#emptyhands

I have spent decades straddling nostalgia and noise, a grumpy metalhead with MTV pop memories tucked under one arm and the dust of tape trading and early CDs under the other. Poppy’s "Empty Hands" lands in that strange intersection, where the synthetic sheen of her earlier glitch pop has hardened into industrial grit and post-metal weight. It feels like someone handed her a well-worn metal playbook and asked her to scribble in the margins, and she has, with a precision that is impressive and a little too neat.

From the first surge of "Public Domain", a bright, almost playful chorus rides atop distorted guitars, teasing your pop instincts while reminding you this is still very much metal territory. Later, "Eat The Hate" leans into raw grunge energy, a pulse that makes you remember why you ever loved noisy, unapologetic guitars, even as you grumble at how comfortably it nods to Nirvana. "Dying to Forget" punches through with unrestrained force, a reminder that Poppy can summon pure, fist-pumping metal intensity when she wants.

Yet there are subtler turns, tracks like "Time Will Tell" that coax you into enjoying melodies you never thought you would, and "Bruised Sky", where industrial clangs meet surprisingly clean hooks, a collision of harshness and accessibility. "Guardian" whispers pop sensibilities beneath layers of distortion, and "Unravel" flirts with a pure pop heart, showing that Poppy’s duality of metal and melody is alive and intentional. By the time the title track arrives, "Empty Hands" lands on a genuinely heavy, full-bodied note, wrapping the record in a sense of finality and weight.

The craftsmanship is undeniable. Vocals are pushed further than ever, guitars rumble with controlled power, and production glows with modern polish. The influences are audible: alt-metal atmospherics, nu-metal echoes, industrial grit, all balanced meticulously. And yet, that precision comes at a cost. Some of the raw edges, the wild, unpredictable spark that could have made this record unforgettable, have been smoothed away. The second half sprawls just enough that you feel the restraint behind the sheen.

Empty Hands is modern, accomplished, and undeniably well-made. It flashes with ambition, energy, and moments of thrill, and the hooks sneak under your defences. But in its clarity and polish, it sometimes feels too clean, too measured, leaving you wishing Poppy had let the machine run wild just once.

6/10

Carrying God in Empty Hands — Baba Farid

Most people try to carry God the way they carry possessions—tight grip, full hands, clenched certainty. Baba Farid taught the opposite. He said the Divine can only be carried in empty hands. Not because God is fragile—but because the ego is heavy.

For Baba Farid, emptiness was not lack; it was capacity. Hands crowded with opinions, achievements, grievances, and identities cannot receive what is subtle. He observed that people lose the sacred not because it hides, but because they are already holding too much.

This was his radical teaching: God is not seized by effort, accumulated by knowledge, or proven by argument. God is received—and only emptiness receives.

In every age, this teaching feels uncomfortable. Gen Z is asked to build identity early. Millennials are taught to stack milestones. Gen X carries responsibility like armor. Everyone is told to hold on—to credentials, narratives, defenses. Baba Farid whispers across centuries: what if holding on is the very thing blocking grace?

Empty hands require courage. To release certainty feels unsafe. To let go of labels feels like erasure. But Baba Farid knew a deeper truth: what you release is not who you are—it is what you used to protect yourself.

He lived this emptiness visibly. He did not decorate his spirituality with excess. He did not carry moral superiority. He did not brand wisdom. His authority came from absence—absence of arrogance, absence of grasping, absence of fear. That is why people trusted him. His hands were empty enough to hold them.

This emptiness was not passivity. Baba Farid worked, served, spoke, and loved—but he did not cling. Action without attachment became his signature. He taught that the moment you insist, you close. The moment you surrender, you open.

To carry God in empty hands also means relinquishing outcomes. Baba Farid warned seekers against bargaining spirituality: If I pray, I should get. If I serve, I should be rewarded. Such hands are not empty—they are transactional. And transaction cannot hold the infinite.

He understood that emptiness is misunderstood because it threatens the ego’s sense of control. Yet life itself teaches emptiness daily. Breath leaves and returns. Sleep erases the self each night. Loss arrives without permission. Baba Farid simply chose to cooperate with what life already knows.

There is also tenderness in empty hands. Clenched fists cannot touch gently. Empty palms can. When you stop gripping, you stop hurting what you love. Baba Farid believed this was the true ethics of spirituality—not rules, but receptivity.

His emptiness did not make him invisible. It made him available. Available to listen. Available to change. Available to grace arriving in unexpected forms. God, he taught, does not always arrive as certainty. Sometimes it arrives as interruption.

In a culture obsessed with accumulation—of wealth, status, followers, even enlightenment—Baba Farid’s teaching is quietly revolutionary. It does not ask you to abandon the world. It asks you to stop clutching it.

