One day in an Alexander Technique lesson with Frank, I sat under that giant indoor ficus, with the sunlight streaming through the green leaves. He was working on my hands. He was lightly holding my hand and moving it. My body became translucent and the tension was gone. “What are you doing?” I asked. And he told me about FM Alexander’s mother, and how her hand had been crushed when a cart ran over it, and how she had healed her hand by gazing at it, and seeing space between the bones. “That,” he said.