My hands

My hands are the initiator of good and evil, their dirt is my life journey and their touching’s are my situations. Whether I partake or dismiss is often actioned by my hands and where I lay my head at night is facilitated by the very pair that took me there.

Their business is initiated and ended with their stirrings. Without them, I’m still me but with them, my ways are directed.

When fear comes over me, I can’t unfold them, when hurt overwhelms my soul they’re the weakest part of my being.

There’s a way without them, there’s a control above them but it’s these instruments that are more often the most powerful of all.

Today I washed them, I washed them in water more holy than ever before. My heart gave the direction, my hands were subservient and my soul was set free.

My hands are clean, my heart is free, my mind is peaceful once again.

The unawareness of burdening filth so plainly in front of me has held me captive for so long. I’ve known it’s not the sword to carry, nor my fight to face but my hands get dirty again and once more again. For years I have spoken that it’s the example of others that have set us on a path of freedom.

For years I have told of this freedom for our whole beings. Today whilst my hands were dirty again, I’m told His hands are clean. Today whilst my nails have dirt caught in their ridges, His hands have nails piercing His skin. Today my hands were washed, with nothing but the cool of the water free. As they, tip to wrist, were immersed, went under the cool, my heart was set free, my hands were clean, my life anew.