Mystery

Much talk of the mystery of the spirit: The spirit is the spirit is what we are when we know we are it, know we are.

Those who think little of themselves demand, in addition, mystery, as if (like Groucho, ashamed to belong to any club that would have him) they cannot respect anything understandable by such as they, as if the spirit is that which knows itself only by overwhelming that through which it is to know itself.

These people, meeting God's messenger, wrestle him with words, hoping to lose. This is the mystery of the spirit: It is too simple for mystery. That's what overwhelms us: The complexity of mystery, the lie we believe when we believe ourselves less than we are, the mystery we then become to ourselves so as to have something to worship.

Am I speaking to a mystery or a solution? (I suppose you're all wondering why I've called you all
here...)