Holding Hands

While I was meditating

Someone I love, or am learning to,

Held my hand.

A soft caress amidst my deep nothingness;

Interlocked fingers as we join;

One finger rubbing another gently,

Opening and closing in a warm embrace.

One keeping the other warm as cold is detected in the fingers, with love.

The blood rushes to be at the site where touch is, and then returns to the body

To share this touch sensation with others who are interested: the heart, the brain, and the spirit.

All are delicately revelling in a remembered hand clasp of another, a bonding, or an unsaid pledge.

Who is with me while I’m without clothes, thought, and movement?

No one.

There’s no one here but me.

-Small town boy

  

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