Here is an illustration of the universalistic nature of mystical experience, as proposed by Stace.
In this passage from the novel ‘Franny and Zooey’ by JD Salinger, Zooey is explaining to her mother why his sister
Franny is having a nervous breakdown.
‘All right, just don't yak at me for a minute, then,’ Zooey said, and rested the small of his back against the edge of the
washbowl. He went on using the nail file. ‘Both books are about a Russian peasant, around the turn of the century,’ he
said, in what was, for his implacably matter-of-fact voice, a rather narrative tone. ‘He's a very simple, very sweet little
guy with a withered arm. Which, of course, makes him a natural for Franny, with that goddam Bide-a-Wee Home
heart of hers.’ He pivoted around, picked up his cigarette from the frosted-glass ledge, dragged on it, then began to
file his nails. ‘In the beginning, the little peasant tells you, he had a wife and a farm. But he had a looney brother who
burned down the farm--and then, later, I think, the wife just died. Anyway, he Starts on his pilgrimage. And he has a
problem. He's been reading the Bible all his life, and he wants to know what it means when it says, in Thessalonians,
“Pray without ceasing.” That one line keeps haunting him.’ Zooey reached for his cigarette again, dragged on it, and
then said, ‘There's another, similar line in Timothy—“I will therefore that men pray everywhere.” And Christ himself, as
a matter of fact, says, “Men ought always to pray and not to faint.”‘
Zooey used his nail file in silence for a moment, his face singularly dour in expression. ‘So, anyway, he
begins his pilgrimage to find a teacher,’ he said. ‘Someone who can teach him how to pray incessantly, and why. He
walks and he walks and he walks, from one church and shrine to another, talking to this priest and that. Till finally he
meets a simple old monk who apparently knows what it's all about. The old monk tells him that the one prayer
acceptable to God at all times, and 'desired' by God, is the Jesus Prayer --'Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me.'
Actually, the whole prayer is 'Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me, a miserable sinner,' but none of the adepts in
either of the Pilgrim books put any emphasis--thank God--on the miserable-sinner part. Anyway, the old monk
explains to him what will happen if the prayer is said incessantly. He gives him some practice sessions with it and
sends him home. And--to make a long story short--after a while the little pilgrim becomes proficient with the prayer.
He masters it. He's overjoyed with his new spiritual life, and he goes on hiking all over Russia--through dense forests,
through towns, villages, and so on --saying his prayer as he goes along and telling everyone he happens to meet how
to say it, too.’ Zooey looked up, brusquely, at his mother. ‘You listening to this? You fat old Druid?’ he inquired. ‘Or are
you just staring at my gorgeous face?’
Mrs. Glass, bristling, said, ‘Certainly I'm listening!’
‘All right--I don't want any party poops around here.’ Zooey gave a great guffaw, then took a drag on his
cigarette. He kept the cigarette stationed between his fingers and went on using the nail file. ‘The first of the two little
books, 'The Way of a Pilgrim,'‘ he said, ‘has mostly to do with the adventures the little pilgrim has on the road. Whom
he meets, what he says to them, what they say to him--he meets some goddam nice people, incidentally. The sequel,
'The Pilgrim Continues His Way,' is mostly a dissertation in dialogue form on the whys and wherefores of the Jesus
Prayer. The pilgrim, a professor, a monk, and some sort of hermit all meet and hash over things. And that's all there is
to it, really.’ Zooey glanced up, very briefly, at his mother, then switched the nail file over to his left hand. ‘The aim of
both little books, if you're interested,’ he said, ‘is supposedly to wake everybody up to the need and benefits of saying
the Jesus Prayer incessantly. First under the supervision of a qualified teacher---a sort of Christian guru--and then,
after the person's mastered it to some extent, he's supposed to go on with it on his own. And the main idea is that it's
not supposed to be just for pious bastards and breast-beaters. You can be busy robbing the goddam poor box, but
you're to say the prayer while you rob it. Enlightenment's supposed to come with the prayer, not before it.’ Zooey
frowned, but academically. ‘The idea, really, is that sooner or later, completely on its own, the prayer moves from the
lips and the head down to a center in the heart and becomes an automatic function in the person, right along with the
heartbeat. And then, after a time, once the prayer is automatic in the heart, the person is supposed to enter into the
so-called reality of things. The subject doesn't really come up in either of the books, but, in Eastern terms, there are
seven subtle centers in the body, called chakras, and the one most closely connected with the heart is called anahata,
which is supposed to be sensitive and powerful as hell, and when it's activated, it, in turn, activates another of these
centers, between the eyebrows, called ajna--it's the pineal gland, really, or, rather, an aura around the pineal gland -and then, bingo, there's an opening of what mystics call the 'third eye.' It's nothing new, for God's sake. It didn't just
start with the little pilgrim's crowd, I mean. In India, for God knows how many centuries, it's been known as japam.
Japam is just the repetition of any of the human names of God. Or the names of his incarnations--his avatars, if you
want to get technical. The idea being that if you call out the name long enough and regularly enough and literally from
the heart, sooner or later you'll get an answer. Not exactly an answer. A response.’ Zooey suddenly turned around,
opened the medicine cabinet, replaced his nail file, and took down a remarkably stubby-looking orange stick. ‘Who's
been eating my orange stick?’ he said. With his wrist, he briefly blotted his perspiring upper lip, and then he began to
use the orange stick to push back his cuticles.
Mrs. Glass took a deep drag on her cigarette, watching him, then crossed her legs and asked, demanded, ‘Is
that what Franny's supposed to be doing? I mean is that what she's doing and all?’
‘So I gather. Don't ask me, ask her.’
There was a short pause, and a dubious one. Then Mrs. Glass abruptly and rather pluckily asked, ‘How long
do you have to do it?’
Zooey's face lit up with pleasure. He turned to her. ‘How long?’ he said. ‘Oh, not long. Till the painters want to
get in your room. Then a procession of saints and bodhisattvas march in, carrying bowls of chicken broth. The Hall
Johnson Choir starts up in the background, and the cameras move in on a nice old gentleman in a loincloth standing
against a background of mountains and blue skies and white clouds, and a look of peace comes over everybody's--’