A few days ago, I looked down at my wrists as I drove to an appointment. What I noticed were very clear, distinct lines criss-crossing my wrists.

I immediately thought of my mother. These are her wrists. These are not mine. I remember the day I noticed the lines on her wrists. I thought, ‘How did those lines get there?’ I bent my wrist, glancing back at hers and wondered “How do you get ‘wrist wrinkles?’

I went out to see her that weekend to ‘get away.’ Her studio, when I became an adult, was my haven away from the world of thinking. When I was a little girl, her sewing spot held the same feeling – creating, fun, color. For her, though, over the years the studio became a sweat shop – a never-ending beckoning to go there, not to create art and happy memories, but to make money.

Last night, I woke in the middle of the night like I have so many times before with my hands completely numb – the blood choked off from me holding my hands at right angles while I slept. I’ve noticed this many times before, but this morning the pieces of the puzzle clicked.

My “wrist wrinkles” are attached to my handless maiden – the maiden who runs around so much in pursuit of ‘things’ – caring for others, making a living, achievement, safety – we all can trade who we are for something we are not. I am no different. Last week, a woman came for a session and her maiden was running around too. Ah, the beauty of how orderly our world is – how divine the Messengers are.

One of my biggest fears has been returning to the ‘world.’ My crisis from four years ago allowed me to have a place to heal and to serve others without the worldly grind. I have enjoyed the pace having worked more than half my life – often working two or more jobs at the time. Returning to the world has been a 24/7 non-stop ‘practice’ of returning to my heart consciously moment-to-moment.

When I talk to others who are spinning out of control, I forget that I burned my life to the ground and have been rebuilding my house one picture frame, one vase, one friend at a time. I forget I don’t read five thousand subscriptions I figured out long ago I didn’t really want – or need. I forget I don’t have burdens all over the place because I’ve cleaned up and made peace with so much. I forget how much work I actually have put in to know myself. Yes, the tools are easy, but to know one’s heart and soul is like any other relationship – it takes time. And, it takes daily practice to choose yourself and loving yourself.

That’s what I’m learning – real time – in the world.

I remember when I first met Mark. I so craved the familiarity that my ex-husband and I had. The inside jokes, the familiar glances. It wasn’t enough that Mark and I finished each others’ sentences from day one – I wanted more. But, more can’t come until we are willing to listen and walk together – with ourselves. With our loved ones. We now have a similar banter where he can say a line from a movie, and I know exactly where ‘we’ are.

It is the same for ourselves.

Our handless maiden will get our attention in so many ways. I worked with a woman once whose hands were literally burning and tingling nearly all day long. Rest, the maiden beckoned, rest. Play, she said. Spend time with me. But the woman didn’t. She kept going. A few months later, she ended up having surgery.

Our bodies can only take so much.

In Oriah Mountain Dreamers’s book, The Call, she talks about the handless maiden at the beginning of her book. Her maiden would show up with bloody stumps in a visual in her mind. Slow down she would say.

If you are on this page… at this moment…what is your maiden saying to you?

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