Perhaps it's in our poetry, our scupture and our second hand communications that we will one day touch each other. The only other way is through the cross, and even then we don't touch each other, but it is Christ who touches us, and touches the "other" through us. A mute incomprehensible is all that otherwise remains, of creed, of language, of skin colour.
Why this is so I have no idea.
Blame it all on the rainbow. Then weep, and see the rainbow in your tears, falling to a hardened earth.
(I think this is mine. I found it in a notebook after reading Alan Paton's "Tales from a troubled land".)
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