Mystery is in all things. We never truly know anyone. Nor do we ever truly know ourselves. We don’t know the truth about what is happening around us and we don’t even know if there is an actual truth. Perhaps there is more beauty in life in the not knowing, than the knowing. “But I need to understand why, ” you say. And this is true for the most awful things. We do need to understand the whys of why someone would hurt us so we can put them into a conceptual construct with a beginning, a middle and end. Without the ending, we can not put these stories away in our long term memory. And until we do this, our nervous system will never fully relax. We remain in defence mode, distrusting. For the beautiful things in life, we need only beginnings and middles, and our imagination can take care of the rest.