The Puzzle

A boy is handed a cube in the beginning called Life. Attached is a note that reads,

Do with it what you will.

A puzzle, he thought. He spends his whole time turning it over, shifting pieces here and there, wondering how to solve it. It is a cube of many cubes and shifting sides. Beautiful colors that were solid one moment and swaying the next. Each twist and turn brought a note of music that chimed with the next and the next. Solving the puzzle, of course, meant putting it in the perfect position...according to himself.

So he sits and he turns it and turns it, the colors sliding in the most wondrous of scenes and displays. The notes cascaded in an unpredictable, indescribable rhythm that rung through the air and his soul. The days slip by as if the sun and moon were rolling across the sky. Seasons come and go, but he ignores these distractions and bares down, focusing on the puzzle, driving for the key.

Finally, he is an old man. He looks at the puzzle, still undone. He frowns. For all it's wonder came to naught if he could not find the key. He's tried this way and that. Pushed and pulled. There could be no other way.

Until he realizes it.

Bolting upright, his mind swept back to the very first day. He had assumed that the thing given to him was a puzzle. He assumed he had to make it perfect. To solve it. But it was merely a pretty gift full of beautiful colors meant to please him as he saw fit. But in his obsession, he ignored it all, intent on finding what never was.

What was a gift of pleasure he made into a trying ordeal.

Placing the cube on his windowsill, he watched the great colors and listened to the great sounds, passing the rest of his days in peace and contentment where life was appreciated for what it was, and not what he would have it be.