“The foot feels the foot when it feels the ground.”
~Buddha
~Buddha
I’ve been thinking a lot about feet lately. … It’s not actually as weird and disturbing as it sounds. It’s been sandal weather so I’ve been seeing more of my feet, plus I’ve been pushing myself in ballet and the resulting aches and pains have kept me of aware of my lower extremities.
The foot focus intensified one day when I abandoned my deskwork for a short sunshine break. Even though I generally wear sandals or minimalist shoes, I realized it had been a long time since I’d gone barefoot except on slackline or around the house. On a whim, I kicked off my thin sandals and began walking. The sensations of walking barefoot after being shod for so long were revelatory: “Oh yeah, that’s what lush, cool grass feels like.” “Oh yeah, that’s what smooth, warm concrete feels like.” … and, “Oh, owww, that’s what gravel feels like.”
From then on, my morning meanders were barefoot for as far as my uncallused feet would take me. Connecting with the ground felt really, really good. I was surprised how much.
Next even my balancing became foot-focused. In the past concentrating, on the vertical posture line or the horizontal heart pathway have lead to breakthroughs. Lately neither has worked. I’ve felt wobbly; I’ve felt frustrated.
Finally I found my balance in focusing on the soles of my feet. My balance flowed when I focused on the pressure along the bottoms of my feet where I actually connect with the line or pipe.
Feet, feet, feet. Summer feet, sore feet, bare feet, balance feet.
When a theme emerges so obviously in my life, I have to wonder why. Why was going barefoot so important? My other balance strategies had their own life applications, so what deep and hidden meaning could a foot fixation hold?
As soon as I wondered it, an answer sprang to mind—an answer which, to be honest, I didn’t much like: just like my feet in their shoes had missed feeling the world directly, I’ve been living more in my head than my heart. “Disconnected” was the word that came to mind.
Just like I need to remember what grass and stones, damp and dry feel like, I need to truly experience empathy and amusement, tired satisfaction and sparkling elation, serene joy and cleansing sorrow. Feeling doesn't prevent progress, it's a necessary part of the equation. If "the foot feels the foot when it feels the ground," then perhaps I come to know myself as I feel life. The varied surfaces of life certainly provide ample opportunity.
Taking my feet out of their shoes is easy compared to getting out of my own head. Perhaps, like in balancing, the answer is as simple as it is difficult: staying focused on it.
Feet apparently have a lot in common with deep inner feelings. Who knew?
The foot focus intensified one day when I abandoned my deskwork for a short sunshine break. Even though I generally wear sandals or minimalist shoes, I realized it had been a long time since I’d gone barefoot except on slackline or around the house. On a whim, I kicked off my thin sandals and began walking. The sensations of walking barefoot after being shod for so long were revelatory: “Oh yeah, that’s what lush, cool grass feels like.” “Oh yeah, that’s what smooth, warm concrete feels like.” … and, “Oh, owww, that’s what gravel feels like.”
From then on, my morning meanders were barefoot for as far as my uncallused feet would take me. Connecting with the ground felt really, really good. I was surprised how much.
Next even my balancing became foot-focused. In the past concentrating, on the vertical posture line or the horizontal heart pathway have lead to breakthroughs. Lately neither has worked. I’ve felt wobbly; I’ve felt frustrated.
Finally I found my balance in focusing on the soles of my feet. My balance flowed when I focused on the pressure along the bottoms of my feet where I actually connect with the line or pipe.
Feet, feet, feet. Summer feet, sore feet, bare feet, balance feet.
When a theme emerges so obviously in my life, I have to wonder why. Why was going barefoot so important? My other balance strategies had their own life applications, so what deep and hidden meaning could a foot fixation hold?
As soon as I wondered it, an answer sprang to mind—an answer which, to be honest, I didn’t much like: just like my feet in their shoes had missed feeling the world directly, I’ve been living more in my head than my heart. “Disconnected” was the word that came to mind.
Just like I need to remember what grass and stones, damp and dry feel like, I need to truly experience empathy and amusement, tired satisfaction and sparkling elation, serene joy and cleansing sorrow. Feeling doesn't prevent progress, it's a necessary part of the equation. If "the foot feels the foot when it feels the ground," then perhaps I come to know myself as I feel life. The varied surfaces of life certainly provide ample opportunity.
Taking my feet out of their shoes is easy compared to getting out of my own head. Perhaps, like in balancing, the answer is as simple as it is difficult: staying focused on it.
Feet apparently have a lot in common with deep inner feelings. Who knew?
