Mystery – noun.
1. anything that is kept secret or remains unexplained or unknown
2. any affair, thing, or person that presents features or qualities so obscure as to arouse curiosity or speculation
3. a novel, short story, play, or film whose plot involves a crime or other event that remains puzzlingly unsettled until the very end
4. obscure, puzzling, or mysterious quality or character
5. any truth that is unknowable except by divine revelation
It is often the case that the things intended to be mysterious are not.
She wears a rubber bracelet with an obscure acronym on her wrist, hoping that you will notice and have questions.
If you do not wonder, there is no mystery.
If you already know what the acronym is, there is no mystery, for knowledge is the true defeater of mystery.
A good mystery is one where the most pleasure does not occur in the last 5%, but rather the first 95%. That is to say, the journey rather than the destination. Mysteries are more than words on a page evoking curiosity. Sometimes they are somatic experiences, wherein the only mystery is exactly what moment plural becomes singular.
Why should she care whether or not you care about the bracelet? Is it that she believes that the beauty of herself is the fact that you do not know her? That what the bracelet means and why she would wear it, these truths, these secrets, a mystery in your ignorance of them, is the source of her allure? Is she even alluring to you? The answer to this question, the truth, is a mystery.
Religion speaks of mysteries. Of things we cannot know, but should and do have faith in nonetheless. We have faith in words recorded in books that did not fall from the sky, yet are held divine in their mandate.
Mysteries come in threes. The death, the resurrection, and the promise of return. Maiden, mother, crone. So should we then ask questions in threes, will this gurantee an answer?
Are we alone in this universe? In every universe? Does evil truly serve a purpose, or is it the methane gas consequence of our own free will?
What, or who, is up there, out there? Are they bored puppet masters or egotistic patriarchs? Were they forced into the role, or did they choose it freely?
Are we masters of our own fate? Are we masters of any fate on earth, or are we left living out a script we never read?
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