amah, the mystery

We see it in livestock from Pryaghdoyest, as well as in wooden goods carved in the west. It sparkles in glass made from the Great Dune Sea; it vibrates in fiddles played perched on the knee. We taste it in homemade stews like arght and tchuirff, we praise it when landlocked Grigovians surf. It always surprises, it's never too much, we're never without it – so far does it touch. The Uzbeks don't have it – a pox on their lands! – it cannot be purchased or squeezed out of glands. It guides now the actions of honest and brave, it blesses the virtuous – girl king or slave. It fuels and forgives us, it helps us know right, we live in its shadow, we dress by its light. To find it stop looking, to know it know not, it fits neither pigeonhole, cranny, or slot. Instead strike a balance, reduce what you need, want nothing but freedom from sickness and greed. By these simple guidelines you too might yet be, amah the all-powerful great mystery.

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