The Gift That Cannot Be Given

Nobody can take it from you. Nobody can give it to you, either.

You have a gift.

Nobody can take it from you.
That’s the good news.

Nobody can give it to you, either.
That’s the bad news.

You may not know what it is,
What it looks like,
Or where to look for it.

You may not know what to do with it,
What it means,
Or if you will ever find it.

But it is there.
It always has been,
And always will be.

The greatest teachers could not tell you what it is,
Even if they wanted to,
Only you can recognize its nature.

Your gift may have been lost and buried,
When you were still a child.

Now it may be resting,
Deep in the ground,
Or waiting under layers of debris,
In the clutter of your mind.

Your gift may be locked away,
In the cabinet of memories,
Or drowning in the dark waters of dreams.

Your gift may be sleeping in the garden of your mind,
Overgrown with weeds,
A seed hoping for spring.

It is always there.
It cannot be given,
Nor can it be taken away.

Your gift is waiting,
To be encountered.

You may not know,
What you are looking for.
But once you get close, you will recognize it.
It will make you beam,
With your true nature.

You must find your gift,
Embrace it,
Refine it,
Unleash it.
And fully make it yours.

Nobody can do this for you.
Some can show you that it can be done,
That it is possible to own one’s gift.
And that knowledge alone is valuable.

But they cannot walk your path.
The digging you have to do yourself.

Get down on your knees,
And enter the crawlspace of your life.
Grope in your darkness,
For your lost treasure.

The world is waiting,
For you to emerge,
Whole,
To share your immortal glow.

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by Alessandro Cripsta