by Jane Tawel
This Perfect Gift
By Jane Tawel
December 19, 2024
*
When I was born,
Someone gave me a beautiful container.
It was perfect, just as it was.
People marveled over it –
“How lovely”, they said.
*
Right from the beginning,
I knew, without knowing,
that this container was a marvel,
an endless delight, to explore,
to caress, to wonder at.
And everyone agreed.
I enjoyed endless hours
playing with my container,
just hanging out and being
with my container.
Even so young, I knew
that to care for this container —
this vessel of perfect form and function,
this earthy, natural, but divine mystery —
was a responsibility and a gift.
*
Perfectly formed but oh, so fragile,
the container got its first ding
at two years old,
when it fell against a coffee table.
“Just a little scratch,” they said,
“no need to worry”.
But everyone did begin to worry then.
And suddenly it was very important
to protect my container from any more hurts.
And the container
began to be kept a bit apart from me.
The distance between myself
and my container would keep it safe.
*
When I started school
was the first time I realized
that not everyone knew
how beautiful my container was.
Not everyone treasured it as I did,
So, I began to hide my container,
wrapping it up tightly
concealing its gorgeous curves,
masking its earthy smells,
painting over my container’s natural colors.
I wanted my container to look like everyone else —
No, better than everyone else.
Because I was told that all containers
were in some sort of contest,
and that the only thing one’s container
was good for,
was being more beautiful, or stronger,
or thinner or sexier or faster
than everyone else’s container.
*
When I got a job
and became an adult,
I often lost track of what I did with my container,
I was so busy.
The container was used
when it had a purpose.
And the life of the mind
which became all of me…
Well,
that is so important, isn’t it?
*
One day I had a child,
and Someone gave her
a beautiful container.
And I wish I could say
that it changed how I felt
about my own lost love of
my container, but…
It didn’t.
And though I marveled
at the perfection of my child’s
own beautiful, perfect container,
and though I tried all her life,
to explain how perfect her container was,
how she could be proud of it,
and how she should love it with all her heart
as the perfect divinely inspired gift that it was —
Instead…
she saw how I felt about my own container.
She saw and heard and took into herself,
all my fears and insecurities and ignorance
about our containers.
I am still so sad about that.
I am trying to forgive myself.
I wish my ignorance could be our bliss,
But I am just sad,
Because we really did have,
Do have,
Still have,
these perfect, beautiful containers –
these gifts.
*
Now I am old,
And I look at this old container —
so beaten up and beaten down
so marred and scratched and worn —
And yet — I see,
it is still so perfect —
a treasure.
And every day I am more and more aware
of what a gift we are given when
we are born and given our containers.
We come to life
with a perfect vessel,
formed in the forges of unseen Gods.
We are given all we need
as we carry our containers for a short time;
Carrying on caring for ourselves,
Carrying on caring for others,
Carrying on caring for our Mother Earth,
Carrying on and carried in a perfect container.
And now that I am old,
I am once again struck by the
Mystery of my container.
And then one day,
Sooner, but hopefully later,
I will no longer have this container.
It will be gone, returned to dust
as all temporal things must do.
And when my vessel is gone,
Alas!
Forgive!
Acceptance!
Love!
Oh, what will I do,
when this container is no more?
What will I do?
Ah –
That is the is greatest mystery of all.
*
© Jane Tawel, 2024
Jane Tawel 