Hand over Hand

Despite the best of intentions and efforts, hierarchies and pecking orders can invade the consciousness of even the most fair-minded love slingers. When caught up in the rungs of this type of ladder it is easy to lose sight of the hands that grasp tightly to the rungs in order to both keep the body steady and pull it up to the next level, but they are there. They grip tightly and beg to be attended to with healing salves and comforting massage therapy. They scream out with the effort of the climb and the simple steady leveling that defines their existence.
Though some proclaim their arrival at the highest rung and look upon the view in wonder, those beneath continue to climb. Though the soles of those allowed to pass while hands paused to soak and soften, warm and wash… though those souls may rest upon the rung beside delicate fingers, they haven’t the power to destroy. One cannot crush another. The rung furthest down is just as round and smooth, and the cedar smell of the wood from which it was carved fills the nostrils of all poised upon the ladder. In the light of the day, after the briefest of nights, the ladder becomes a wheel and the soul atop soon climbs again at the turn of the corner. Turning corners is hard work. It requires a loosened grip and a moment of unbalanced dangling, as bare feet find their way amidst many seeking fingers.