existential feet

I love summer. I can wear sandals. My toes are free. But my feet get rough and leathery. So I was applying some lotion to a heel. Gently and quietly rubbing it in and thinking about how much my feet do for me. I was sending appreciative thoughts to my feet when I began to think that I, the appreciative one, was not my foot. I can think because I am not my foot. This is getting tricky, The feet are not me, that is the “I” who possesses them. None of my body is actually me. I am outside of my body. I am the possessor. My feet are the possessed. The possessor is not the possessed. So I am free of me. That makes this body just a temporary container. Of course, I’ve got to take care of it. It’s the only container that I have at the moment.