all of life is surprisingly endless unwrapping.
that is, if the art of unwrapping becomes a gift.
then the gift has full-bodied ongoing presence
without ever being revealed.
every day has more bow offered.
every memory presents as more layers to unwrap.
the gift has some notion of size to it,
some notion of wait.
it is felt as the process in continuance.
some notion of what it is,
is always beckoning.
the gift of itself had no needs before existence.
opening the gift presumes a sense of separateness
where by one is driven to search, seek and unite,
for which the unwrapping is always approaching
as the process coming out of stillness,
where the unwrapping approaches the self
as the gift,
born out of that inner stillness.
thus unwrapped
as the gift that can never be had
but always is
in the ever of unwrapping . . .
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