Several months later, I got a call from Douglas Moore, one of the men with whom I'd shared the intimacy of dining, tubbing, stretching, and touching. He asked if I wanted to join him a year hence in a trip "down under," to visit New Zealand and Australia. I've traveled widely but not there. I was eager to learn more. Douglas explained that he had enough frequent flyer points for two people to fly down under, but they expired at the end of 1997, and would I be interested in joining him.

What seemed too good to be true, felt true. We checked each other out, questioning motives and desires. We spent some evenings dining together and attending Seattle Men's Chorus concerts, and it seemed clear that we could travel well together, without expectations of romance. (No small feat, since even close friends can have difficulty with travel!) We agreed that we would also spend time apart on our trip.

The long journey began last fall with Sequoia picking me up at the Vancouver airport. At his home, we exchanged massage and stories for a couple hours. I realized how important—and difficult—is the work of creating spaces where men can let love flow through them. Massage is an important step in that creation. I realized how much my Light Touch experiences over the years moved me away from long-held body denial and hatred. In learning to love my body, I could accept others' love. There was mutual joy and gratitude in honoring, and being honored by, Sequoia.

Douglas flew down from his island home in northern British Columbia, and we were off. What follows are excerpts from my "Light Touch" journal:

Never spend time with people who don't respect you.—Maori proverb

Doubtless Bay / Cape Rienga: Here the Pacific Ocean and the Tasman Sea come together, weaving waves of mystery. A friend, a massage therapist, told me his life changed when he met a man up here years ago who introduced him to massage. Maoris believe their souls go, when their bodies die, to a particular tree here: into the branches, down through trunk and roots to a cave. At high tide, they're swept out to the Three King Islands, from which they say good-bye to New Zealand, and then move on to the land of ancestors. Racists warned us about fierce and drunken Maoris, but we encountered only big-hearted generosity. We slid down sand dunes and ate raw tua-tuas (a kind of clam). The directness and life-gusto of the Maori culture continues to captivate.

West Coast: Glaciers, mountains, beaches, lakes, blowholes, waterfalls, jade boulders! This is Mother Earth's nipple—gorgeous to rub, to explore, to drink in. And crawling all over, friendly and inquisitive people. Fresh, flavorful food—Whitebait, oysters, lamb, spring peas and asparagus—frequently stacked high on the plate (to echo the rugged, saucy landscapes?).

It was the sort of vacation one dreams about. As a thank you, I gave Douglas a long massage. Now the trip lives with me partly as dream, and partly as deep connection with green land and open people. I may say "mate," or "Good on you!" I may tell Maori legends. I'm changed in ways that I'm still discovering as I meditate on jade boulders and soft arms.

Stephen Silha is a freelance writer and communications consultant from Vashon Island, Washington. He has been correspondent for The Christian Science Monitor and The Minneapolis Star. Since high school, he has given and received massage as an antidote to writer's block. His email address is ssilha@aol.com