Ten fingers on two hands
grip one rope of many strands.
They pull up to the tallest height
in hopes of achieving greater sight.

Above, a million pin-prick lights.
Below, the cities shine at night.
Around the bend the sky is bright
revealing all the land’s delights.

They see fields on farms,
meadows and valleys.
They see herds in barns,
and orchards of mallee.

Startled by the many parts of things,
they search for beginnings and endings.
Attention to themselves they bring,
seeking perhaps the heart of things.

They see their hands on arms,
with shoulders on bodies,
They feel a clock in their chest
that tick-tocks profoundly.

Between each beat, in the pause,
they feel like effects without a cause.
They realize connection is the only law,
and chant to themselves with reverent awe:

“We’re all fingers of the same hand,
We’re part and parcel of the perfect package.
We still linger in the same land,
and need rehearsal if we expect passage.”

This piece was inspired by the following quote from Ralph Waldo Emerson’s essay The American Scholar: “the gods, in the beginning, divided Man into men, that he might be more helpful to himself; just as the hand was divided into fingers, the better to answer its end.” It seeks to evoke the idea that all things are part of one perfect absolute whole beyond conception.

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