My body

I am a portrait of expression, a composition comprised of experience. I am the performance of my self.

Each of us has a body made of up of stories. In our hands, in our voices, in our sensibilities, our posture; we tell our story. If I look at my hands, I can remember swing ropes I have held onto. I can remember where I earned that scar. When I look another person's hands, I imagine how many dishes they have washed. If they have ever held a child and if it makes them soften their regular grip on life. I look at the wrinkles and the calluses. I look at the soft curve of their fingers and how their hands are placed on their lap, in their pockets, along the edges of their personality. A story of my conditioning, my manner, my pattern is known, and speaks for me in my behavior.  I was taught to place my hands in such a way, folded, quietly in my lap. How do you wait? Who showed you where to place your hands while you sit?