The mystic reaches within, out, above, and touches the divine. Returning to the world, we see that the mystic returns with a shining face and a joyous heart.
This divine the mystic touches is scattered across the world, and the world does not see it. It underpins every action, every transaction, every happenstance is filled with divine light; light not visible to the non-mystic, as we see through our glass but darkly.
But the mystic will perceive that light: in the birth of a child, the germinating of a plant, a simple meal of bread and water. No matter to the mystic that the birth of a child may be a torment for the mother, the germination of the plant destroys the seed, the making of bread kills the wheat and the yeast, the drinking of water condemns countless microbes to die. This too is a matter of joy: Life is a fabric, life is a weave, and all life supports life.
The divine underpins all. The death, the destruction, the evils of the world brought about by the ignorance of humanity and the interactions of life: none of this matters to those who've seen the divine, and know the goodness and life that moves within, through, and surrounds all of creation.
They are not unmoved, these mystics. They can rail against injustice, against famine, war, death. Although none of those things are separate from the divine, they are not the best expression of it. The mystic sees clearly, why can't everyone else?
Why can't humanity work together to stop wars, educate, feed, and nurture? Why can't light and life win, be exalted unto the highest? Why must there be this suffering, this death, this cruelty of humanity to itself and to the world?
And the mystic strives to make the divine known to a world that does not and perhaps cannot comprehend it. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness does not comprehend. Still, the mystic strives, struggles, and shines, a beacon of hope in a surrounding darkness.