Tanya Bellehumeur-Allatt
Foot Massage (Lhasa, Tibet) The blind masseur travels my feet like an early explorer, mapping out rivers, tributaries, valleys and hills, discerning the territory of my body, half an hour per foot. He moves with meticulous precision while I, surrendered, lie on the satin-covered couch and receive his ministrations. We are quiet together, separated by a gulf of language yet united by need and expertise. My feet are tired and sore from trekking; his hands are strong, his touch firm. Connected by an intricate design of sensory stimuli, each responds to the other in silent encounter.
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I catch my breath in the tender spot under the arch of my right foot, the bridge between heel and toe. The masseur stills his hand, listens. In that suspended moment, my foot bears the burden of my entire body and then releases it into the tender vision of his hands.