A Tesseract

A Tesseract

Is to a cube as a cube is to a square.

Exists in 4 dimensions and is nearly impossible to represent or comprehend in 3.

We are all boxes of boxes upon boxes.

But that doesn’t begin to explain us.

Or our circumstances.  Even to ourselves.

Inside the box that is my body is a smaller, man-made box, with electrical connections.  A defibrillator.  One intended to protect me, but which nearly took my life.  One worth more than I can afford.  Even to remove.  Before it finally destroys me.

Inside the box that is my head is a smaller, organic box, with electrical connections.  A mind.  One intended to steer my actions, but which nearly always goes astray.  One that has me here, with too little to show for my 31 years.  Even to myself.  Before I give up.

A man with love for others, but no love that he can sort out.

A doctor, but not of medicine and not of consequence.

An artist, but not in any conventional sense and also not of any consequence.

All of these things describe, but do not fully explain, me and my circumstances.

If the 4^th dimension is temporal, then it forms the truest boundaries of this existence.

Boundaries of which we are ever wary but never aware.

We live within invisible boxes of time, then, too.

So, is life the tesseract? 

Or am I? 
The answer is largely immaterial.  

I couldn’t explain life or myself, even to myself, even if I tried.