The heart of the matter is hidden deep within.

Like a seed that holds life, so is mystery hidden in a secret place.

I am a secret about a secret, and my heart hidden in that secret can only be heard beating as the echo of a whisper.

I am a veil and an undertone. It is only my nuances that give clues to my whereabouts or nature.

You, who would discover the inner workings of things, can dismantle my outer structure to no avail.

I remain.

There is no I-ness or Is-ness or Thing-ness.

I tease you, and play with you, and like a conjurer reveals not his methods, so I give no inkling of a door or a latch.

I tantalize your mind with fleeting promises of revelation.

I knit your imagination into a furrowed brow.

I tie your shoelace strands of thoughts into frustrated knots.

I lead you along on winding paths into inescapable mazes of endless thoughts.

I lead you to restless nights and endless cups of tea or coffee and conversation deep into the small hours of the mornings.

And I rob you of your tranquillity.

Unexplainable, formless and untouchable.

Like a vapor I cloud your mind and dampen the clarity of your thoughts.

I mock logic and reason and call forth only dreams and imagination.

And I stir deep within you the faint echoes of memories of visions long since forgotten.