Misogi

6:30 am on Monday and I’m starting physical therapy. I only have two sessions remaining, assuming my evaluation on Wednesday goes well.

I start with a few laps of leg movement drills, followed by a few ladder exercises (a rope ladder is spread over the ground and I hop/skip/step over the ladder rungs in a variety of movement patterns). This is followed by inclined foot stretching, both with legs straight and with knees bent.

I take a ten-minute jog in which I can feel some stiffness in the ankle and inflammation on the bottom of the foot, but both pains subside with each passing minute. I stand on the edge of a step and complete some toe raise exercises, first with both feet acting together and then using only the injured foot. I complete squats while standing on the flat side of a 1/2 balance ball. More stepping exercises. I’m breezing through the routine and gaining confidence. The foot’s feeling stable and I’m almost healed.

“What will you do with your healed foot?” My physical therapist asked me.

I recently read about “misogi,” a concept that originated from two ancient Japanese Shinto gods. The Japanese god Izanagi was madly in love with the Shinto creator goddess Izanami. She dies and goes to a hellish underworld. Forlorn and determined to bring her back, Izanagi ventures into this hell and fends off a variety of horrifying creatures. He’s unable to retrieve Izanami and retreats back to our world, but his flesh is scarred and tainted from the creatures he fends off. He eventually purifies himself of his tainted flesh in a body of water. This cleansing, or purification, of impure flesh and soul is called “misogi” (apologies for all incorrect interpretations).

Misogi is therefore an act of cleansing the impurities or toxicities of one’s life (in Shinto, often with a body of water). The act of misogi as detailed in the book The Comfort Crisis is more of a purification from the detriments of modern, urban living.

One accomplishes this misogi through an intense risk that has a high probability of failure. It has to be outside one’s comfort zone and preferably outside of the comforts and luxuries of the city.

There is an interesting paradox associated with urban living. It’s supposed to be a euphoria of conveniences. Yet every study I’ve read suggests that human misery increases as a place becomes more urban.

I think misogis can be applied daily. They don’t have to be a “once per year” event. They can be the consistent and constant disruptor of certainty, the embracing of risk. The bike ride through harsh winter trails. Skateboarding down steeper ramps. Running outside on new trails, in harsh rain. Opting out of phone browsing in favor of sitting on the ground, in the grass, outside, staring… and daring to do nothing, and to be bored.

I can apply a yearly misogi to my life too. A swimming with sharks in the Bahamas. A bikepacking trip thousands of feet up into the Blue Ridge mountains. Hiking off-trail in a national forest. Those might be some of my recent misogis. I’m thinking about what it will be this year. It has to delve into the unknown, whatever it is.

I’m thinking of misogis. That’s what I’ll do with my healed foot: as many of them as possible.