Mystery is not an invitation to answers, but to wonder and intimacy.

When love, which is mystery, collapses to possession, its skeleton steps forth and proclaims itself the body.

Yet it is but the deadened remnant of vital relation; a mere structure, hungry for the attention that empowers its masquerade, its unquestioned sovereignty and their continuance.

Bereft of soul, meaning, and mystery, it cries out to be unmasked. How often and balefully we resist the very gesture which transforms bondage to liberty, leading us joyfully homeward… to mystery’s infinite embraces.