An enigma; hidden, secret, filled
with questions, and their answers rare.
It seemed there would be no satisfaction,
and with clenched fists and jaws,
insistent, persistent, consistent,
in fitful bursts of energy I hurl my inquiries,
seeking my preconceived solutions.
There is no relief, no release, no rapid
recall of any helpful clue, stored away
for such a time as this. I am lost,
wandering through the spacious,
empty halls of self; I am possessed by mystery.
Why should I be denied passage
through the doors others may enter?
The rustle of shuffling feet I hear
through the entrance, closed to me,
tells me I am alone. A spasm
of insult shudders through me; such
indignity I suffer! Now even to myself, my
words seem insufficient, inappropriate, injurious;
slings and arrows of outrageous misfortune.
Were I to stop and listen without prejudice,
in patience, for answers, and direct myself
elsewhere – I may find that I am the mystery,
an enigma for others, inscrutable, incomplete,
in effect, the sound of shuffling feet behind
a door that remains closed, unanswered.
Now is the time to open my door, listen, and wait.
Welcome all comers. No appointment necessary,
heart open 24/7/365. No waiting.
Walk in, find what you will, take what you need,
give some away. There will always be
enough. . .