Here I kneel in silence once again,
Hands empty and turned upward.
Everything I held in the broken cup
Of my palms has been taken away.
Scars and paint marks are scattered
Over my weathered and peeling skin.
The grooves on my palms map out
The tortuous quests of the past —
My hands once gripped life’s throat,
Threatening it to yield to my wishes;
My fists once pounded on the world
With an insatiable need for dominion.
Alas, like a gust of wind, a force swept
Away everything within my tight grasp,
Leaving my gaping palms with nothing
But emptiness and weightlessness.
Just as the forests shed in the fall,
Folding into the earth to be born again;
Or the aged give up the dense body,
Returning to the elements of infancy,
I have learned to let go of everything
I have ever held against my bones
To cradle that primordial emptiness
Between my hands, ready to receive.
p.s. Leave a comment if this resonated with you. I love to hear your stories!
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