WHAT THE HAND KNOWS

“what are you doing?” she asked with a funny, a muffled voice
“Painting,” he said, “but you know that!”

he looked up, at her
He saw she was naked except for an old face guard

“where did you find that?” Mr. Oteh asked
“In the hole.” Stringhetta answered

“I told you not to go near that hole.” he said
“I remember.” she said

“it’s dangerous,” he said, “full of nightmares.”
“I know.” she said

“so why did you go?” he asked
“Will you tell me what is your painting about?” she asked

“a few years ago,” said Mr. Oteh, “I met a woman at a
Cocktail party

we spoke together a bit
I can’t remember what it was about

there was nothing special about her
Not her beauty, not uglyness, nothing about her look

we spoke until I suddenly realized that my hand was
Gently caressing her face, the cheek

that was extraordinary, and it also was natural
Although at first, I could not explain it

we were neither drunk nor high
We were not flirting or anything

the woman did not move away from me
I believe she realized what was happening at the same time as I did

I smiled at her; she smiled at me
Then I took my hand back

we tried to resume our conversation
But that was now impossible

she left
We never met again

later, I thought of Joseph Campbell’s words on
Schopenhauer’s “realization”

which is that you and the other person are one
That you are two aspects of the one life

and that your apparent separateness is but an effect of the way
We experience forms under the conditions of time and space

our true reality is in our identity and unity with all
Life

this is a metaphysical truth which may become
Spontaneously realized under circumstances of crisis. . .

or, in my situation, under the circumstance of a
Cocktail party.”

“what the hand knows.” Stringhetta said
“Yes,” Mr. Oteh said. “Now take off that face guard!”

“did you read the recent comments?” Stringhetta asked
“One reader wants to know why you are so grumpy.”

“go burn that face guard right away or
Fear my wrath!” said Mr. Oteh

“I’ll do it,” Stringhetta said, “but only
For the sake of our shared furniture.”

that’s because Mr. Oteh, when he was angry, would sometimes
Burn a chair

::: ::: :::

[Picture: What the hand knows (as by Mr. Oteh) by reading_is_dangerous]