Barefooted

These feet are not the soft, well-groomed appendages of a delicate flower. My feet have walked the earth for decades, these callouses testament to the miles, the corn fields, the beaches, the cities.

Ridged toenails from bruises and slights, crooked toes from cruel ballet shoes, scars from punctures, stubbly hair.

I walk barefoot whenever I am able – skin to earth.

The dirt, the moisture, seeps into cracks and pores – picked up and carried on to be brushed or rinsed off elsewhere, another step on the journey.

Each stone on the path touched, experienced – some smooth and round, others jagged, hungry.

I leave cells, impressions, blood, as I move.

We were all born amongst the stars – what staggering odds to leave remnants of my erstwhile celestial self right here, as this form, in this place.

I glimpsed the starlight girl for a few moments once, long ago, listening to His Holiness offer his wisdom. His presence flowed across the rows of other eager souls, reached into my heart, opened a floodgate of vision. Those moments will remain seared in my heart eternally, for I do not honor the places from whence I have come.

But I step.

I step.

Barefooted, I walk.

 

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