The Gift

One day a friend presented me with a wrapped gift.
"Here I've thought a lot about this and I want you to have it."
I started to open it and he stopped me.
"No, don't open it, I mean don't open it just yet."
"So when do you want me to open it?"
"Not until after you die. Of course you won't be able to actually open it then but you'll know what's
inside and you'll appreciate it."
"So what do you want me to do with it in
the mean time?"
"Just keep it."
So I threw it in a drawer with the rest of my junk.

I lost touch with the friend who gave me the gift but I still keep it unopened. Not so much out of respect for the friend's wishes but because the gift represents something mysterious in my life, something formless. I know about how much it weighs and what it sounds like when it's shaken. The gift has become one of my favorite possessions because I can project on to it anything I wish. Sometimes I have become very superstitious about the gift, blaming it for both good or bad fortune. I finally realized that it was just an object, and like most objects was inert unless acted upon.

So there it sits, in my drawer and now yours.