Haji Lane, Singapore
This week I learned a lesson in opening up the palms of my hands – not in the way Sarah Kay talks about in “Point B”, but in the same way I imagine why the Buddha’s palms are never in fists.
My hands are tired now, calloused and sore from climbing for months and months trying to find a workaround, a way around. They are curling into open palms on their own, muscle tendons twitching and telling me between quivers that they want to just lie like this for a while.
I jumped off the wall this week, and at first my fingers felt strange not gripping onto cement. There was still red dust on my nail beds, but in the last few days I have come to realize that I am not weaker for not following the brick wall to the end – that this is not The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, and contrary to what Dorothy would have you believe, brick is not a sign to ‘go after it’. The wall was telling me that now is not the time.
My open palms are their own fight – and as they tremble still from the force of being held taut for so long, here’s hoping I remember that hands naturally fall open – that there is as much strength in letting go as there is to holding tightly on.