#reachinghands

"The hands reaching for Senua aren’t just the dead — they’re the living who are spiritually drowning, reaching for anyone who has survived the descent."

The Hands

There’s a moment in Senua’s Saga where the hands reach for her; not just the dead, not just the lost, but something deeper. They rise from the dark like memories, accusations, and longing. And the first time I saw it, I didn’t just see the dead or monsters. I saw the living as well. I saw the spiritually starved. I saw the ones who cling to anyone who has survived what they couldn’t name. Those hands weren’t trying to reach to taunt her. They were reaching for a way out. She knows the way out.

The Dream Parallel

It reminded me of a dream I had years ago of me walking into the underworld, my siblings waiting for me in the dark. Their voices were sharp, blaming, taunting, telling me I wasn’t there for them. It wasn’t the dead confronting me. It was the living who felt dead inside. The ones who wanted me to carry what they couldn’t. The ones who reached for me because they believed I owed them pieces of me I never promised.

The Spiritual Descent

Some people descend and come back changed. Not enlightened, but forged. There’s a difference. Enlightenment floats. Forging scars through the darkness is something different entirely. When you’ve walked through something that strips you down to bone and rebuilds you from the inside, people feel it. They sense the gravity of it. The clarity of it. They sense the way you no longer flinch at shadows. And they reach for it, even if they don’t understand why.

The Weight of Leadership

Senua could have become someone loved and feared. Not because she wanted power, but because she understood fear and refused to be ruled by it. That’s the kind of person people follow instinctively; the ones who have already died once and know the way back. The ones who can walk through the dark without losing themselves. And they carry a truth that wasn’t given to them, but earned.

The Living Who Feel Like the Dead

Fear still shapes the world. It still governs, still manipulates, and still binds people to stories that were never theirs. And when people are drowning in that kind of fear, they reach for anyone who looks like they’ve touched the bottom and resurfaced. They reach with desperation. With projection. Hunger. Sometimes with love. And even blame. Sometimes all of it at once.

"The dead weren’t the only ones reaching for her. It was the living who had forgotten how to breathe for themselves.”