Healing waits on nothing but the reaching for it. Wherever the awakened teacher goes, minds that had lain down in their sickness rise to seek him, and the least contact is enough, because it was never the body that healed but the willingness that moved the hand. The sickness was a belief in separation, and the touch is the moment that belief is briefly set aside.
Even the edge of the garment restores, for the miracle does not measure how much of it one grasps. A mind that reaches at all has already chosen love over fear, and in that choosing it is made whole. Wholeness was always there, needing only to be wanted enough to be received.
Sick laid in the streets: minds that have accepted separation as their condition, lying open in their need for correction.
Border of his garment: the smallest point of contact with love, the faint edge that is enough because willingness, not measure, is what heals.
Streets: the common ground of the mind where suffering is laid bare and correction is asked for.