VOL.81 NO.5 June 2008 $5.00
SAN FRANCISCO MEDICINE JOURNAL OF THE SAN FRANCISCO MEDICAL SOCIETY
Felt your hands and it was like magic, a memory in my skin somewhere deep, a dance a rhythm a heartbeat the way two cells meet and know each other, like seeing something you’ve always seen and getting close. like breathing in and out to make something new, shedding something used to be reborn. it is a touch of magic, this feeling, this organic exchange of memory and moment like a foam crested wave, freed slave of the sea, like writing over yourself again and again with scars and wounds, healing yourself in this patchwork life. We could have met somewhere else, but we wouldn’t really be the same; this body, these scars, this memory it is what makes us, what makes this touch magical. Like the way we see colors, hear sounds; it’s like coming home, back to that first breath, that first heartbeat. I am here now; I am the work of years of growth, a product of bruises and aches and fevers. I am a piece of artwork, I am all that I have touched eaten seen loved. I am made of memories and moments. What we feel we feel now because of all we’ve felt before.
the wisdom of the body