A Gift Person

GIFTS XIX. November 2, 2014

My vocation [his sense, as a child, that he would be a writer] changed everything: the sword-strokes fly off, the writing remains; I discovered in belles-lettres that the Giver can be transformed into his own Gift, that is, into a pure object.  Chance had made me a man, generosity would make me a book.  –Jean-Paul Sartre.  The Gift, Lewis Hyde, p. 40.

If the giver becomes a gift, then I, too,
am a gift.  The Universe gave me, and all 
that I am, all the words I write about who 
I am and what I see, the people I love and 
those who hate me–all this is part of my gift.
When I tell my sufferings, my foolishness,
my errors as well as when I admit I passed
through doors while rarely opened for an
outsider, when I saw that I usually succeeded
when I was passionately determined to 
succeed, people are receiving my gift.  It’s
not a matter of God, unless, like I do, you
see the Universe as God.  The way we are
made is the first gift.  All babies begin as
gifts from the Universe.  They bear within
them the seeds of their greatness, but not
all babies are cherished, not all children
are taught to believe they can be and do
anything they want to.  Of course, we all
make mistakes, stumble, lose track of our
real nature, suffer, but if we began with
confidence and courage, we emerge,
not unscathed, but wiser, able to withstand,
even transform the slings and arrows of
the world’s censure.  If I am a gift because
I give my whole soul to other people in my
life and in my writing, then I have nothing
to fear.  Of course, I have work to do, 
people’s hostility to elude or change.  I must
provide for myself and my animals, care
for my aging body, my home, and my 
small farm.  Yet let me not worry or live
in fear.  Ask for help but not give in to
feeling helpless. A gift person remembers
her value and does not spin her wheels.
She remembers to look beyond her own 
needs and see the gifts others give her
and the gifts she may give without
fanfare or exultation.  It’s a quiet
life being a Gift.  That’s what matters:
the gift, not the hoopla.