A couple of months ago, my sandals disappeared. I haven’t bothered to replace them yet. And this morning, I realised that I have come to feel at home, treading this earth with my feet bare.
To begin with, of course, it felt rather strange, walking everywhere with bare feet. My mind made a pleasing story out of the situation though: Having no shoes was symbolic of the whole world becoming a temple for me, a sacred land. (Here in India one removes one’s footwear before entering a temple.) To begin with I was very aware of my bare feet, treading carefully with a lot of attention. Slowly, though, the need for such effort waned and I began to walk more naturally, at ease. With that, my thinking mind simply forgot about the whole thing; for some weeks, no thought of shoes, or lack thereof, came to me. Until this morning, that is. Suddenly, out of the blue, the realisation came to me: I am at home being barefoot.
Perhaps last night was a crucial test. At dusk I took a walk alone on the beach. Returning in the starlight, I passed through a section of dark forest. Gingerly feeling my way between the bushes, there were ominous rustlings and scurrying sounds all around. My senses were fully alert, as my mind imagined all manner of dangerous beasts, lurking, waiting to strike. I trod lightly on the earth.
I guess, one day, I will feel the need for shoes once more. Till then, though, I am thankful for these happy days of contact with the earth. And what of the athlete’s foot which had plagued me consistently for three decades? Since becoming barefoot, there has been no trace of it!
