Lately I seem to have been taking for granted that I have feet, I mean here I sit across from you and I know for a fact that when I stand up, they will be there to support me.They are not pretty, mind you, they have never known the tender and loving care of masseuses or a lover’s hands, but goshdarnit I love them! maybe not enough or appropiately, but I love them. These feets have carried my 200 pounds and some for quite some years now even when it seemed impossible to carry on.
Taikwando experts and dance virtuoso throw legs in the air and jab with them any threat that come their way. Classical dancers have the best display of legs and feet. They raise them like flags and stand on them like circus clowns standing on poles. It’s a feast for the eyes as their arms rise gracefully like swans opening their wings before take off.
But when I sit, my back slightly hunched over the paper I’m scribbling over or the food I’m devouring, these iron feet tap gently the ground, patiently waiting when this mass of atoms and molecules spiritually animated will decide to rise and shine.
These feet that breathe, these feet that dance haven’t deceived me yet. They are faithful transmitters. They sniff out the Earth’s heartbeat and connect me to Her core for me to realize the slight but desperate place I occupy in the universe. I am nothing but dust, Earthy dust, celestial dust, I am your you-can’t-make-none-like-me dust.