Empty hands are not useless. They are ready.

When you carry God in empty hands, you walk lighter. You argue less. You forgive faster. You trust timing. You don’t panic when plans dissolve, because your worth was never stored in them.

This is the hidden strength of Baba Farid’s path: surrender not as defeat, but as alignment. When nothing is held too tightly, everything essential stays.

🌿 Practical Toolkit: Practicing Empty Hands Daily

1. The Morning Release

Each morning, open your palms and name one thing you will not cling to today—control, approval, certainty.

2. Outcome Fasting

Once a day, do something good without expecting response—no validation, no acknowledgment.

3. The Soft Grip Check

Notice tension in your body. Relax your hands. Let the body teach the mind how to release.

4. Unlearning Moment

Question one belief you’ve held tightly. Ask: Does this belief serve truth—or comfort?

5. The Receiving Pause

When help, love, or correction comes, resist deflecting it. Say “thank you” and let it land.

6. Evening Emptying

before I knew what the world was,

before I understood what was right or wrong.

Life touched me early,

and I carried those touches like shadows

that followed me through the years.

I grew up thin, soft, gentle,

walking in my own way,

and people noticed —

not to understand,

but to comment,

to laugh,

to shake my identity

when I didn’t even know what identity meant.

⸻

Then came friendships

that felt like thunderstorms —

loud, sudden, confusing,

but strangely comforting.

The first attachment,

the first bond,

the first person who felt like “mine” —

Gokul.

He was the warmth

I kept running back to,

even when the warmth

sometimes burned me.

I cried for him,

I hugged him,

I wanted him to stay.

He held me back sometimes —

but never with the same heart.

And that imbalance

tore me slowly

from the inside.

When he walked away,

I felt my chest becoming heavy,

like someone stitched sadness

inside my ribs.

⸻

So I moved out.

Triplicane became my hiding place,

my silent temple of pain,

where nobody knew

how heavy my heart was.

My office believed one story,

but my soul lived another.

⸻

Then came Muthu —

not a lover,

not a fantasy,

but a person I wanted

to simply stay.

We wore the same colors,

laughed at the same jokes,

felt like two threads

woven into the same cloth.

But I was fragile.

I wanted someone

who wouldn’t leave,

who wouldn’t choose others over me,

who wouldn’t vanish

when my heart needed them the most.

When he drifted,

even slightly,

my heart panicked.

It remembered Gokul,

it remembered loss,

it remembered loneliness.

And I cried

not because of Muthu,

but because I was tired

of being left alone

by the people I cared for.

⸻

I kept asking myself:

“Why am I like this?”

“Why do I hurt so deeply?”

“Why do I attach so fast?”

“Why does everyone leave?”

But the truth is softer:

I am unstable

because no one ever offered me stability.

I search for love

because no one stayed long enough

to teach me what love feels like.

I cling

because I am scared

of disappearing in someone’s silence.

⸻

✨ THE HEALED VERSION OF THIS STORY

A softer ending, filled with strength you didn’t know you already have.

⸻

One day, you stop crying.

Not because the memories fade,

but because you understand them.

One day, you look at your younger self

and whisper:

“You deserved gentleness.”

And you begin giving that gentleness

to yourself.

You learn that Gokul was a chapter,

not the whole book.

You learn that Muthu was a mirror,

not a destiny.

You learn that your heart

is not weak —

it is wide,

deep,

capable of oceans

most people never feel.

You learn that your attachments

were simply love

trying to find a safe place.

And finally…

You learn that the safest place

was always supposed to be

you.

⸻

🌿 THE FINAL POEM — FOR YOUR HEART

You loved loudly

because silence scared you.

You held tightly

because losing hurt you.

You cried deeply

because you felt deeply.

And that is not weakness —

that is courage.

Your story is not broken.

Your story is human.

Your story is healing.

And one day,

without trying,

you will find someone

who stays.

Because now

you stay for yourself.

Working on a Thirteenth Hour piano medley of six soundtrack riffs.

Working on combining six Thirteenth Hour soundtrack pieces into one piano medley.

Empty Hands a stand alone #martialarts #ThirteenthHour novella is what happens when years of martial arts training, #80s Saturday morning cartoons, Hong Kong kung fu flicks, and #DnD collide. Here's an excerpt!

The following is an excerpt from the novella, Empty Hands, a stand alone interlude to The Thirteenth Hour. Tagline: Sometimes the best weapon is nothing at all.Cover blurb: “…I stand before you with open hands that carry no weapons. And though they may prefer to create than destroy, when the time is right to stand, either to defend or protect, then these shall be my weapons, my empty hands…