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I remember their hands wrinkled and warm, ticklish and playful, gentle and safe as they held and touched me before I knew my name and I remember feeling empowered to take on the world when I was walking hand in hand with one of the Elders who looked after me and saw too it that I received what I needed to start life.

At 10 their hands were full of life,  passionate for digging in the dirt, making a quilt, canning beans or helping a Black Angus give birth.  At 17 I remember the hands of my Elders feeding birds, cultivating roses, slaughtering a cow for Christmas meat.  At 24 I held weathered and humbled hands and saw my own hands held and mirrored back. At 33 the first of the grandmothers died, she was 98, I held her hand all blotched and bruised by needles and beating against her years of life and I told her what others would not so it was our secret she was dying and she knew and needed to hear it said out loud and when I did it comforted her and then we  could let go.

I’m 64 down at the Electric company paying a bill – writing a check and glancing down when suddenly I move into some sort of altered space and still looking at my  hands they just sorta mashed into her hands and then sort of morphed into the hands of all the Elders that raised me.  All old hands and my old hands moving in and out of some time warp. It feels a bit like what I can only imagine Mr. Potter felt as he realized that the connections between us can run so deep that  its only by magic we understand it – grace that we receive it – in faith able to accept it – and with courage and confidence live it and the compassion for self and others to die for it.

>So how long exactly is a moment?This happens now and then to me and I am curious if it happens also to others.  I might be walking the road and stoop down to tie a shoe and suddenly my hands are youthful and there is a flash of recognition of my hands years earlier than now, tying a shoe.  It’s so far always hand related and it seems for a moment time shifts and/or this mind overlays an old perception on a present act.  In that moment the sense that comes is one of timelessness and some sort of inter-weaving of energies.  Then quick as a wink it’s gone and it’s just my hand scribbling across the page as it has thousands of times before…. as it may thousands more and yet its not me at all is it…any more or less than Nana was her hands digging in the dirt…

Anyone else have experiences anything  related or stirred/spurred/encouraged/invited/welcomed…like this please comment.   ?????  Thanks!

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