I am in awe of my experience of touch. It is the closest thing to being in the same space with a person, a tree, the floor. There is something enlivening that transpires when I touch anything mindfully. It gives me pleasure, it gives me delight.
That point of contact is where I can seem to put my whole essence, my entire being. It is the focus of my attention and the life force in me. I like to think that whatever I touch has the same experience. It knows me in a way that I experience it. Our essences pass back and forth between us.
This is the experience I have when I put my palm against the large maple in my backyard. I know it in a way that is so much more real than what I know though my other senses. It communicates its presence, its essence in a way that I would otherwise miss.
This is equally true when I touch with another human person. Sometimes it is touch I do not want and it is terribly unpleasant. That was the experience I had of being pinioned in an airplane seat, pressed against the massive arm of a corpulent man who flowed from his seat into mine.
Mostly, however, touch is an experience of pleasure and delight. It is a communication I welcome and treasure. It is a hand on my shoulder as my Son thanks me for something I did for him. It is the warmth of a hug with a friend I am happy to have in my life. It is the passing touch in a lively conversation that deepens the communication.
Touch can be so nourishing. I share who I am, and I partake.