I Fold My Palms

In the stillness of the morning, before the world stirs with its ceaseless hum, I fold my palms.

Not merely as a gesture, but as a bridge – a quiet meeting of the seen and unseen, the finite and the infinite.

Fingers press against one another, not in submission, but in surrender.

Each fold a prayer unspoken, each touch an aspiration to something greater.

My palms, weathered by time and toil, now serve as an altar, bearing the weight of my quest for eternal peace.  

I fold my palms to cradle gratitude, holding the soft whispers of blessings I often overlook.

The breath that fills my lungs, the sun that pours light into my day, the Path that is shown to lead the way.  

I fold my palms in humility, recognizing the vastness of the Truth and the smallness of my being. Yet in this smallness, there is infinite depth–a spark of the divine that makes me more than dust and shadow.

And in the folding, I find unity. Like two sides of a coin, a symbol of balance – light and shadow, struggle and grace, time and the eternal. Together, they rise in acknowledgment of what I do not yet know, yet leading me toward the sacred knowledge that lies just beyond the veil.  

This act is simple, yet profound. It is not bound to creed or ritual, for it is older than language, older than belief. It is the essence of the spirit, spoken without words, received without barriers.

So I fold my palms, not in despair, but in trust. Trust that there is more to life than what my eyes can perceive. Trust that even in my brokenness, there is beauty. Trust that the answers I seek are written not in the sky, but in the silence between my folded hands.

Here, in this posture, I am whole. Here, I meet the divine – not beyond me, but within me.

In grace,
Yvonne Loh
3 December 2024