~ from cats, dogs and nature to the flowering of body, mind and spirit ~

Wednesday, June 25, 2014

Word Play

Hear the subliminal audio call, the cadence, within “mystery” … mist … missed … tear, to cry or shred … terra, earth of ancient stories and soul … “y” —> why, the question that pries our fingers loose from container so we seek, wander, travel, to find what we might have missed; to cry over and through adventures in joy, anger, or sorrow; to separate, to tear ourselves away from our comfort zones in order to grow. Mystery. Its very construction is more than the definition we assign of the unknown because it is a living energy, this symbol of letters joined with sound to denote that which we currently cannot grasp but are led by curiosity to discover — like prowling through the mist on mountain, near river, through forest and glen, shrouded on an island barely able to see a few feet forward yet we step into the veil, away from our familiarity and safety to explore and, possibly, be transformed.
Seeming distance becomes short and a flickering candle leads me down a corridor to the last room on the left — no, the right — turning the rusty round knob with a screech that would put owl to shame and the groaning hinges would delight the fiercest ghost if it were lingering here among the storehouse of ideas where a little old lady lives with papers stacked every wall creating a maze of towering manuscripts, edges of paper a rough symbol of gradual building of this world in the room and other worlds as well far more colorful for these towers are merely various shades of white as they mellow into faded beige, even yellowing crisp edges that disintegrate when fingers brush against them. As tall as I am, the paper towers are stacked in randomness except they are not — their creator with a purpose as they camp within specific countries and territories of similar vision; this one lying in the riverbed of past youthful follies while another spends its days pretending to be one of the mountains it sits among in the Rockies, a range where home is high and vision clear, the pages crisp, sharp, unmarred though as easily aged as the rest. 


  1. What an interesting deconstruction -- love it!

  2. A fascinating exploration of mystery!

  3. Thanks! Always fun to see what emerges in a moment of inattention...


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