Sometimes the hands need to be acknowledged. The fingers that work hard, the appreciation for the hands, the times when they get you out of trouble and the endless work they do. Each set of hands are individual, it is a part of you that has so much poetry to them...they describe the past, they seem to be living and breathing in a life of their own unattached from the vessel they are apart of.
Helping hands are necessary, sometimes we need a break and for someone to hold our hand and pull us forward, to show us understanding, to support us...we can't always do it alone. Its hard when some hands have hurt you...someones hands have done damage to you...there is still the imprint of them on your body that then makes you sick from time to time...the energy of the past comes back to haunt like a ghostly finger it awaits and slowly tickles the wound again. Not everyone believes in ghosts, they usually visit you alone and the un-dead know how to sneak up on you, their hands are like bullets of ice that freeze you from the inside out.
Past haunts and a time travel back to my own hands...its the shadows that make the form of the hands...the markings on the hands that are only mine...at times they look familar like the hands that held me as a baby and looked after me for so long, at times I do not recognise you, at times you comfort me and at times I forget you.
Ancestry of a part of us today, expressive hands of creative ventures...I have always found the hands beautiful as intriguing as faces and the movement of them that indicates something of the soul of someone.
Healing, warm, soft hands that help and handle...that show love and need in everything they do.
