When we talk of touching others,
we’re usually talking about physical touching – the holding of hands, for
instance, or just the unintended touching of two people, the casual contact
that comes with living among others – but this morning I’m writing more of
what I might call mental touching. When I’m thinking of other people, I have
them in my mind; I’m holding them, in
a sense, as carefully and completely as I hold a cup of coffee. For as long as
the thought of them is inside me, so are
they -- not the physical persons, of course, but even better, the perfect
and complete picture of who they are to me at that moment. Even someone I pass by
chance is touched by me as I see them in my mind for those
short moments. My thoughts of that person touch the person as certainly as if I
really reached out. The person knows not that I made this silent contact, but
it happened nonetheless – a brief holding of her or him in the hands of my
thoughts. It happens continually for all of us. We think of others, and therefore
we touch others. It’s like a never-ending family finding, again and again, a way
to take each other in our hands.
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