Touch the Great Dissolver

When I touch, I do not simply place my hands upon flesh, I am listening. I listen with my palms, my fingertips, the whole of my being. I hear the rivers of energy moving beneath the surface, the silent stories written in muscle and bone, the places where longing lingers, where tension holds its breath, where something ancient waits to be met.

Touch is the great dissolver. The moment presence meets skin, something softens, opens, surrenders. It is about attunement, the knowing of how to follow the body's unspoken invitations, how to honour the subtle shifts of breath, and how to move in rhythm with another’s unwinding.

I am a touch therapist because touch is a prayer, a devotion, a language older than words. It is the poetry of the body speaking to the body, the slow unfolding of something remembered through skin, breath, and sensation.

It moves through me effortlessly, as if my hands remember something my mind has long forgotten. I enter a state beyond thought, beyond self, where all that exists is this, this exquisite moment of meeting, this offering of warmth, this transmission of care.

And I understand what it means to offer touch with reverence. I know the ache of touch deprivation, the way a body can become quiet when it has not been met with tenderness. Safe touch is a knowing, a responsibility, a sacred art. It is the difference between being touched and being felt.

This work is not separate from me. It flows through every part of my being, shaped by years as a psychotherapist, deepened by the medicines that unravelled me, refined through my own healing from what was once taken. It is my devotion, my artistry, my calling.

And beyond all that, it is divine. Sensual, alive, holy. A gateway into the present, into pleasure, into the deepest truth of the body. Because to be touched with reverence is to be reminded of your own sacredness. To be held with devotion is to remember what you have always been.