Little Enigmas

Poetry, Spirituality

(Image: “Dark Sea”, Michael Manley.)

We are all little enigmas,

tied up ever so neatly

in little boxes

with the strings of our  

crippling ignorance.

So much of our light is

strangled by these cords

we whimper away in the shadowy corners

and hide from each other, 

in the musty crawlspaces of our minds,

and there we remain, trapped

prisoners of ourselves.

As we sop up the sweat of our fears, 

their rancid stench lingers 

in the fetid air 

here, and 

over there.

We are imperious lords of 

teeming mysteries 

that fester in the absence of light.

We hear the feverish tumblings of

others, who lust

to crack their dark codes.


These are those 

niggling fears,

half-forgotten shadows filigreed with 


that insinuate themselves in the cracks of our brains

and cause our long-entrenched sanity

to crumble.

And because we hunger

to keep these soul eaters at bay

we secret them away 

to the cob-webbed dungeons

of our unexplored lands,

where we banish all

that which is not ready for the light.


A single metric inch of space and time

contains endless layers of mystery.

Sentient icebergs we are

drifting through the 

limitless night,

masquerading as

little oases of rationality.


So many layers to our secrets!


We find ourselves swimming in the murkiness

the sunlit surface dancing miles above our heads

tantalizing us with their shadows.

So much is hidden away in ourselves, 

and so much is hidden even from ourselves. 


We gasp for air

suffocating in the aqueous hell

of the murderous depths

no end to the mystery of our being

nothing as it seems

nothing is as it is.


Alien creatures we become

even unknown to ourselves

adrift on arctic landscapes 

our voices crying out to be heard 

And to be understood 

by a single soul. 


But, as we utter our words, 

they are suspended in the chill void.


Words frozen in bubbles of time

we try to melt them  

with an intimation of fire

brazenly stolen away from

the primordial sunrise.


We would do virtually anything 

to escape from the

swirling riddles that infect the 

waters of our minds,


what we need most to do, which is

surrender to the mystery.


Let the mystery swallow us whole

let the mystery feast on our fears and our ignorance

and spit

out their bones onto the bleached shore

undigesting our 

need for certainty

and our grasping onto a sameness

that is a poor 

substitute for joy.