Hands

"If you look deeply into the palm of your hand, 
you will see your parents and all generations of your ancestors. 
All of them are alive in this moment. 
Each is present in your body. 
You are the continuation of each of these people."

~ Thich Nhat Hanh

My daughter, Jenna, the one who is living in Australia, will turn 26 on June 9.  In hopes that it will get to Australia in time, I mailed a birthday card to her today.  I had some beautiful blank cards that were made by a former student of mine.  Julie had sent me some several months ago, and as I am often prone to do, I was "saving" them for a special occasion.  Well, here's one . . . Jenna's birthday.  Julie decorates her cards with handmade paper art and other adornments.  The card I selected to send to Jenna has a paper hand in lavender, so I began a search for a poem or quote about hands that I could write on the inside of the card.  When I came upon the Thich Nhat Hanh quote above, it seemed to fit the occasion perfectly.  (Thich Nhat Hanh is a Zen Buddhist monk, born in Viet Nam, who has taught and preached and written about peace and mindfulness all his life.)

I fell in love with the idea that my Jenna is not just a product of her father and me, but also of all those who came before us.  Perhaps every aspect of her personality can be attributed to the bloodline of her ancestral heritage.  And so it may be for all of us, that we are the product of a great collection of souls who shape and shift our character throughout our journey here in this life.

But this post is not about the Over-soul.  It is about hands.  So I think of Julie's hands, creating a piece of art out of scrap paper.  I think of my hands, writing out the found quote to start my birthday greeting to Jenna.  And I think of Jenna's hands, the ones that I held for a few years, gradually letting go so that she could begin her own journey.

My mother's thin hands, the ones that I loved as I traced her veins down to her fingertips.  My father's hands, the ones that were adept at woodworking but could spank me hard when I misbehaved.  Pete's hands, making chalk fly across the blackboard as he worked out math equations.  My grandmother's hands, rolling out the pie crust and slicing the apples so thin.  All the chores of all the hands of all the people who helped to create my Jenna.  I am in love with their hands and their willingness to continue.