A Wild Mystic

My son Mac, right, and his pal Will dressed for an Airsoft game, during which they were commanded by a 17-year-old high school senior and mystic.

HOBOKEN, MAY 6, 2025.  Researching my book Rational Mysticism, I interviewed professional mystics, who lay their wisdom on us in books, videos, retreats and so on. They reach down from the pinnacle of mystical insight, enlightenment, to lend us a helping hand.

But as old Lao Tzu warns: “Those who know do not speak, those who speak do not know.” Some mystics don’t yammer on YouTube about transcending the ego and becoming one with everything blah blah blah. They move through the world like ordinary folk, their inner lives invisible to those around them. Call them “outsider mystics,” or “wild mystics.”

In 2008, I encountered a wild mystic under especially unlikely circumstances. The story that follows is based on notes I scribbled in my journal at the time, as well as on my memories and those of Mac, my son.

Mac was 15 in 2008, and he was into Airsoft, a war game for those who find paintball insufficiently serious. Airsoft players fire round plastic pellets at each other with replicas of real guns, like AR-15s.

On the last Saturday of September, I drove Mac and his friend Will to western Massachusetts, where Airsofters play on a 300-acre stretch of woods and fields also used for Army Reserve training. A rain forecast kept lightweights away, but sixteen fanatics showed up.

Players ranged in age from early teens to mid-40s. They wore camouflaged uniforms with lots of pockets for extra ammo. Some players wore helmets, Mac and others wore shemagh scarves. Many wore gloves, all wore goggles. An Airsoft pellet can pierce your skin or eye or break a tooth, you need to cover up.

Some players were in the armed forces reserves. One guy expected, and hoped, to serve in Afghanistan soon, another was headed for Iraq, maybe Germany. Yeah, these real-life soldiers were spending their free time playing soldier.

Players split into two teams, one of which wore pink ribbons. During a game teams try to “kill” each other. If you get hit by a pellet, you’re dead, you must leave the game. Some players had nicknames, noms de guerre. Mac and Will’s team was led by a 17-year-old high school senior I’ll call Maverick.

While the teams stalked each other in the woods, I lounged in a nearby campground. When Mac and Will got back, they gushed about the game and about Maverick. He was a great team leader. The adults on his team—including actual soldiers!--respected this teenager and obeyed his commands unquestioningly.

That night we ended up sitting around a campfire with Maverick and other guys. Mac and Maverick talked about music. Both played guitar in bands, both were into classic rock, like Jimi Hendrix and Led Zeppelin.

Maverick sounded like a typical, easy-going 17-year-old. I liked him, especially because he didn’t talk down to my 15-year-old son. He was a good-looking kid, wearing desert fatigues and a name tag, sitting in a canvas chair.

Maverick lived in a blue-collar town with his dad, who was an avid Airsoft player too. I asked Maverick whether he planned to go to college. No, he replied, after he graduated from high school he wanted to tell people about a “metaphysical system” he’d discovered because of “experiences” he’d had since he was 12. He thought his system could help humanity.

Maverick said this in a matter-of-fact voice. I assumed he was kidding, so I said with a grin, Oh, so you want to start a new religion?

In the same matter-of-fact voice, Maverick said no, he wouldn’t put it that way. He felt overwhelming sadness and compassion for other people, because he could see how much they suffered.

He thought he could ease others’ pain and loneliness by telling them that what they think of as reality isn’t reality. Reality, Maverick had realized, consists of entangled particles vibrating in many more than three dimensions. There aren’t any boundaries between us, we’re all one.

Pointing across the campfire at Mac, Will and me, Maverick said, “I am one with you, and you, and you.” Again, not bragging or smirking, just matter-of-fact.

Maverick couldn’t really talk to family or friends about this stuff. If he tried, they didn’t understand him, they thought he was nuts. He had doubts about himself at first, he felt isolated and afraid.

Then he read on the internet about quantum physics, which helped him understand his visions. He learned about mysticism and enlightenment, he discovered that others had experiences like his, feelings of boundlessness and oneness.

Maverick got excited when I told him I had written about both physics and mysticism, and we talked well into the night. It occurred to me, of course, that this young man was mentally ill, delusional. But the more he talked, the more he struck me as remarkably grounded, even wise. This high school kid sounded more like a true mystic than professional mystics I’d met.

What made this strange conversation even stranger was the context. Mac was listening closely to Maverick and me. But Mac’s friend Will and others around the campfire, including pals of Maverick, ignored us, we might as well have been speaking Sanskrit. They chatted among themselves and fussed around with their equipment. Two guys dueled with light sabers.

The next morning, Maverick and I talked again, briefly. I urged him to put his plan for saving humanity on hold. He should go to college, where he’d meet people, students and professors, from whom he could learn. He said he’d consider college but wasn’t sure he could afford it.

That was 17 years ago. I decided to write this column because Mac and I recently reminisced about Maverick. After nosing around online, Mac found his former commander on a social media platform. In his photos, “Maverick” looks healthy and happy. He’s still into Airsoft. I wish him well.

Further Reading:

If you’re interested in mysticism, read Rational Mysticism--or my other books, for that matter, mysticism pops up in all except The End of War. And see “About Cross-Check” for a list of columns I’ve posted on this site, you’ll find lots of mystical stuff there too.

Gary Stogsdill comments: This story reminds me that when I was actually young, I went camping in the Aravaipa Wilderness of Arizona with a friend and his friend whom I didn't know.  The friend's friend had forgotten his schizophrenia medication and the second night kept us awake all night long with the most impressive mystical ideas I've ever heard, and mind you, this was nonstop for a good 8 hours.  I really wish I'd had a tape recorder with me.  But of course our old friend Lao Tzu's admonition still applies.