The Chest, Part 1.

The Man had sought all methods he could to find a solution to his dilemma. Prayer, incantations, magical potions, scientific inquiry, logical deduction: all of these he had pursued in earnest at various times, and still he was faced with his dilemma. The weight of it had almost become bearable over the years. He still felt the Burden, but it had become such a part of his life that the pain and weariness it caused were a natural state. He could no longer remember what it was like to not feel the weight of the Burden.

He looked in the mirror and sighed. He turned slightly to see the Burden squatting there on his upper back like an obscenely huge tick. The straps which criss-crossed his chest dug into the muscles so deeply, it almost looked as if they were growing into his body. They were so tight he couldn't even fit his pinky finger between them and his skin. He had tried many ways of cutting them, and only after injuring himself-with no damage to the straps-had he given up trying to cut the straps by normal methods.

He wasn't even sure what was inside of the strange pack that just seemed to appear on his back one day. He had an idea that it had been growing there for years, perhaps his entire life, and he had paid no attention to it until noticing the weight of it that day.

Burdens are like that, he mused. When we are young and thoughtless we don't pay much attention to the consequences of our actions. We go about seeking delight and joy and entertaining our senses, as though there is nary a cost to be paid for our frivolity. Only too late do we come to understand the true cost of our narcissism. If we ever do...

He though of his many friends who think they have no Burdens to bear. How wrong they are: the Man could see theirs as clearly as his own. Some of them were hunched over by the weight far more than he. How could they not know of the great bag of woe strapped to them, forcing them to walk about like some sort of goblin or less than human animal?

He could only conclude that they never looked in a mirror. No, that was preposterous: they had to look in the mirror to care for themselves. In fact, how could such self-absorbed people not look in the mirror at every chance? Perhaps the problem was that they were not looking into the right sort of mirror?

The Man wondered if his own mirror were special, blessed with powers that allowed him to see the burden that others couldn't. No, that wasn't it: no matter which mirror he looked into, he still saw the Burden.

Even passing by a shop window he saw it there, lurking on his back and gradually sapping the life out of him. As time had passed it grew noticeably larger, and he wondered if there would come a day when he would be no more and, upon looking into the mirror, all he saw was that great, hideous thing that was the Burden.

He realized it was not the mirror that mattered, but how a person looked into it. They had to want to see beyond their own reflection, based as it is on the illusion of Self, the idea that each “ME” is the Center of the Universe, and everything else revolves around “ME”. (The illogical notion that there are billions of Centers of the Universe simultaneously occupying the planet is never considered by the Narcissist. That's why narcissism exists, because people consider only what they want to see in the mirror, not what is actually there. Their indifference to reality is why they don't recognize their own Burdens, nor are they bothered by the weight. Some even seem to take pride in knowing the weight is there, but not realizing it is a Burden.)

So... he could see the Burden, not only on his own back, but on the backs of others. What set him apart? Why such a gift? What made him so special...the Man ceased that dangerous line of thinking. After years of seeing and feeling the weight of his own Burden, he'd recognized he was nothing special. He was just a Man carrying his own Burden,and all he had come to desire from life was to be free of it. To think too much of himself would simply make the Burden grow even faster, of that he was certain.

Not that he didn't feel compassion for others who bore their own Burdens, (whether aware of them or not). He found that the more he tried to deal with his own burden, the stronger his desire to help others with theirs grew within his heart. He had long ago decided that, should he find the Key to getting rid of his Burden, he would gladly and freely share it with others.

He knew there were others who had come to see their own Burdens. He knew they could see his as well. It seemed that once a person was able to see his own Burden, all Burdens became visible to him. The Man eventually recognized that all who are able to see Burdens shared the same look in their eyes, a sort of desperate hope for a solution combined with a humble resignation to the weight of the Burden, and the occasional fire of determination to be rid of it one way or another.

He had even seen some people without any Burdens clinging to their backs. At first he thought it was simply because he lacked the ability to see them. He realized after a time that these people also walked tall and proud and free and full of joy, and not as with some of the worst Narcissists, who were that way because of total denial of their own and any other Burdens in the world. No, these people were genuinely free of any Burden, and walked as human beings were meant to walk, in total freedom, able to look at themselves in the mirror with total integrity and acceptance of their true selves.

The more he saw such People, the more he wanted that freedom for himself.

So it was that a Day came when there was a knock on the door of his home. It was just a single, loud rap that oddly sent echoes reverberating through his small house for a second or too (as though he was standing in a great hall, rather than a living room with scarcely enough room for a sofa and the easy chair he was sitting in, reading a book.) He hadn't had a visitor for ages, so he was at first hesitant to get up and answer the door.

He waited for a second knock, and, when none came after nearly a minute, he sprang out of his chair and rushed to the door, hoping he might catch Whoeveritwas if he were walking away.

He opened the door to find no one there. He cautiously leaned out a bit to look to each side of the doorway to see if someone were hiding there, but all he saw was the windows and shrubbery beneath them. He took a step forward, intending to walk to the gate of his front yard to look up the street to see if anyone was heading away from his house. That's when he nearly tripped over the Package.

It was about the size of a loaf of bread and wrapped in plain brown paper. There was no address on it, so he guessed it hadn't been delivered by the usual Post. The only writing on it was in a simple, yet elegant script:

Per Your Request.

The Man stared down at the Package for a moment, perplexed. Then he furtively glanced up and down the street, as though picking up a Package at his own front door were some sort of suspicious activity. Taking a deep breath and a sigh, he quickly picked up the Package and darted back inside.

He sat down on the sofa and placed the Package on the low table before him. He stared at it for some time, wondering who it was from and asking himself many questions regarding what could be in it and the peculiar way in which it was delivered. He considered for a moment that it might be some sort of bomb or trap or something entirely too dangerous to open. He leaned over and gave it a listen, and heard nothing. He tentatively picked it up and and shook it: he heard and felt a very slight bump from within, but that was it.

Well, there's nothing else to it he thought, then he quickly tore at the wrappings like he was once again a child opening the biggest present on his birthday. What was revealed was an old looking, nondescript chest. It was of greyish colored wood, that looked like it had once been red oak or cherry. It was constructed very much like his mother's jewelry chest, a simple wooden box with a hinge lid and single hasp in front. There was a note attached to the top, written in a much less eloquent (even messy) script. It read:

The Answer to Your Inquiry Lies Within.

There was no signature, no initials, nothing to identify who wrote the note and, presumably, who sent him the Chest.

The Man stared at the Chest, many thoughts flooding his mind, for a very long time. So long that he was startled when he realize the sun had gone down and it was past his dinnertime. He hadn't touched the Chest the entire time, so he finally picked it up, quite gingerly, and rotated it in his hands to examine it. He found no other markings to give any indication of who the Chest was from or what it contained.

He stood up and walked over to the mantle, placing the chest just below the mirror on the wall above it. He looked in the mirror, shaking his head as he saw the unavoidable Burden, then looked at the Chest.

The only “inquiry” I have made for years is how to remove the Burden. Could it be that whatever is in this Chest will allow me to do just that? The Man's heart began to pound and his breath quicken at the prospect that the Chest contained some sort of blessed, magical thing that would at long last relieve him of the Burden.

He realized that he was grinding his teeth in thought, painfully so, and took a step back from the chest. He rubbed his face and again looked into the mirror. Shaking his head, he reached for the Chest, placing his thumb below the hasp.

End Part 1 of “The Chest”