Creation Story

A brief word on existence:

As I wax poetic you may feel free to flee neurotic and enter the no-soapbox section: here.

Beginning with the beginning, I believe that necessity did indeed beget invention. The need arose before the idea and then there was follow-through. Such a state purpose prior to presence constitutes the origin of all things, this site included.

The title of this domain, now dear to me, did not exist some months ago. It was a long and drawn out birth, the awkward child of desperation and persistence. And so was delivered an odd little creature. Trystery was a verbal anomaly that puzzled the doctors at the time. Just where did it fit, what did it mean? Like most newborns, it just sat there, expectantly, more sure of its own existence than pretty much anything else.

So, from this inauspicious youth lacking meaning, the word has grown up into something precious. So dear that I feel it necessary justify its creation. Shakespeare coined phrases like Da Vinci penned thoughts - novel, innovative, and now reverred. Writers have used the words of others, but also, when necessary, have extended the vocabulary of man. Today’s academics create multi-syllabic words with alarming frequency, such that they carry almost no meaning. Save for the few readers of an arcane manuscript, the words do not exist.

I did not set out to create a word – that fate was dictated to me. The language we use is slowly being won by those with private interests. In the business of the net, domains are gobbled up and words, descriptors, the base for ideas are taken off the market. Think for a moment of a landgrab so vast that the only place you are left to occupy is one of your own creation. The ownership of the net has extended from mere words to the obsolescence of a whole language. For those yearning for a dot com handle, the remaining options in English are few and far between.

Such was the genesis of this site. A need, as anyone requires, for a title amid the reality that all common avenues of description are unavailable. I had no terra firma on which to stand. In its stead, I had to imagine a land, a word, a title. I have grown fond of it and don’t want it to suffer the fate of meaninglessness. So in your minds let me attempt to impart understanding and attach to my own creation, my child, an essence.

Tryst

Mystery

These words were joined for no other reason than the fact that their sound pleased me. Together, they created a sonorous whole that I finally approved after much time spent trying to create a word. A new word is immobile, having no legs on which to carry the weight of its spelling. A word without meaning is just a drawing, something to look at and wonder about. A word that means something to the reader instantly accesses untold and individual mental images that no one else could know. It is real in the mind of its beholder.

So let me try to paint a brief picture. What is the trystery that you read? Think of it as the coaxing sense of adventure or curiosity that compels you onward. Though you may not see it, others see it in you. Your trystery is as much a part of you as your reflection. It looks out from within and stares back at you. Your tystery is that extension of yourself that you can see in passing puddles and shiny store windows. Trystery is the brief moment of reflection on how you got to just that moment when you think about how you got there.

To journey, to tryst is to live and breathe and to puzzle over what you see, to mystery, is to be conscious. Think of trystery as that which is personal and invisible that helps you to define your path in this world and be the singular instance of humanity that you are. It is all the wonder and chaos that is you, fueling the choices you make and the ones you don’t. It is the life force that underlies all that we do. For what is life if it is not a constant state of voyage and curiosity in which we partake, and thus, are. Trystery is that state, that secret well of individuality that drives us, that pushes us to make our lives our lives and in doing so, preserves the miracle of mankind: to be billions of individuals who are yet still one.

So one day, awake, I dreamt a word. I carried it with me for days until it became real. At some point, it felt right. It had the right weight and cadence. It looked the part, displaying a bravado, a confidence in its own existence. Then I knew it was ready. In the end, it stirred just the right mixture of curiosity and purpose.

Now I am convinced that I never created it, that it was there all along, and perhaps I only rescued it from non-use by discovering it. I ask you nothing more than to consider, for a brief moment, the legion of words that exist to be discovered. Our language is elastic and dependent for it grows as long as it is used and that responsibility is ours. Imagine the vast worlds within words that have not yet been rescued. Think of yourself as a rescuer, not only of words, but of ideas and truths that you have hidden within you and are waiting for just the right moment to emerge.

This is your trystery. Please be open to its teachings. Care for it. Love it as you love yourself, for it is you as much as you yourself are anyone at all.

I invite you to investigate the products of my trystery, which like myself, is still a work in progress.