in the mud.

And if that makes me sound nuts?

Well.
So it goes.