Hand of the Soul

Once, when I was little, my dad asked me what my favorite part of my body was.  I said, "My hands and my soul."

I was quite a child.

My hands have aided me in both my own destruction and in my survival.  They've brandished the weapons I've used to harm myself, both physically and mentally throughout my life.  They've hurt me, burned me, spurned me and bruised me, but they've always sustained me.

They hold the pills that keep me alive and allow me to thrive.  They work till they ache so I may create.  They pen the words to paper that free my mind.  They transfer and absorb energy from everything they touch.  They send tenderness and lust to my lover.

They can be both gentle and cruel.

And oh, the soul!

Whether you want to debate the existence of such a thing, or where it emanates from and whence it returns when it leaves our flesh, one thing I am certain of is that my soul is the core of who I am.  It is not my body that makes me me, it is the force created by God, or the Universe, or whatever there may be.  It is who I am and mine is a survivor, a lover, a creator and sometimes a fighter.  Whether it shall find another body after this one turns to dust I do not know, but know it's who I am and I'm here to learn.

To learn to work with my hands, love one another and find inner peace.  Everything comes together - all the loss and the pain, the joy and the tears.  Nothing is ever lost, for we are a force of nature.