Barefoot

I’ve spent hours walking rose quartz paths
barefoot.
Meditating on the bridge where
walking with naked feet
and
keeping an open heart
meet.
Both demand close attention to the environment.
If the mind wanders,
I cut my skin,
bump fragile bones.
With every step
The stones press their jagged edges into my flesh.
Nerve endings alight like fireworks.
I tread softly. No rush.
Protected feet power by mine, oblivious to the flavours of the land they cannot feel.
The sudden oasis of a patch of silky sand.
The cool water that licks my ankles.
The smooth volcanic wrinkles that warm my toes.
Protected feet walk blindfolded, focused on the destination – unaware of the journey.
Like prudent hearts, afraid of pain. Of breaking.
Like children afraid of the dark.
One thing I’ve learnt is
pain usually walks through the door bearing a gift of perspective.

I’d rather get the quartz’s lessons of
clarity
raw love
carved with sharp edges into my soles
Than lose my connection to the ground.


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