If my eyes follow the lines of my arm as it extends beyond my body, they arrive at my hands. Both closed tightly.
If I were to peek into one of the hands, inside I would see everyone and everything I hold dear; my family, my beloved, my friends. But also my personal successes, big and small, my precious memories.
Now if I were to examine the other hand, I’d see the fingers are clenched so tightly over into the palm, the knuckles are almost white. In this hand sit my life-long and more recent dreams. My secret longings, my most bitter jealousies. My joys but also my sadnesses. My hopes for the future but also my present despair.
With my fingers of both hands wrapped so tightly around these, I can open neither my hands nor my heart to anything else. As if I’d somehow loose myself if I dared to offer them up.
All that I hold in both these hands are part of me. I guard them jealously, unwilling to let them go. And yet.
No one is asking me to let go of my loved ones. No one can take away all that I have achieved. But perhaps I am hanging on too tightly to the other stuff?
If only somehow I could have the courage to loosen my grip, to let go of one handful? Then one day I would wake to find an open palm resting by my side, free to be filled with other possibilities.