the box

I had a dream last night about a little box I carried in my pocket. The dream, I'm sure, was inspired by a pocket in one of my old jackets. The inside of the pocket is torn, so that when an item is placed inside, it falls to any part of the inside of the jacket. This is a great way to hide things, but also a great way to lose things.

I had thought of the jacket earlier yesterday, and remembered telling a friend that, "It's like a pocket that never ends" because there is no way to bend my arm around the other side to reach all the way through the jacket. I don't even know if there are things in there... I keep finding little pieces of important paper from months ago.

the box was this infinite pocket. It was no larger than the nail on my pinky. I had found it on the ground, and stuck my finger in it. Thats something I like to do when I find things, I can't see what's on the inside, a quick feel can identify. The problem was, I couldn't feel anything. My hand didn't even have to stop where the box appeared to be unable to hold it. A friend entered the room, "Hey, what's that?" I said I didn't know. Let's find out.

I stood back and dove, a dive that could have featured a white-and-black striped males one-piece with matching cap, into the mouth of the box, and it swallowed me up. I sat in nothingness, feeling it press in on me, and at the same time free me. there was nothing but me, and I could not even see the me. It was what I assume falling in a black hole would be like, my matter pressing in on itself infinitely with all other matter, had my consciousness existed, in every aspect, except for the small hole at the top of the box and the look from my friend peering in on the nothing.

This seemed to be a great gift, the box I had, because I started to put things in it. of course an infinite space is no fun if you are the only thing inside. Eventually I found a way to put just the things I love inside. Only my friends, Only things that I enjoy. There was nothing wrong and everything was at peace. I wondered, what would I do in this place..

and then I looked up at that hole with the rest of the world never looking in to see this place that I'd made, just going about another world, without me. I wouldn't affect anything except to things that would never know a world without my influence in it. and I wanted to be in that other place.

I put two fingers up out of the blackness and pulled the lip of the box out around my frame, pushing it down to the ground and stepping out into that place where I felt things were fundamentally wrong; where I would never solve all the problems, in fact leaving problems of my own; where I knew I couldn't make things change to the way I thought they should be, but what kind of world would that be?

Problems are good. With problems there is purpose. When our friends do something wrong, that feeling of helping is wonderful. You affect their world in a way they might not have seen before you. If there is a problem with the world there is something for you to accomplish. If there is some way to bring purpose to another, then there is a way to bring purpose to yourself.