Chapter 2: The Package

I opened the package carefully, using a utility knife with a new blade to carefully cut the tape between the flaps of cardboard. Upon opening it, I peeled back several layers of shimmering white tissue that sent out a cloud of fragrance like my favorite Nag Champa incense with each movement. Underneath was another box itself set into a gilded paper sleeve of deep forest green with an embossed gold foil leaf pattern covering it surface. Even without removing the sleeve, I can see that it is well worn.

I set the precious box down in front of my television and took a moment to break down the shipping box and dispose of it in the recycling bin in my kitchen, then hurried back to retrieve my treasure. Holding it carefully, I made my way back to my chair.

I am removing the box from its protective sleeve, when a thought comes unbidden but very clearly to my mind: “I have carried this box through many lives.” The box is beautifully crafted, and I cannot judge its age except to recognize that it is very, very old. Another thought follows: “This box has carried the seeds of many dreams to many people,” as clear and unbidden as the first thought.

Though I do not remember seeing this box before, my hands know what to do with it and the latch response easily to my touch. The filigreed hinges open smoothly and silently. When I look inside, it is the inside of the lid that first catches my eye. At the center of the lid is a mirror, its frame in the shape of Massachusetts, and covered in small glowing orbs of light. Embossed in gold on the mirror at the center of map is the simple image of a house and a tree, such as a child might draw, and in front of the home figures for each member of my immediate family. On the frame surrounding the mirror-map, luminous orbs glow softly; within each orb the face of family member or friend smiling as if waiting to welcome me home.

Next I turned my attention to the box compartment itself. It is lined with soft green moss, and at its center rests a bag of the finest golden gossamer silk, containing a brilliant white moonstone and twelve other assorted gems. Also, a small ivory-colored card, slightly larger than an ordinary business card, and with a message embossed in gold:

Plant these seeds in the Garden of Your Heart’s Desire, and tend them well. There, they will grow and bear their fruit, each in its proper season.

I want to inspect these seeds more closely, but 2729 Harbor Road is not the place, nor is it the proper time for me to do this, so I reluctantly close the lid, slip the box back into it sleeve, and ponder the question of the proper time and place. Where is this Garden of My Heart’s Desire?! Is it in a meadow? A hill by the sea? A quiet clearing near a woodland stream? I travel to many beautiful places in my mind’s eye, but none of them calls to me: none is the place of the Garden of My Dreams.