The door looms before me, casting its angry shadow across the floor. Please forgive me. I am afraid and do not understand what is required of me.
Weak with discouragement I lie down. The shadow falls upon me. No! I must continue or be lost forever to the search.
I rise and try to move the trunk to the door, hoping if I stand on top of it I will be tall enough to search for a key, perhaps hidden atop the frame. But the trunk will not budge. It is too heavy, and wears me out trying to push and shove it. Its weight and contents come, no doubt, from my many years of collecting.
I sit back to rest and am suddenly reminded of Uncle Frank. At the house following his burial I looked at all his knickknacks, miscellaneous items, and memorabilia from different places. A second before his death these were his treasures. Now they were rubble, in the way of the next inhabitant of that space.
Frank, you have left behind your precious things, and those things only make us sad because nobody loves them the way you did. It would have been better when you left to have all your things put in the ground with you, for they have no meaning to anyone here. And they also have no meaning to you now. So what were they for?
What were they for? I open my trunk and look over its contents. There are countless "necessities": homes with their mortgages (and insurance policies); a few automobiles (and their insurance policies); the rugs, drapes and furnishings for probably 30 or 40 rooms; china, silverware and crystal service for twelve; magazine subscriptions by the score; albums and envelopes of photos capturing significant and not so significant moments; the clothes of several generations and fads; hundreds of shoes, some almost unworn; enough cookbooks to stock a library; appliances to facilitate anything you might do in the kitchen; chic little items like napkin rings (a real necessity); pens with my name on them which still ended up in someone else's room; jewelry for every occasion; equipment for several hobbies and crafts; a 25 cubic foot freezer unplugged and stuffed to the brim with, of all things, yarn (what a terrific sale that was); and a file cabinet to hold all the articles I clipped on being less materialistic.
What had I been thinking? In such a short while I have accumulated so much "stuff" I can no longer even manage it. Why do we accumulate so many things? They bring us pleasure, I suppose, at least for a while. Their acquisition, perhaps, gives us a feeling of accomplishment. When we are small, we must beg and plead to get our little hearts' desires. As we get older, we find we have the power to get whatever we want and we want it all.
Sitting here now, however, I see my pursuit of "happiness" has made this trunk so heavy I can't even move it. I must discard some of its contents, but what can I bear to part with? Certainly the brass spitoon, and maybe the yarn. Probably the sterling silver gravy boat (doesn't look like I'll be having any company). Not the home. I need the home. But if I keep the home, I will need all that goes with it: the insurance, the furniture, the tools, the appliances, the cookbooks, and my job with its requirements (wardrobe, car, computers) so I can afford to keep the home. Could I live without a home? Where would I stay? In someone else's home? That doesn't seem fair. In my car? Whoops! On the streets?
Maybe there would be nothing wrong with living on the streets. It would certainly put me in touch with something very basic — my dependence on all that is around me. I'd be forced to look at people and life differently.
The homeless would surely think me a fool to envy their hardships. Maybe I am wrong about how rich that life could be, but I'm not wrong about all this "stuff." The acquisition and upkeep of these foolish treasures have robbed me of most of my time and hold me back from taking the next step. I am ready now to get rid of my things.
I stand before this trunk which holds the life I thought was important, and begin discarding its contents. As I work my way to the bottom I can see something is written under the very last item. I almost topple inside in my eagerness to get to the message: "This trunk is for holding those things you value. If one thing remains so does the trunk. If the trunk is empty it is no longer a trunk."
And it vanished, leaving me free to travel unencumbered to the next place.