He was a vessel.
Vacuous rather than brimming, shrouded in illusion and thus perceived otherwise.
It was not what he wanted but what he was and thus, all too frequently, he found himself swimming well beyond his depth yet, somehow, he never seemed to flounder, at least to those perceiving him from without.
Perhaps echoes dancing with shadows whose forms had long ago departed knew truths, but those truths, if that’s what they really were, went unspoken.
Infinite mysteries hidden in a seemingly empty ewer.
© Guillermo Calvo Mahé; Manizales, 2015; all rights reserved