The hands of the ancestors, layers upon layers deep. They are reaching for us. Reaching through time itself, in benediction, in supplication. This is without question the most affecting piece of art I have ever seen.
I can well imagine a shamanic journey into the heart of the world, to reach the center of the Earth, and the center of yourself. To find there waiting for you the marks of those who had come before, and to place yours along with theirs. To know that you have made your mark upon the history of your people, and to have included your own touch with the great leaders of the past... This is the utter essence of ancestor worship. So old a thing, impossibly old, even then. Our own words of initiation come to mind : "I place my hands upon your shoulders as my teacher once placed her hands on my shoulders, and her teacher placed her hands upon her, and her teacher, and his teacher, all the way to the beginning. As you will one day place your hands on the shoulders of your student, all the way until the end." Thus is the power passed, thus has it always been. True ancestor veneration is such. Found in the path that our ancestors have walked for thousands upon thousands of years. As we will be venerated in our time, when we become those ancestors, those hands, reaching into the infinite.