To the ones who experience lack of physical contact as a frustration, I’d like to testify.
Touching is not only about human bodies or animal hair.
You can also get in touch with the thousand objects we grab daily,
With the clothes we wear and slip on,
With all the structures we lean on every moment…
There is the water in which we gently slide
The myriad drops freely flowing all over from the sky.
And there is the ground that we keep pacing
Unaware of the treasures it uncoils.
The ground in my house, the ground in the fields, in the forest,
From the ends of the earth, from the pavement of my street.
And this body continuously responding through the inner touch.
Its blood is there, running through veins and arteries,
Its joints, its beating heart, its moving muscles, its organs and entraills in constant tweetering.
The visual touch, our eyes scraping textures from the Moon, from the snow, the tiny cracks in the stones, the lanscapes of skins.
And the air, through our nostrils, our trachea and lungs,
through our blood faithfully bringing it where needed, fully filling our bodies.
This air never stops caressing me.
It binds the world to my inner being,
Breathing in, breathing out…
One stitch on one side and one on the other.
All of these are offered to us, permanently.
You need to maintain availability, to welcome this encounter.
It is on our end that we can make contact with Life,
Simply life. A simple life generously offering itself through our hands, eyes, feet, skin and beyond through our opening mind.
This life will make sense once we get in touch with it.
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