The Hand Hammock

hands sculptureThe hand hammock hangs, swayed by the breeze here,

Ready to catch us if we need.

Which, frequently, we do.

This is a place some come to when they’re falling,

Or, that’s how it was for me.

I’d hit the floor but there was a way to go (it turns out).

That way, I’m learning, is to let go, downwards into your hands.

Release my body to be floppy; open hearted like an un-zipped onesie.


London wasn’t where to learn this.

But here, with your hand hammock swinging between banana and Bodhi tree,

(ducks swimming beneath)

(dogs running beside)

(sun setting behind)

I am blessed to experience support and acceptance like never before.


“Come, show us your worst” you seem to say,

“We will love you anyway”.

“All you hid, when you thought you’d be rejected, we want to see it.”

“Lay it out, here, on this hand hammock we have made for you.”

“And, when you’re done, your hand can come, replace mine and I’ll lay the Real Me out here, too.”


And this is healing, I know, right here.

What I’ve looked for.

This community, where you see and accept me.

This is belonging.

And I learn I’m not perfect but belonging is still given.



The number one ‘must have’,

In the end.

It turns out.

Though I thought it was beauty, fame, success; all that was only ever in pursuit of acceptance.

So, come get it here.

Available by the bucket load.

Sit in our hand hammock.

Know you’re loved.

Heal your heart, mend your soul.

With us.

With us here.


— Ellie Paskell

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