Actually, I'm up earlier than I need to be for that, and when I awoke this morning, my feet were calling out for attention. At about 5:45am, I decided to listen to my what my body was asking for, and grabbed my foot cream off my dresser and gave them a good rub down.
As I rubbed, this song entered my still-sleepy consciousness:
You were cold as the blood through your bones
And the light which led us from our chosen homes
Well I was lost
And now I sleep
Sleep the hours and that I can't weep
When all I knew was steeped in blackened holes
I was lost
Keep the earth below my feet
For all my sweat, my blood runs weak
Let me learn from where I have been
Keep my eyes to serve and my hands to learn
Keep my eyes to serve and my hands to learn
I feel like this is a good song for a Sunday. The closest I come to organized religion is a led group yoga practice, but the lyrics of this song really resemble a prayer:
And I was still
I was under your spell
When I was told by Jesus all was well
So all must be well
Just give me time
You know your desires and mine
Wrap my flesh in ivy and in twine
For I must be well
I find them comforting, too. I've been having this thing with my feet on and off since I got back from Maine. I'm not sure exactly what the message is, but I have a pretty good idea.
Here's some background:
Before I went to Maine, I was super excited to give the New Englander a foot rub. He loves it when I do that, and I love doing things that make him feel good. But -- and I think I wrote about this before -- I found out right before we got there that he'd slept with someone else since the last time we saw each other. We hadn't been exclusively dating, but still. Here I was putting my life on hold for him -- by my own choice, mind you -- but I felt betrayed when I heard this news.
So we got there, and on night number two, in the tent in Acadia, when I woke up in the middle of the night, I had these lurid fantasies unlike anything I've ever had before. In some of them, instead of giving him a foot rub, I was twisting his toes as if they were silly putty. Making them long and twisty and then pulling them off. It was a really strange experience. One I've never had before or since.
I did not, of course, act on these fantasies. Instead, after we got up, I told him I wanted to talk and as we sat by the ocean, I told him how I felt.
Flash forward a couple of days: We're back in Portland. We're connecting again, both as a twosome and as a foursome. I decide to give him a foot rub, but I only get through one foot before I need to help the kids with something. By the time I got back to him to do the second foot, said foot was screaming for my loving touch.
That's exactly how both of my feet were feeling when I woke up this morning. Not only did I not get a foot rub in Portland, but it's been a very, very long time since anyone has touched me in that "come here, let me love you up" kind of way that is more about nurture than sex.
I think one of the reasons why I'm having such a hard time right now is that I'm finally feeling a lot of the feelings I denied in service of convincing myself that my relationship with the New Englander was working or could work. And that includes being touched -- and I don't mean sexually -- without having to ask for it.
This afternoon I got to spend a little bit of time alone in the woods -- this time sans bike -- and when I found myself going down the familiar road of thinking about what was or what could be, I stopped myself, and instead tried to release him.
Speaking of prayer, I realized in that moment that I don't feel ready to release the New Englander. I wish I did, I'm sure most people in my life wish I did, but I don't. It's not like saying over and over again that I'm doing something means it happens.
So instead, I asked for the willingness to release him, and that felt a lot more productive:
Keep the earth below my feet
For all my sweat, my blood runs weak
Let me learn from where I have been
So keep my eyes to serve, my hands to learn
Well keep my eyes to serve, my hands to learn
Yes, please. Help me learn from where I have been...
Postscript: Speaking of learning, I saw a friend and fellow yoga teacher the morning after I wrote this. She was teaching a class that involved footrubs, so I told her about my experience of waking up with my feet crying out for some love. She said "Yep, this is the time of year for Vata. Lots of air. Lots of trouble staying grounded on the Earth."
Fascinating!
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