We contemplated together what it truly meant to be in touch with the body—with the flesh and blood and muscle and tendon and fascia of it all—and with that other, more ephemeral substance that flowed through all things. The body, I started to see, was a memory keeper. It knew everything. It made me sad that I had lived at such a remove from this fountain of knowledge, that this communication with my own self had been so badly severed.
