Today I played outside and I looked at my hands
As a kiddo I would spend a long time in the mirror
Like whose eyes are those?
And whose hands are these?
(Since they are visibly my hands but suspiciously the mirror's eyes)
I don't remember the last time I looked at my hands before today
Nails get inspected, cuts are monitored
But I don't listen to my hands anymore
Or really any of myself
Not in the same way
Not with any wonder
Now I expect me to be exactly who I expect to be
And so I treat my body like a machine
Today it hurts
Today it's running slow
Today it has a virus that needs to go
We use our hands for nearly everything and so they tell stories
I fear that I have stopped listening to my own stories because I am afraid to recognize my lack of control
It makes me appreciate my parents
and other "adults"
Because for the first time I NEED the world to be a certain way
So instead of looking to see what the world is, to see what my hands are, to see who my friends are
I tell myself who they are or I assume I still know
The world in my head is what is
Observing it clearly can only bring me pain
But it was actually really nice to look at my hands
To see their shortcomings, their strength, the way they have changed
I have always wanted to live an "open palmed life"
Accepting
Encouraging
And that means listening to what might be
Taking the time to hear my own body's story
Playing outside and then looking at my hands