The Center of Self: A Mystic’s Anchor

Rhythm and Runes

My tiny chihuahua, a fierce professor of discipline, constantly reminds me that life is built on a series of non-negotiable rituals—from the exact way her kibble must be broken up to the precise moment of hand-feeding. This fixation on process mirrors my own periodic discovery: when I dive too deeply into the chaotic cacophony of business ventures, demanding gigs, or psi abilities applied to emerging

technologies, my root sense of self—my spiritual anchor—can become buried under the digital noise.

This is the essential point. While we are entitled to pursue our worldly goals, the spiritualist or mystic must remember to secure their anchor to a higher calling between the societal systems and industrial chaos. One of the most profound reminders of this connection to the animistic force is a simple walk in nature, or if that is unavailable, a retracing of our ancestral steps through the runes.

The Primal Resistance

For me, this process begins every morning with the rune Uruz, the glyph of primal, primitive inner power. After an initial stretch, I engage in a muscular workout that brings me jarringly back to earth. The contrast between this old world practice and the new is immediate and ironic.

Following vigorous pressing, clenching, and grasping exercises—a combination of Japanese Ninjutsu hand conditioning, Korean fingertip drills, and endurance training aimed at maintaining a firm handshake or even cracking rock—my hands are tight, locked, and utterly incapable of tapping out the articles I need to publish or advancing the manuscript I am painstakingly authoring. The physical grounding must, by necessity, precede the digital engagement.