My Box

Yesterday, I received the best gift.

It was given to me by a coworker. I was deeply absorbed in thought, meditating blue highlighter on yellow legal paper, when she peered into my cubicle.

“I have a late Christmas gift for you,” she said, looking in.
“I didn’t have any wrapping paper, but here you go.” It was wrapped in a FedEx delivery envelope.

As she walked away, I delicately tore away the tape. Inside
was a dark wooden box with a symbol etched on top. It looked like a calligraphy of nothingness. I opened the box to see if there was a definition inside. It was empty.

I asked my cubicle neighbor what the symbol meant.

“I think it’s ‘Om’.”

“Well, what’s ‘Om’?”

“I don’t know, but people say it a lot at the beginning and
end of prayers and stuff.”

“But what does it mean? Is it like hello? Is my box saying
hello?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

So we googled it.

It symbolizes ultimate Reality.

Another coworker came by as we were ‘Om’-ing.

“Oh ‘Om’?” He said. “Did you know that if you pronounce it
perfectly, it forms all the possible sounds you can make with your
tongue and mouth? It starts from the back of your throat like, like” - he pronounced it perfectly.

So a coworker gave me the gift of ultimate Reality and inside it was nothing.

(And she was worried about the wrapping paper.)