Greener Grass

I had the most fascinating conversation with an acquaintance yesterday. I only know Pete third hand, but we talked briefly at my sister's party last night. As it happens (whenever I am in alignment with the universe), he and I are in the same shoe, podiatrically speaking. Like me, he had an accident which ruined his foot. Like me, he faced whether or not to keep it, minimally useful as it was. Unlike me, he made the other choice. He went through the hard work and battles involved in saving his limb, and retains it to this day. And even as he was saying, "I wish I was in your situation," I was wishing to be in his. As hindering as an unresponsive foot would be, I can't help but wish I had one.

I was thinking today that, although generally insecure about my appearance, I was always proud of my legs. I had sculpted calves, stout, muscular thighs, and gorgeous ankles. In the shower yesterday, I looked down at my remaining leg and then at my stump and came to some agreement with them. I decided to like them equally, like two children. As I sat contemplating on the shower bench, I rubbed my stump and said to it, "I love you too." Don Miguel Ruiz, whom I generally wouldn't bother to quote, wrote one thing that applies to my leg:

"I make everything a ritual, and I always do my best. Taking a shower is a ritual for me, and with that action I tell my body how much I love it. I feel and enjoy the water on my body. I do my best to fulfill the needs of my body. I do my best to give to my body and to recieve what my body gives to me" (The Four Agreements).

As a temple of the divine, physical and otherwise, I am compelled to revere myself as a representative of God. Even my stump. Which is appropriate, because I can't help but view it metaphorically that my leg became so infected it was better to lose it than to fight it for the rest of my life. "And if your foot causes you to stumble," it is written, "cut it off" (Mark 9:47). I feel that, along with the literal infection, the infected, sinister, black part of my soul was cut out of me with my left foot. What remains of me is more whole, more healthy, than what I was before the crash. And I am never going to set foot in that black pit of desperate, gangrenous spirit again.