What is mystery?
There are the secrets we wrap about ourselves, knowing the lure a mystery can have on the untamed soul. We offer tidbits, slices of ourselves, cut to a size that tantalizes and teases but never quite satisfies. These are mysteries we wear, masks we’ve crafted with purpose.
The mysteries I want to speak about are the mysteries we inhabit. The ones internal to us. The parts of ourselves we have yet to grow into. The spring in which our muse dwells.
It is the promise of an unwritten future, the joy inherent in myriad paths unfolding before us.
Lost mystery engenders the little death. To have no mysteries left within us is to forget ourselves.
Stagnation starts here, the shifting waters of ourselves not calmed or stilled, but untouched. We distract ourselves to hide this little death. We throw ourselves into work. We watch more TV. We devote ourselves to a single person without reservation, needing to believe their mystery will be enough for two.
Finding mystery again is so simple we see through it, past it, a transparent mirror to the self you want to see. You pause to enjoy a bit of music and think, See? I am enjoying life. You read a bit of prose that makes you smile and think, Here, this is it, a new idea. I am still learning, moving forward. You see a new play, you write a sonnet, you envision perfection in a scene and bring it to life, each time thinking, I am alive, I am alive!
But you are seeing only what you want to see. Because you never hold on to these moments; they have become so familiar to you that you let them slip from your grasp, content to accept them at face value. You are too full to understand that you will always enjoy that music, that the ideas you read were ones you accepted into yourself long ago, that the sonnet you wrote is merely the reshaping of words you’ve written a thousand times.
Finding mystery again is to unknow. Is to unacknowledge, to unbelieve. To unburden yourself. It is not about disavowing a lifetime of joys and wisdom, but about giving yourself permission to let go. It is the act of release, allowing yourself to make space for something new. It is to create room inside you for growth.
It is inviting mystery back into your life.
Sounds like a bit of reading may have inspired you?
That is so perfectly perfect, D. The mystery of life surrounds us but we don’t acknowledge it, we miss so much by being absorbed in our own crap or simply by allowing jadedness to set in and harden us.
Thank you for this.
SB – Yes, Scion is writing as I wish I could (if I was to write an erotic fantasy novel).
But it is more than the words I read; it is the curve of a hip in mid-dance, a glimpse of cleavage designed just to get *my* attention, a late night call that brings me awake with the erotic audacity of the people on other end – these, too, inspire…
Tess – You find yourself jaded, and yet, you don’t give up. You struggle to find that beauty, that sharp joy of life. You have not yet given up on mystery.
Nobody in their right mind, gives up on mystery! OH my how sad that would be. It might be like giving up a birthday.. or a lover.. or .. whatever..
mystery is always a good thing to have around one..
Jadedness can set in.. admittedly.. but with a struggle.. one can get out of it and off to better adventures.. more fun.. more mystery..
with luck.. and struggle and hope.. on my side.. I do
mmmm, first time here, and will come back for another taste. your words are tendrils of sparks reaching into my mind with ease, reaching into my cage where the wild one resides, waiting…waiting…
I wil applaud and agree, as the hardest thing to do it make the step to release and let new things enter.
Bravo.
-pc