Our hands, here before us, holding, reflecting, grasping, releasing. What stories do their lines tell?
Their prints a mirror of our soul’s longing?
Tactile, delicate, fingers fluttering like anemone
The pleasure of rolling paint on hands
Dark and light playing patterns upon the palms’ canvas
And then hands pressed lightly upon each other, the print,
A reflection of Me!
Since ancient times, we have witnessed the magic and miracle of ourselves in dimly lit caves, candle flames flickering, our hand prints knowing marks upon rough walls. This is me, this is us, here we are! We count with our fingers, mark time with our knuckles, craft and cleave and catch. we cradle our babes and each other’s faces, and trace lines and textures when sightless. Thank you Jill for sharing your knowledge, fascination and devotion to helping people walk their paths.
I’ve been in a little cave over here, without many words.
Do you know that place?
The only things that make sense are simple. Like making oatmeal in the morning. Or taking your time to really scrub the kitchen sink.
Still, the sun disappears every night and reappears like magic the next morning.
Darkness. Light. Hopelessness. Hope.
It’s what it means to be human, I’m finding more and more. Try to avoid that hopelessness and you automatically incur more. Try to stay in the light and your shadows grow monster-like and long, waiting for a chance to overtake you.
I’m uncomfortable with my level of discomfort, a friend said to me recently, eyes shining in the park with a smile on his face that can only mean you feel like crying.
And yet, this is life.
Even when everything is more than enough to bear.
Today as I write to you, I’m aware that while there’s a way we have to face these dark nights of the soul on our own, there’s another way we do not.
We’re allowed in the dark to ask for light.
We’re allowed in the light to remember what it feels like in the dark.
We can turn on the light for one another when we’re too weak to reach the switch.
We can slide down to the bottom of the hole and just be together until one of us has the strength to show the other where there’s a handhold to get back out and up.
Read the rest of Jen’s post here:
“Hopeful World is a small community of teachers, mentors, guides and sages dedicated to the listening path. Through our mentoring programs and online group learning experiences, we help kindred spirits navigate the terrain of the heart. Some call us midwives, others soul sherpas. Either way, it’s our privilege and calling to help you break free from the confines of assigned expectation so you can begin to move from a different power source…the clarity of that still small voice showing you the way back home.”
Thank you Jen and all at Hopeful World for inspiring me to more honest story-telling, and therefore more honest listening. Here’s to reflagging, pass the message on.