The Secret of Life

During ceremony I was given a glimpse of the secret of life,
All the while knowing that I would never be able to describe it.
What a paradox to unwittingly search all my years for something that cannot be said,
Yet the bread crumbs and hints are found in everything.
The secret is found in an explosion of sights and sounds which ends in a hush.
The secret can be heard in the world's tiniest violin playing for the audience of one.
With bated breath stretching into infinity.
At such a scale choice becomes the only meaning.
To appreciate and pray for the present and future day.
Or repeat it forevermore in agony.
The Greeks had many myths to teach such lessons.
The difference between mythology and history is that mythology is correct.
There is no escape.
There is no rats' race.
There is no space without the unconditional.
What matter remains when everything is untamed and unnamed?
Victory goes to those who can see such catastrophe and yet still laugh.
As a fool on the hill watches the sun disappear and the darkness grows near.
Such a blessing to be so cursed.
To see the unseen.
To know the unknown.
To hold it all so dearly like an exotic menagerie.
Waves resting wearily,
Between the eerie silence that expands into a cacophony.
Laughs become cries become moans.
A water bottle drops like a bomb.
Crickets roaring like lions.
All these sounds coming from within,
As the thin veneer between that and this is wiped away.
And somehow despite all of that and this the observer remains,
Simply watching it all unfold,
Eternally grateful to exist,
Knowing that the secret of life shall forever remain untold.
Because without the secret there would be no stories to tell.
No reasons to awake.
No destinations worthy of the journey.
After all, if I could somehow explain the secret to life then it wouldn't really be a secret anymore, now would it?