Treasure Box

This is a box. It is brown, with a removable lid. No. It is a steel bound wooden chest, infused with magic, protected by a lock constructed of three linguistic riddles. I know the answers to the riddles, so I have the key. I open the chest. The first thing I see is a lot of brightly colored confetti. Digging down, I find...words. I glance around me furtively before I continue my examination.

Near the surface of the chest are simple words that I use frequently: dog, cat, child, son, daughter, husband, grandchild, parent, mom, dad, friend, food, bed. I can point you toward those things with gestures. However, the nuance is still in the language, and it just makes things easier.

I dig deeper. I start finding words that are difficult to just point out meaning. In fact, they are concepts that don't exist in literal configurations: fun, love, justice, poetry, evil, god. They need another human mind to interpret them and , even then, the meaning shifts. They are built on quicksand, individual experience, group identity, personal assumptions. They require context and lots of examples. They often get bandied about without explanation.

Toward the bottom of the box, I find words I use because they are particularly nuanced and/or because I like the way they sound: melancholy, serendipity, leviathan, grandiose, myriad, juxtaposition. They add color and specificity and flare.

At the very bottom of the box is one sentence that is burned into the chest. It cannot be removed. "Experiment and make meaning." What a gift this is. This is a treasure that outshines all others. I will do my best.