As I entered a waking meditation in my yard on a beautiful warm June afternoon, I noticed the breeze moving all of the trees and leaves, which shimmered in the sunlight.
Then I brought my focus to my bare feet. I spent a good ten seconds focusing all of my attention on my feet and realized I’d never done that in my entire life. What a strange thing.
I’d only ever spent a few moments at a time looking at my feet for the usual reasons. Putting on socks, cleaning debris, cutting toenails, etc. But I’d never given them my full attention before. So I decided to go as deep as I could and spent the next several minutes giving my full focus and attention to them, seeing all of the detail I could see.
I noticed for the first time how many veins there were. The angled sunlight made them really pop out visually. The large veins bulging out of the tops of my feet, and from and underneath them, dozens of smaller ones. The intelligence that had the blood flowing through the veins, the intelligence that created that network of veins, I pondered, was the same intelligence that ran my entire life unbeknownst to me as my conscious human self. A quiet, confident, extremely competent intelligence that required no thanks, no attention, no accolades. It was just there under everything…everything…and it always flowed through every moment inexorably, effortlessly.
A young fruit fly landed on my right pinky toe. I could feel its tiny legs moving around. I’d just walked several miles in my socks and shoes, and when I removed them after returning home, it was such sweet relief to air out my feet and let the sweat dry. To feel them unrestricted and cool and natural again. Was this little fly consuming the dried salt from my sweat? What was it doing exactly? Whatever it was, I was happy to oblige as I watched him pitter-patter around.
Another young fly landed on the top of my left foot, right on the largest vein. He followed the vein as he walked up my foot toward my ankle. Strangely, I could not perceive any sensation from my skin at all from this fly, although it was larger than the other fly, and the skin on top of my foot seemed thinner and less callused than the skin on my toes. Was I supposed to be able to feel the fly there? Were the nerves in the top of my foot malfunctioning? My feet felt fine and looked fine, and it was just a passing thought I quickly dismissed.
Now to the bottoms of my feet. I could not see them, but I could feel them gently pressed against the soft, lush grass underneath. I could decipher the feeling of many different blades of grass, but as I tried to focus on each blade I felt, I couldn’t tell if it was one blade or several blades. I guess it’s good that our feet aren’t sensitive enough to decipher such minute details, otherwise walking barefoot would probably be extremely painful. The soles of my feet…sole is an interesting word…connected me to the ground, to Earth’s electromagnetism.
When I studied grounding years ago, I got a voltmeter as well as conductive plugs for some of the shoes I usually wore, especially my golf shoes, so that I could electrically connect to the earth. Whether the benefits came from electromagnetism, placebo, or some combination of the two, I consistently noticed reduced inflammation and reduced fatigue after spending more time physically connected to the earth.
These thoughts all passed through me quickly, non-verbally, in the matter of a few seconds, much less than it takes to recall sequentially and especially to write them out. But I let the thoughts pass and was still fully focused on my feet.
I noticed the ridges in my toenails due to the sun’s reflection off of them. Why are they ridged? I felt the warmth of the sun on the tops of my feet and the relative coolness under them. I stood up and felt the weight of my full body on the soles of my feet. I couldn’t get past that. My feet have soles/souls. And they ground me to the physical earth in this physical realm, while my Soul is my connection to Home.
I felt bad for having neglected my feet for my entire life, for not having fully appreciated how amazing and necessary they were. For not even ever having paid any real attention to them. I found myself loving my feet. And feet in general are amazing, as is the rest of our bodies. I guess in a sense I can understand why some men find feet sexually appealing. I have never found them to be that, but I think in some way I can understand part of it now.
I moved my toes and marveled at how I had control of these things with my mind, my consciousness, while at the same time they didn’t seem like they were mine. They’re so far away from my eyes and my brain, but I have lots of control over them. And I marveled at how, upon remembering my many barefoot walks and hikes, I could glean so much information just from how the soles of my feet felt as I walked. From water to sand to dirt to mud to grass to pavement to thorns, unfortunately, and all the rest. Just by the physical sensations in the soles of my feet I could tell a lot about my environment.
These are all thoughts, though, and of limited use. What was really the most profound part of this experience was simply consciously focusing my full, complete attention on my feet for an extended period for the first time in my entire forty-two years. The feeling of awe and gratitude for these appendages that I rely on so heavily and in so many ways. Just feeling them. Really feeling them. And really visually inspecting them.
It also made me wonder what else in my life I’ve never given my full attention to.
I realized that on top of all of that, my feet benevolently provided a delicious, salty snack for the baby fruit flies.
What great feet.
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