In the Palm of My Hand

Each of us has a unique palm print, and the palm print of one hand does not resemble the other. Even identical twins have different palm print patterns. These lines, ridges, and creases are formed during fetal development, and the principal palm flexion lines and ridges remain relatively unchanged throughout life.

Palmistry, the practice of reading hands to assess character and predict the future, originated in China and India around 3,000 BC and spread to ancient Greece. Anaxagoras and Aristotle practiced and wrote about this art. However, it lost its credibility during the Enlightenment Era (1685 – 1815) when scientific rigor and rationalism were favored over pseudoscience.

When I lived in India, I had my palm read by a master palm reader, or at least that was what I was told. Her name ended with the Hindi word ‘Devi’, meaning goddess. It took a bit of what we call today ‘social influencing’ –talking to someone who knew about this person who asked a favor, and then she asked someone else if they would please let me see her. I don’t know why I wanted my palm to be read so badly, but I did. At the time, I thought it would solve all my problems if I only knew what the future might hold for me.

After bathing and washing my hair, I dressed in my finest clothes, a starched white and rose sari. An Indian woman, whom I had befriended, led me through an elaborate maze to the Devi’s home. It was good that she came with me because I don’t think I could have found her place otherwise. When we arrived, the front door was covered in orange marigold garlands. My hands started to sweat, and I felt my heartbeat speed up.

“Should I just go on in?” I asked my friend.

She bobbed her head from side to side. “Yes, yes, of course. Don’t worry. It’s an auspicious occasion that she has granted to see you. See this as a great opportunity.”

I swallowed and replied weakly, “Okay,” my self-confidence dissipating as quickly as water droplets on a hot stove.

I left my sandals at the front door and entered the cool interior. The smell of sandalwood incense. A soft chanting. The bark of a dog in the distance. And then, there she was. A petite woman weighing probably no more than 90 pounds. Her gray hair with white streaks around her temples was gathered in a bun at the base of her neck. She sat cross-legged on a wine-colored cushion and spoke in a heavily accented English. Her smile was so wide, it made her cheeks bunch up. “Come, come. Sit,” pointing to the cushion adjacent to her.

Once seated, I gazed into her luminous brown eyes. I think they might’ve been the kindest eyes I’d ever seen. “Thank you for seeing me.”

She took my hands in hers, which felt warm, and closed her eyes. She chanted in her language, then took one of my hands, tracing each line softly and deliberately. I felt my heartbeat slow. She did the same thing with the other hand. Two hours later, I returned to my place. My friend didn’t question my silence on the ride home.

Devi’s words scared me to my core. How did she know things about my past? Things I had not told anyone at that point. I thought about what she shared about my future, hoping I could forget over time. I didn’t like knowing those things. I silently prayed that I wouldn’t think about my future too much. Please, let me forget. I purposely didn’t write anything down. However, over the years, although I’ve tried to forget some of what she told me, I’ve realized many of her predictions have come true.

Palmistry. An ancient knowledge no longer practiced. Real? Not real? Who knows, but I’ve never had my palm read again. I like the fact that every day is a new beginning. I like not knowing what will happen tomorrow. Who wants to read the end of a favorite book before finishing it? Not me. As Gollum stated in The Lord of the Rings, “he spoils it!”

“To see the world in a grain of sand, and heaven in a wildflower, hold infinity in the palms of your hand and eternity in an hour.” William Blake

Enjoy the Passage of Time.

Sharon

© 2025. Sharon Kreider. All Rights Reserved.