Before words, there was touch. It’s how we first learned the world – through skin, through warmth, through presence.

A baby doesn’t learn love through language. They learn it through touch.

Through being held. Through warmth. Through the absence or presence of a hand.

We forget this as adults. We think connection happens through words, through explaining ourselves, through being understood intellectually.

But the body remembers something older.

Touch speaks where words fall silent.

I came to tantric massage from art – from years of working with materials, with surfaces, with the tension between intention and intuition. I thought I understood presence. I thought I knew how to listen.

Then I learned touch.

Not touch as technique. Not touch as transaction. But touch as conversation. As language. As a way of asking: Are you here? Are you safe? What wants to be felt?

In a session, I don’t “do” anything to you. I listen. Through my hands, through breath, through the quality of my attention.

Your body speaks. It tells me where there’s tension. Where there’s openness. Where there’s a story that wants to be held.

And I respond. Not with solutions. Not with fixing. Just with presence.

This is the paradox: the less I try to change you, the more space there is for change to happen.

We’ve been taught that healing requires effort. That transformation is hard work. That we need to push, force, overcome.

But sometimes – maybe most times – healing is just permission.

Permission to feel what’s already there. To be seen without performing. To exist without justification.

Touch can offer that. Not through pressure or release or technique. But through simple presence.

I’m here. You’re safe. You can feel whatever you feel.

That’s the language. That’s the medicine.

Namaste