Sea Legs

Right now I am above water, maybe even taking a minute to float on the surface, sharks and jelly fish and crabs and stinging nettles and crashing waves beneath, be damned. I've got my sea legs back once again. When my cruise ship from Alaska finally docked in Seattle after months of scrubbing heads and making beds on choppy seas for weeks I tossed and turned, floating and rolling, asleep in my bed or feet on the ground. The speed of cars felt impossibly fast. I had to walk and walk and walk the earth to  re-acclimate to life on land. 

And now, I am finding my footing once again. I am relearning how to be hungry. How to let my body actually attain a state of emptiness before I fill it back up again. My sponsor used to tell me a proverb, something about always being a little cold and a little hungry. It made me shudder, words straight out of a horror film. Who wants to be hungry? Who trusts they will be able to fill all the way up again? I'm learning how to sit through bone aching discomfort, soul pain without padding it over with salty or sweet. When I say I am learning, I mean I am a baby. I want to to trust in God the way a child yearns to trust her mother.

With food comes love and with love comes velcro, everything stuck tight and fast, bound together. I am unsticking from a thousand places I've felt stuck, peeling off layers of need and hunger. It is painful to pull apart velcro when your whole purpose in life is to remain stuck together. I miss having people, hidden and overt, run through my blood, but I've had to sift and strain them out, to stand on my own. I'm learning to live with the ripping, with the hunger. 

On Friday, after a morning of rushing full speed ahead, my work lunch cancelled last minute. I sat in my car in the heat of the sun for a full 10 minutes trying to figure out what to do next. And then a luxurious, urgent thought came into my mind. A pedicure like a gift from the Gods. But I was wholly unprepared when the salon gave me a man. A Man? I almost tried to return him. Feet are so intimate. So personal. I didn't know if I could stand touch like that from a man. But I decided to try, to trust, to let go. And I got the most intense foot massage of my entire life. All those pressure points and nerve endings neglected, fiery, starving, dug into, kneeded and unknotted. All that trapped energy, released. I was transported, remade and brought back to earth, not by stuffing or filling, attaching or needing, but by letting go. By putting my feet on the earth.