"Aren't you ever afraid of dying?" I wept.
His feet, in my hands and anointed with oil; were black and blue from nightly vigils.
[Prayer takes a universal cost, whatever religion or place you may come from. The most sincere come from the elders; the most draining for the sake of the most ungrateful and unaware.]
If I were afraid, he said, I'd spend my life in fear and die. If I weren't, I'd be more relaxed, but the end result still won't change. Makes no difference.
But your feet…why bother doing this to yourself?
Because it's a nice thing to do. And the world lacks none of them.
No, young folks who are willing to massage their elder's feet.
Other posts on massage:
Other posts on elders: