The Miracles that are my Hands

Hum, when I think about all that my hands have accomplished today it really does amaze me about how complex we are as human beings. Ha ha, yes I am going on about hands, the simple little wiggling things hanging from our arms. But, for one thing, I love exploring the things people label as 'simple' and for another, they're not even simple in the first place!

This morning my hands made me breakfast, felt the smooth surface of the bottons for my work shirt, unlocked various cupboards and so many other things. I wish my hands had flesh memories, I wish I could remember all the things my hands did today and all the things it made me think of. But I can't, so I'll write them down here in the vain hope that, looking back, I will recall some of these glorious memories.

I lift various papers on saturday, half of which I swear you need weight training to do! I'm joking, of course, but there's my humour for you. Now, the problem with lifting all these papers is that your fingers inevitably get blackened with newspaper ink. Even worse, when you itch your face, for example, you get black streaks like some bizarre war paint.

I borrowed a pen from a colleague and felt the warmth in it. I thought about how much that warmth meant. It showed that there was a beating heart inches from me, life and thought; the idea that they were thinking things that I wasn't amazes me. We are all individuals and it's just incredible because of, which I know I keep rambling on about, the foundations of human nature. I guess I just love humanity.

During work again, I watch my fingers fly at my bidding: from the items, to the scanner, whizzing across the lottery machine, back to the till, to the bags and I've packed five items in about twenty seconds. In awe at the speed my body can go at with ease, I have to smile in front of everyone; how can I bare to keep the raw joy searing at my throat unexpressed when a smile can show people so much?

Several times I brushed against other people, their skin on my skin. These people who I will probably never see again and we both make instant judgement on each other, no matter how much I try not to and tell myself off when I do, it always happens.

My hands showed me how graceful our bodies are, the sheer ease they move when we barely have to even think about it. They kind of remind me of birds, only longer and with the distinct lack of flight. They show how life is precious and show us worlds inside other people that we can't even begin to possibly comprehend because it is just...impossible. These hands have taken others when they were sad, felt the hot sting of salty tears, held shoulders as we laughed so hard it felt like we were going to be sick, played countless hours on guitar hero when friends came over. They've stopped people from getting hurt, taken frisbees so it didn't hit someone in the head, they've clutched at the phone desperately as someone rings me for help;they've lifted heavy boxes for elderly neighbours.

Even now they allow me to put my otherwise unshared thoughts onto this page through my keyboard, and I seriously think it is important other people see what I see because it is truly beautiful. Each touch makes me smile because I know I am, and never will, be alone because there are so many people out there and I know they love me. Perhaps, admittedly, not as strongly as I love them but that's only because I bond too strongly too quickly.

Wow, I got all of that from my hands.

The End

4 comments about this story Feed