Shrouded in Mystery

What does it mean?

It's all Greek to me. Or mythology. Or magic.

You wave your wand and... pow! It's there. I see it. As though for the first time.

I can't begin to understand. The cerebral cogs click and whirr and overheat. Smoke issues from my ears as my eyes mist over with the exertion.

Don't talk to me now! I'm trying to hold onto a thought. But it's a slippery little sucker. And it's gone.

Too many books. Too many ideas. Too much history.

My head like a carpet bag stuffed with needles and wool; some balls intact, others unravelled and tangled; some garments started, nothing finished; requiring time, effort, willingness and very nimble fingers to make sense of the mess.

Time I have got. Effort I will put in. Willingness abounds. (Like Yoda I will speak).

Anyone got any scissors? Or failing that a good dictionary?