Boxes hold wonders and secrets, treasures and trash. They come in so many sizes—just big enough to old an engagement ring and large enough to hold half the contents of a house. We love to sift through boxes at yard sales and look the other way when passing the piles of boxes cluttering our own garages and attics.
My first book, Magic Child, came out in 1998, just on the cusp of on-demand printing. Because I was not an early adapter, I still have many boxes of the unsold books in my basement. My kids have shuddered every time I’ve moved because they are the ones who have moved those boxes. I thought I could give them all away to prisons or shelters but that turns out to be a daunting prospect. There may come a day when my kids do what I can’t —haul them off to a landfill.
When my mother-in-law died, my husband inherited some of her boxes. He went through a few of the papers but got overwhelmed and so those boxes remain intact, hoping another generation will express interest. In one of those cartons, I found genealogical history his aunt had assembled. I was intrigued, even though it wasn’t my family, but I realize younger generations may not care about our histories. If they don’t, what does that mean for the stories of our lives? Is it enough that we lived and perhaps reflected on our lives? Like trees that fall in the woods, unheard and unwitnessed by humans, do we matter just because we are? (I say yes!)
What boxes are you drawn to or avoiding?
When I wrote recently about treasure chests, a friend who reads my newsletter wrote back and shared a beautiful poem with me. Best of all, she said I could share it with you. Then I got thinking about a couple of pieces from the book I’m currently writing that have to do with boxes and I realized I have a lot to say about box world.
Before I go down a rabbit hole looking for box wisdom, here is Charlotte’s poem.
Behold This Box
Behold this Box
It is a remarkable Box: It holds everything while nothing at the same time
It is circular and has no corners for things to get stuck in
It is a small Box but there is no limit as to what it can hold or how it will grow
It is sturdy enough to carry my heavy burdens or a handful of fireflies
It carries the Spirits both large and small of those before and after me
It is an unadorned Box needing no ornamentation, but it is none the less beautiful
It makes no judgments as to what is placed in it, or taken out of it
There is no top for this Box so you can readily see all that it holds
It contains love that I have, love I have missed, and love that will be here soon
This Box is illuminated not from within but from without
God is somewhere in the Box between my visions and dreams
Wait, can you hear its music? Whales calling, children laughing, earth chimes, song of the quetzal, purr of a cat, cicada wings flapping, hum of water over stone, a full moon rising, a garden of bees—are all contained in this Box
It speaks in harmony to friends I love, friends I miss, and friends I have not yet recognized
It contains all my joys, and everything that might be less than joy, and measures each equally
It contains the earth I came from and the earth where I am going
It carries a family with all its frailties’ and strengths
It holds that which is precious to me, but also that which I need to better understand
A pin fits nicely in this Box and so does a banyan tree, since it is a Box of the unexpected
The Box holds my trinkets, but also promises broken, passions of war, and dreams unfulfilled
You can ask questions of this Box but very few answers are revealed
I bless this Box because it has shared the nuances of life with me
You cannot borrow this Box, but only create one of your own
Behold this Box: Nothing more and nothing less
Charlotte Oakes
Isn’t that a lovely poem? What would you put in your box? What unexpected delights would you most hope to find? If your life is a box, are you paying attention to what it holds? Are you caring for your box or is it pretty dilapidated?
A section from my new book involves a session with a client I’m calling Amy who was lacking self confidence and about to start a new job. When we got to the bottom of the inner stairs, I felt prompted to ask Amy if she saw a box.
Oh! There are lots of boxes. Grandpa was a packrat.
I encouraged Amy to think of herself as being on a treasure hunt, going through the boxes, looking for her confidence. The first one she opened held a jack-in-the-box.
We thought he was so cool. When he popped up, we’d laugh.
“Many kids get scared when clowns pop up. Do you think this might be an example of your self-confidence?” I pointed out.
I’ve always been funny. Maybe I’m confident when I’m funny.
I asked her to look in another box.
Inside this box there’s an old rotary phone like Grandma had in her room. It didn’t work but she kept it. I thought it was cool. There’s also a box of seashells. Grandma used to buy me seashells. I loved the seashells she got me. I loved visiting my grandparents. Grandma could sense I had a good soul. She was very smart, and she knew I was smart and that I tried hard. She knew that I cared about everything I did.
“It sounds like your very smart grandmother knew you pretty well. She knew you were smart and caring,” I affirmed for her.
Amy’s thoughts started turning to the contrast of her uncaring mother, so I told her to put her mom up on the shelf because she had nothing to offer in the confidence department.
“Amy, why don’t you string all the seashells into a lei and put it around your neck?” I suggested.
I can feel the weight of it. It’s like a weighted blanket. Comforting. Grandma was a native Hawaiian. I always felt like she believed in me and loved me.
I asked Amy to feel her Grandma’s belief as she wore the lei and begin to claim ways that she felt confident. She reflected and bit by bit told herself a new story of confidence.
I’m confident that I’m smart. And lovable. I have a big heart. I can figure anything out. I can make people laugh their ass off. If there’s anyone you want on your team, it’s me. I’ll be your biggest cheerleader. Now my heart has started speeding up.
“Maybe you’re feeling excited to be finding your confidence,” I said, hoping to reassure her.
There was more to the session but essentially Amy found confidence in those basement boxes. Evidently younger generations can benefit from the boxes us older folks accumulate!
Many years ago I worked with a client I’m calling Beatrice. She is the person who motivated me to write Deep Medicine for Trauma and Deep Medicine Practitioner, the book I’m currently writing. Beatrice suffered a tremendous amount of abandonment and neglect and was emotionally numb when we began our work together. Joy did not come easily to her and she had to confront her feeling that she was betraying her family of origin if she were to have a joyful life. There is much to her story that you’ll get to read when the new book is finished. Meanwhile, a very sweet piece of the work she did involved a Joy Box. Beatrice first conceived of this box as an art project but she avoided it for at least a year. I don’t think she ever physically constructed it, but the hypnotherapy session where it appeared was luminous and I’m delighted to share it with you.
We’re flying down into the canyon. Oh Gosh! It’s the Grand Canyon. We’re landing on the sandbar by the river. It’s a wonderful moment. We’re camping here for the night. We sit by the fire and tell stories about where we want to fly. We’re all feeling joyful.
The Joy Box is on the sand. I opened it and this fine gold dust came out. It’s sparkling all around us. It’s going to settle and become part of us. We’re going to integrate this joy powder. When that happens, we’ll sparkle. It’s a process.
Maybe we have to sparkle to see other sparkle people. Maybe there will be other sparkly people in the canyon at night. We’ll fly around like fireflies. You have to sparkle for the other people to find you. Otherwise, they can’t see you.
I want to come back here often. This is a sacred ritual space. It’s a meeting place for the joy people. Now I feel joyous. I can see the others in the canyon.
You can’t get into the canyon unless you fly in. We’re at places you can’t get to from the river. It’s steep here. I’ve always wanted to go to the Grand Canyon.
I just love the visual of gold powder spilling out of the Joy Box and people flying around like fireflies—my favorite insect. If you had a magical box, what would you hope to find inside? Could you paint a word picture of the box?
I would love to hear back what this prompts in you. Caravan Writers Collective is a group on Substack that invites writers to share pieces on specific topics. I think boxes would be a worthy choice and maybe they’ll be inspired. Regardless, I would love to hear from you.
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