Tonight, I had a weird dream about my feet. Maybe because before bed, I always put lotion on my feet and massage them and look at their reflection in the dark window, wondering whether they are good enough for pointe. I am strangely obsessed by this topic. If I only knew for a fact that I could achieve a correct position en pointe with straight knees and stand fully on my box, I’d be comforted. Some days it looks like my ankles are flexible enough, other days it doesn’t. When I put on my demi-pointes and push over the box a little, it looks promising. But when I try to ‘go up’ en pointe, sitting on a chair, of course (!), I have difficulty getting over. It is a love-hate relationship. I love them, because they can do lovely things like pas de cheval and tendus jetés, and because they are my feet, after all. But I hate them because they are wide and fat and have a high instep, but stiff ankles, and an ugly crooked big toe and bunionettes. And because they sickle easily, but hardly budge when I try to wing. I always look at my feet in class, and at others’ feet and compare them. But as I said, I would be ok with them if I knew for certain that pointe was possible, once I am thin enough.
I dreamed this: For some unknown reason, I had the option of amputating both my feet and replacing them with prostheses. I chose to do this because I didn’t want my feet anymore (for the reasons given above). So I woke after the surgery with my feet cut off at the ankles and strange, black plastic and steel ‘prostheses’ that looked like… a desk gadget to hold notepaper, maybe? I immediately got up, feeling well. I was in a store, and my old feet stood next to me on the floor, like two boots. I walked around on my new prostheses and felt no pain, but I also didn’t feel my lower legs. I tried to do a relevé and was expecting to somehow be able to do that and feel it, too. But I felt nothing, my calves didn’t move, I didn’t rise, I didn’t feel this nice feeling of pushing into the floor and rising. I was disappointed. The surgeon was still around, and I asked him whether my old feet could be reattached. I told him they had been kept out in the air for an hour. He said he would try, but maybe it wouldn’t work. Then the prostheses would have to stay. I said ok, hoping it would work, not understanding why I had had them amputated in the first place. Then the dream ended.
Very weird. I had been thinking about this topic on Saturday, after reading a quote by Neil Gaiman on tumblr: “Picking five favourite books is like picking the five body parts you’d most like not to lose”. I’d been wondering which would be my five. My arms, my hands, obviously my head, but also my legs, my feet… I don’t want to lose anything! That was when I realized that I loved my feet, even though I always complain about them. And now this dream.
Ok, I get it, I need to be more grateful for what I have. I have ok feet, and I want to keep them, attached to my legs if possible.