I discovered a box among the rules of English composition. The lid is a proclamation of purpose, the thesis. He gives his companions direction and structure. Around him are clustered of loyal trio of supporting details and inevitable, persuasive conclusion. They form the sides and bottom of the box.
This box allows me to focus my mind. It keeps me from rambling from topic to topic. Since today it has no content, other than an observation of its own existence, the box feels awkward and strange. It’s accustomed to displaying the best of others, not being described itself.
“Give me a research paper and I’ll show you my strengths,” the box told me. “I’ll help you compare Sigmund Freud and Carl Jung, but please don’t analyze me!” For a box, this one is rather neurotic, a type-A personality. It kept begging me to draw an outline, but I refused.
“Today,” I explained, “I’m meditating on you, so stop doing your work and be yourself.” I forgot that a box made of rules is defined by its work. Like a verb, its boring while being; it would rather do and that is why I’m packed this box-thought up and shared it with you. It isn’t very talkative, but the lid will declare its purpose, “I discovered a box among the rules of English composition”.