Everyday when I wake from dreaming, my hands lead me back to the World.
How they know the path to consciousness is a mystery.
Here is where my trust of myself begins.
My fingers, still ten in number, gently scrape the sleep from my eyes,
quietly obliging my mind's haste to see.
The blind leading the blind.
I have patient hands. They hover calmly, waiting for my direction, and loyally do my bidding, bleeding silently when I force them to bear it.
They know I will never outlast them.
So, without a pompous word between them, they politely take the lead when asked. Oh my, how they brilliantly shine.
When I give over to them, they show me the way back again.
My hands have taken me places where my body may not follow. In their wake, my soul has been shaken with the power of Creation, Destruction...
It is all the same to them.
When I am my hands, I am kindest to myself.
When I am my hands, I am you.