Friday, May 04, 2018
The Ever Recurring Mystery––poem by Dorothy
The Ever Recurring Mystery
When a child is born,
it is a bundle of mystery.
As it grows, it will pose
the essential questions:
"Where did I come from?
Why am I here?
Where will I go when I die?"
Who knows the answer
to these unfathomable questions?
Sometimes the elders create myths,
tell stories, make fables
to soothe the generations.
Strange ceremonies are created,
rituals of love and death.
In the meantime,
the young find their place,
mold themselves to occupy
a niche in the wall of the usual group.
They find rewards by
not asking,
and sleepwalk through
their existence.
The questions remain
but only the philosophers
consider them.
But try as they will,
they cannot come up
with satisfying answers
so they quit asking about
the imponderables,
and confine themselves
to those queries that have answers.
Old philosophies, tried approaches
are left to die in a ditch,
for they are now irrelevant.
Always the mystery remains,
deep and impenetrable.
Rumi said, "I am from some other place
and when I die I'm going back there."
As always, he spoke truth
and left the rest of us lost in wonder.
Dorothy Walters
May 1, 2018
(image from internet)
