Little Hands

     My hands are small. Very small, but powerful. I have always had hands that were different, so it's no wonder they became the very tool I would need to transform my life, and the lives of others. My hands are always warm, dry, and wrinkled. When I was a child, the other children made fun of me. They actually had a nick-name for me derived from the appearance of my hands. They called me "Wrinkles". It was hurtful, but not deeply scarring. I remember it, but I just chalk it up to kids being kids; sometimes they are brutally honest and it comes across as mean. When people ask me now, in present time, why my hands are so wrinkled, I tell the truth. I am an old soul. Sometimes I'll crack a joke and make the claim I stayed in the womb too long. Truthfully though, I think we all wish we could have stayed in the womb a bit longer. Big bad world or cozy placenta with everything you need including food, shelter, warmth, and love? I vote uterus. Anywho...

     My hands are patterned with crosses, lines, x's, squares, stars, forks, dots, and grids that I have always been fond of, but others find unusual. It matters not. I like the fact that people shake my hand and immediately flip it over to examine my palm. I'm more of a hugger anyway. I am a healer, and those who receive my healing touch have never stopped to question me or my mitts. I like to think the texture brings a little something extra to the table. Exfoliation, maybe? 

       My hands are not soft, but they are strong. My fingers look rough, but work deeply. My palms are pruned, but intuitive. Maybe all those wrinkles are just added surface area so Spirit has a extra space to squeeze in the juice. I use my hands for the highest good. God knows it. I am so grateful that my hands feel healthy at the end of the day. Unlike most hand-using healers, mine are not sore or cramped after hours of treatments. I honor my hands. I respect the Source that provided me with such a powerful pair. Today, take a look at your own hands. For every shallow line be grateful for the easy, effortless aspects of your life. For all of those deep, rivers of wrinkles, be grateful for the experiences that were not so simple, but created and  shaped who you are today. I find peace in the truth that my hands represent all that I am, and perhaps all I will be. I believe my hands are wrinkled and the skin is a little loose because I'm not done growing into them yet. Today I give "Wrinkles" a hug, and honor the child inside of me for maintaining an insatiable thirst to discover myself, my world, and my healing. Namaste! 

First Day

Every day is the first day of the rest of your life. Today is my first day of the rest of my life as a writer. I have always loved to write, made claims that I am, in fact, a writer, but never have actually produced any writing for others to read outside of school, journaling, or the occasional poem to a lover, or ode to a friend. So today, friends, I write. I write for me and I write for you. I can officially call myself a writer and it feels good. It feels good like warm bunny slippers on a chilly morning. It feels good like sand (the squishy kind) between your toes. It feels good like a first kiss. I feel truthful, authentic, and real. That is why I like to write. So that I may use my words to convey what my voice sometimes feels to small to say- the truth. If this is never seen by the eyes of others, it matters not. I have expressed my truth and unveiled an aspect of my identity that was once hidden. Ah, freedom. So, to those who have taken the time to read my first blog ever, I thank you. I am grateful for you, your priceless time, and your thoughts. If it weren't for you, this may have just been another journal entry. So Cheers! To writing, to creative expression, to all the emotional entrails that will follow this first blog, and to you, for supporting something you also have a passion for. This is the first day. May the last come slowly, and with purpose fulfilled.