Hand Over Heart

Touch is irreplaceable 

I love a broad chest. I love placing my hand on the chest of a man, directly over his heart. This point of connection is breathtaking. My small hand, centred and waiting to feel the rhythm, the beat. This intimacy, this moment of sensing the seat of the soul in another, is astounding. There are few moments in life that I treasure more than this in the physical realm. There is something about touch that is irreplaceable.

What resides in the heart

What do you feel,
hands over heart?

When I place my hands over my own heart, one on top of the other, it moves my emotions. It is virtually impossible for me to feel anything other than an overwhelm of gratitude touched ever so slightly with sadness.

Hearts can be full, they can be rhythmically challenged, they can be closed, they can be wide open, and they can be broken. I speak of sentiment. What resides in the heart has a way of showing up in the person; this is an of course, statement. This is why we need so desperately to place our hands over our own heart, to sense and feel what lives there: this is why it is so important for us to place our hands over the hearts of others, again, to sense and feel what resides there.

The dance of fire

Now we cannot go around putting our hands on people, without permission dear reader: doing so is a violation of each persons right to invite touch. 

When you can, when it is safe for you and another, please do try this experiment. Refrain from making this a sexual experience, and you will see and feel the extraordinary in them, and in you. If you are comfortable with this, and I hope you are, since your hands are on them and perhaps theirs are on you, look them in the eye. This is a daring move because at this point, vulnerability may be at its peak. 

There, you will see, the spark of life, the dance of fire and the burning desire to be loved, to be known, to be understood. It is undeniable, and nothing else will matter at this point and maybe, just maybe, that is my point, here and now. Nothing else matters in all of life than the purity of love shared and captured, recorded in the mind and etched on the heart as a reminder of why we exist, why we are here, what is most important. 

Without love, why bother dear one: that is the epitome of pointlessness

My hope is that you long to tenderly touch the heart of another, many others

My want, is that you long to love, know and understand your fellow man

My burning desire is that we each decide that love shared is all that really matters, and that the Score Keeper in lifes games, tallies points each time we choose to love, because nothing else counts