The left hand doesn't know the right hand. The conscious mind doesn't remember what the unconscious holds. All around the voices of the dead are speaking. But we are afraid because it's considered madness to listen.
On the right side of the brain we listen -- because that's where we intuit; know wisdom. On the left side we make up the story of being alone. Invisible. With no destination.
Our hands join in prayer. But the prayer is speaking without listening. And god doesn't know us. Only the souls who love us do. The mind finds words for love. Describing it. Seeking the beauty of being known, accepted. But we remain deaf to the chorus that bathes us. Holds us. Takes each step with us.
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