Feet. Most of us have them.
I was thinking about feet the other day, as I slipped a pair of socks over mine. I stared down and wondered about feet and death. I’m not sure why this thought came to me, but it did . . . so I let it.
I thought about feet at the end of a hospital bed. The final prickle of life, stabbing and dancing it’s way across the soles of the feet, before dissipating into the nothingness, escaping at last through the pores on the cool tips of the toes.
I envisioned my feet — blue, stiff, and lifeless, upward facing on a cold steel coroners table.
Finally, I imagined the pant cuff of a neatly pressed suit, respectfully pushed up the leg, in a room so full of silence the walls bend outward — an attentive and faceless mortician ties my finest (and final) pair of dress shoes, tersely knotting them, before carefully evening-out the laces — for whom, I do not know.
Get off your knees and on your feet.
Be thankful for feet, for they are the no-cost vehicle to “purposville”.
Walk a bit everyday, take the world in, visit kindness onto a stranger – or a loved one. Rise up, push down, and feel the hard and unforgiving world press into the soles of your feet. Then, make a stand for justice, equality, love, and peace.