Recently several folks have accused me of being "cryptic" in my writing, announcing, as though I ought to be concerned, that they don't really always know about what I'm talking. Yet, I notice that they keep stopping by, which tells me that even though these musings are not really start to finish stories, my words still draw emotion and create a connection.
I think it's an interesting concept, really. The underlying idea of someone saying that they don't know why I was sitting by a lake in the middle of the night seeking out swans or what it meant that my kingdom was shattered is that my life should be an open book or that, perhaps, I blog for others' amusement instead of for my own edification. There's an air of frustration about it on their part, I think, as if they might believe I somehow owe them more and are unclear as to why I would purposely leave them with more questions than answers.
Maybe it's simply because my stories are still unfinished, or maybe it's because I know how they will end but am not quite ready to share them, or maybe I'm just a tease like that, or maybe it's because I'm an intensely private person, maybe it's because for me, self-realizaation lies not in a 3.5 essay, but rather in random thoughts, or maybe, just maybe, it's because that which makes us wonder... question... contemplate... is that which is far more interesting and far more powerful than actually knowing.
And so I'll leave it at that and head off to stare at the world. The circus awaits.