Mystery

What is truth?

It is timelessness.

Infinity. And yet, it is that which is always new,

Constantly creating, changing,

Experienced in quiet and solitude.

Emptiness,

Nothingness,

And with all of its anticipated fear,

Mystique, and intrepidation, 

We seek it....endlessly.

And when we think,

The truth no longer exists in our experience.

 

What is a mystery?

A mystery is the unknown.

The innocence of a child's mind is open to mystery, and creation,

And what is known, creates the death of a mystery.

 

What is LOVE?

LOVE ... is the most powerful entity in the universe.

It is presently undefined in a way all human beings agree upon.

No science can define it.

 

Ahhh...but we all "speak" of love. We tell our children we "love" them,

We tell our families we "love" them...

our friends, sometimes even our co-workers,

and even sometimes those we do not even know, or have never even met.

We sign cards and gifts with fancy closing statements signed:

"Love, Me".

 

We're eager to talk about the latest gossip column,

Judge and ruthlessly criticize the "love" of another,

Labeling it as "worthy" or "unworthy".

And yet, when all the outer layers are peeled away from this word,

This "entity of energy" that has moved mountains,

And summoned armies that have slaughtered millions of innocents,

We really do not understand it.

We do not know what it is!

We only know what the minds of history past have said it is.

Words. Words written.

We have yet to define it in such a way that we all agree upon,

And strangely, in some magickal way, 

Many of of us seem to know what it is on a level that is untouched in a tangible way.

 

What it is, is a mystery. 

LIFE and LOVE are mysteries, and perhaps, 

Even one and the same.

 

But we...scurry along through our hurried amd cluttered lives,

Mindlessly injecting our man-made answers into love,

And so for many, it is no longer a mystery.

It has become a tightly closed capsule of 

"He said, she said, History".

 

And the species lives on,

With eyes that do not see,

Ears, that do not hear,

And voices that speak of a "love" and a "truth",

They can only claim unto themselves is "known",

Rather than face the TRUTH of the mystery 

Within us all.

 

And to me,

Strange and delusional as it may sound to some,

To me...it all sounds like "God" is talking.

 

Kindness is no mystery.

It is like a seed planted to grow a tree full of LOVE,

And when I leave this earthly experience,

Perhaps the small seeds I plant

Will grow into trees that bear the fruit for others

With faith --

Not in histories,

But in beautiful mysteries.

 

 

 

This poem written in dedication to the late great Maya Angelou, who often wrote of life, and love.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I didn't know whether to call it a poem or prose, so I am putting it in both folders. 

 

Written for the #periscopeartchallenge in September, 2015

KindredSpirit's picture

The Faith you speak of

Where does it come from ?

KS

nightlight1220's picture

Hello

Optimism.


...and he asked her, "do you write poetry? Because I feel as if I am the ink that flows from your quill."

"No", she replied, "but I have experienced it. "

 

Spinoza's picture

And the funny thing is, we

And the funny thing is, we sometimes never know what becomes of our seeds... but if we live honestly – and genuinely attempt to correct our missteps, and if possible make amends for them, than we need not wonder what seeds have sprouted or remained dormant – because we have done our best. And we must not be too hard on ourselves – if some of those seeds should produce dented offspring – because we are ourselves dented. And what is crooked can never truly be made straight. But we can try and that is all we can do. And with a little prayer – and some good luck, we'll get to that magic place we're going to.

nightlight1220's picture

Thx 4 commenting

Nice thoughts.


...and he asked her, "do you write poetry? Because I feel as if I am the ink that flows from your quill."

"No", she replied, "but I have experienced it. "

 

SSmoothie's picture

Sobering yet comforting, not

Sobering yet comforting, not all mysteries are beautiful, and not all are meant to be solved. Lovely walk through the forest of your thoughts. Bless xo


Don't let any one shake your dream stars from your eyes, lest your soul Come away with them! -SS    

"Well, it's life SIMS, but not as we know it" - ¡$&am

nightlight1220's picture

Thx

Was nice to have u visit.


...and he asked her, "do you write poetry? Because I feel as if I am the ink that flows from your quill."

"No", she replied, "but I have experienced it. "

 

bishu's picture

Close.... yet so dim

Truth... a poisoned platter


©bishu 

 

nightlight1220's picture

Thx

Bishu...yes. And always a different, changing poizon. Eeeek!  It never ends! 


...and he asked her, "do you write poetry? Because I feel as if I am the ink that flows from your quill."

"No", she replied, "but I have experienced it. "

 

allets's picture

Enlightening

and thought provoking prose poem ~allets~

.

Just re read. Legacy is a nice word for what poets leave us. - Stella

 

 

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nightlight1220's picture

Stella

I try. I can only try.


...and he asked her, "do you write poetry? Because I feel as if I am the ink that flows from your quill."

"No", she replied, "but I have experienced it. "