FP -- Tenth

Psalm 143:6

Standing here
My hands lifted up,
The air has strange qualities of light and sound.

Bright - the details are washed out.
Or so dim that everything is fuzzy?
The edges are blurred.
The colors fade.
A waiting room in a gray world where time is lost.
A train station for the soul.

Sounds like….
Silence?
Or, is the space filled with sound?
Deafening white noise.
Stations are like that.
Full of noise, none of it explicit.
None of it discriminate and directed to an individual.
None of it to me.

Surrounded by a cloud of witnesses.
Entirely alone.

I stand.
With arms outstretched.
Hands open to receive.
Or release.

The classic position:
Moses stood this way.
David sang while he held the pose.
Surely this is the posture of the woman looking for crumbs.
The blind man must have had a similar stance.
The parent beseeching for a sick (no, dead) child.
The demoniac.
The bleeding woman.
The list goes on...
Jesus. Willingly positioned this way by other hands:
Soul bared, arms stretched, hands spread out.

My infant sits like this.
Certain to be lifted up and held.
Expectation so strong she doesn't even look up.
No beseeching necessary.
Arms out, hands lifted.

I stand with my hands up,
Lifted to the One who sees.
I wait, soul lifted up.

I’ve put my hands down and walked away.
Convinced
No One noticed
Hand lifted.
No One heard
Soul Upraised.

Standing in turmoil.
Buffeted by noise, images, crowds.
Lifting up against the current.

Standing in a vacuum.
Surrounded by an absence.
Lifting up into nothing.

Struggling or weightless.
Neither are easy.

This time I stay.
Lifted.
Raised.
Waiting.