Over.
Under.
Through.
A rope moves, like memory.
Skilled hands retrace familiar paths.
Attentive eyes listen not with sight, but with breath.
Each motion intentional.
Each pause mindful
Rope isn’t restraint—it’s connection.
A dialogue of sensation, tension, release.
Imagination and excitement meet in living form.
This is art, created with them.
And the rope is alive.
It is an extension of the one tying—
their care, their will, their presence
threading through every fiber.
To be bound is no object.
it is not still.
it is active,
meeting intention with trust,
surrendering lost, to found.
it breaths.
it confesses.
The body rests—because someone else is holding now.
beyond the rope
there is another language we speak:
Touch.
Gentle. Nonsexual. Healing. Human.
The more I study the nervous system,
the more I understand—
we are built for contact.
For soothing. For co-regulation.
For the simple miracle of being felt.
It only takes the weight of a nickel
to tell the fascia to let go.
To release the armor.
To invite softness back in.
The lymph, too, listens—
moved not by force but by caress.
Our immune system, inflammation, breath…
all of it responds
to presence.
A fingertip tracing the spine
can calm the storm.
We are wired for this reset.
But it requires us to step into the moment.
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