Everyone’s A Mystic

I hear the skeptic in you balking at the claim.

What does “Everyone’s a mystic” even mean?

Within each and every one of us is our soul’s knowing. Deep knowledge that extends far beyond what we can actively remember. It also challenges what we envision for the future.

When people hear the word mystic, they often imagine someone living in a monastery, meditating on an isolated mountaintop, or possessing extraordinary spiritual gifts unavailable to the rest of us. Outsiders from the rest of us. Maybe you’re thinking of Zoltar Speaks from Big (1988), Ivannah in Mallrats (1995), Miss Cleo on TV, or simply a wise old face with long white hair, big beard, and faded light blue eyes. Includes crystal balls, tarot cards, glowing runes, dusty old books. The men sport long beards and hooded robes while the ladies are cloaked in dark shawls and heavy jewelry gently clinking together. It changes every decade but the tropes serve to separate us further from the truth: Everyone’s a mystic.

Every one of us enters this world with mystical powers. Perhaps not everyone has visions or hears angels, but every soul arrives with an innate connection to the Divine. Before we learn who the world expects us to be, as children we are firmly rooted in who we truly are. We do not doubt the knowledge of our soul.

However, as we grow up, new experiences replace the innate intuition. For instance, we can sense when someone is hurting, even if they're smiling or saying “I’m fine.” We feel drawn toward certain people and cautious around others without knowing why. We ask profound questions long before we've been taught religion or philosophy. We have imaginary friends, vivid dreams, and moments that adults dismiss as fantasy.

What if those experiences aren't signs of childish imagination but spiritual remembrance?

As I reflect on my own upbringing, I realize I entered the world unusually sensitive to the emotions of others. I often perceived what people were actually feeling beneath the words they spoke like a powerful soft undercurrent. When someone appeared kind but carried anger inside, I sensed it. When another seemed harsh yet was secretly frightened, I felt that as well. As a child, these experiences were confusing because no one around me understood what I was trying to describe. Eventually, I stopped speaking about them altogether.

Looking back, I don't believe those experiences made me extraordinary.

I believe they made me human.

Children are natural mystics. They live closer to the soul than adults do.

Before the expectations of society begin to shape us, we experience life from a place of openness rather than judgment. We haven't yet learned to ignore our intuition in favor of logic or suppress our inner knowing to gain acceptance. The soul still speaks clearly because the noise of the world hasn't yet drowned out its voice.

Then of course, life happens.

Parents, teachers, schools, careers, relationships, disappointments, successes, and failures slowly teach us how to survive in the physical world. We learn what is rewarded and what is ignored. We discover which parts of ourselves receive approval and which parts are met with skepticism or misunderstanding. We look outside and forget our soul’s purpose.

Without realizing it, we begin to ignore our truths to be part of the herd. This flattens our life experience but feels safe. Many of us become remarkably successful at playing the game of life while quietly losing touch with the deeper part of ourselves that came here with a purpose.

I know this journey well.

For years, I worked diligently to succeed in the material world. I became an attorney, built a career, and achieved many of the goals I believed would finally bring fulfillment and safety. From the outside, life was on track. Inside, however, I felt increasingly disconnected from the person I had once been. The gifts that had felt so natural in childhood had grown silent beneath years of trying to become who I believed I needed to be. And with it came an immense, inexplicable grief.

Many people experience something similar. Compassion that became guarded from hurt. Creativity that gave way to practicality. Curiosity that became certainty. Or perhaps it was simply your ability to sit quietly with yourself without constantly reaching for distraction. Whatever the form, the pattern is remarkably similar.

All the while, the soul never disappears. It simply waits. Another misconception about the spiritual journey is that it involves acquiring something we don't already possess. We search for enlightenment, wisdom, peace, or connection as though they exist somewhere outside ourselves. As if it’s a material need to be sourced.

I have come to believe the opposite. The spiritual journey is not about becoming someone new, but remembering who we have always been. Mysticism, then, is not reserved for a select few. It’s accessible to anyone with the willingness to trust that the quiet voice within us may know something our thinking mind has forgotten.

How can we recover? How do we remember the mystic within us?

We start by paying attention to those moments that cannot easily be explained. Unexpected insights, meaningful coincidences, dreams that linger, conversations that arrive at exactly the right moment, gentle feelings that quietly nudge us toward kindness, forgiveness, or courage. In turn, that actually draws us closer to our ultimate goal of acceptance.

The language around it is often intuition, coincidence, or synchronicity. I simply call these moments invitations to remember that life is larger than the physical world we can see and measure.

We live in a culture that celebrates siloed data while often overlooking the holistic context of wisdom. Our lives are spent making sense of how the world works rather than pursuing why we are here.

Mystics are not extraordinary. They simply discover the sacred hidden within ordinary life.

Every conversation.

Every relationship.

Every disappointment.

Every act of forgiveness.

Every unexpected detour.

Every experience becomes an opportunity for the soul to grow.

I don't expect everyone to interpret these experiences the way I do. Each person's journey is unique, and each soul discovers truth in its own time. But what if the deepest part of you has never stopped speaking? Are you willing to become quiet enough to hear it again? Brave enough to rebuild the awareness that has atrophied like a muscle unchallenged?

When you do, please let me know what you hear.

We were all mystics once and each day is an opportunity to remember.