The final mystery is oneself. When one has weighed the sun in the balance, and measured the steps of the moon, and mapped out the seven heavens star by star, there still remains oneself. Who can calculate the orbit of his own soul?
The desert wears. . . a veil of mystery. Motionless and silent it evokes in us an elusive hint of something unknown, unknowable, about to be revealed. Since the desert does not act it seems to be waiting -- but waiting for what?
Mystery is at the heart of creativity. That, and surprise.
I think the power of image is in mystery - I endlessly create mysteries, by way of this dystopian message, to initiate intrigue.
We all walk in mysteries. We are surrounded by an atmosphere about which we still know nothing at all.