I release my feet bare.
As I walk, the sensations of the grass prickle my feet.
The ground under them feels oddly far away.
I channel my concentration on the ground underneath my body, all that is below the immediacy of domineering eyes and hands curious and grasping. An internal resistance rises up in me, denying my feet the task of leading. There is a distrust because feet can’t feel as much, there are less nerve endings to pick up all the nuanced textures.
The morning ground is cold and damp. Some of my toes go white with loss of circulation. I relinquish my dominate capacities for accessing my environment and resign to letting my feet to be the “head” and direct my walk.
Okay feet, go where you please.
When a texture elicits their curiosity, like the soft wood of a rotten tree across the path, I stroke it with my toes. I even pet the prickly leaves of a bull thistle. Further, into field, I burrow my foot into dead grasses and then comb them between my toes. A delightful web of shadows tattoos my skin. I make my way slowly across the field, gently greeting a tiny flower, lifting its soft purple head with my big toe.
The ground makes itself known, that is it not my infinite traveling pad, but riveted with uncertainty. It is an infinite composition of tiny plants and variations of grass, thorns or stiff straw or hollowed stocks, that force me to walk very slowly, considering each step.
“ouch, ahh owwwwee” “ouch, ouch, ouch”
The pain radiates up my entire body. Suddenly the rest of my body feels included in the experience. I realize giving the command to my feet didn’t mean the rest of my body was just passively along for the ride. Instead of the ground feeling distant, the ground is suddenly elevated. It rises to a higher place in my consciousness through the bottoms of my feet, asserting itself distinctly up into the rest of my body, all the way to the top of my head.
I stop and take a video – panning from my walking feet straight up to the sky over my head and over and over and then falling to back down to the ground upside down. Ground and sky remerge. There is no isolated experience. The atmosphere encircles the earth and all is held in one continuous circle.
Gravity causes the earth to collapse in on itself.
My walk has absolutely no destination and no plan for a timely return. The direction is determined by the shifting of my feet in their curiosity and desire for the most hospitable landing pads. I begin to learn which varieties of grass are plush carpets and which are laced with hidden thorns. I soon learn to recognize the colors of these various components to what would otherwise just be categorized in my mind as “field.”
When I reach the end of the field and it’s time to turn back, I decide to crawl. I lower my limbs tentatively into the prickly grasses. With my eyes open, I witness the slow passing of detail- what a vast array minuscule landscape. With my hands reaching to pull me forward, I am flooded with sensations. Yet, I keep looking up to see my progress and become seduced by light and shadows instead of the ground unanimated beneath my body.
Ugh, so far away, how long will it take me to get back?
I close my eyes. In the darkness, the under-land of my internal landscape, I rest into feeling. I place my hands and knees like a gangly creature stocking an unseen prey. The mechanics of my body are no longer the natural ease of walking on two feet. My wrists feel broken and unnatural, my core and upper body are working unusually hard. My weight compresses the ground, snaps stocks, presses down and tramples tender grasses. My usual mindlessness when I walk upright is affronted by this intimate mode of transportation. I become aware of the consequence of my desire to travel from point a to point b.
I feel odd, other-than-human, primal. The ground is elevated in my consciousness even further. My slow crawl connects me to the ground as source- where all that nourishes and sustains my body comes from.
Tread carefully, this is precious earth.
Gratitude surges up in me. With each awkward coordination of limbs, the intimacy and directness of my contact commands my attention. This ground feeds my being– not just my body by way of the garden near the house, but also my soul and mind, in the now of this embodied moment.
This ground, this is my partner in life.
The terrain begins to slope downwards. I notice the gravity pull on my hands as they reach blindly out and then sink to lower ground. I imagine myself a tiny figure crawling across the curvature of the earth, the full sphered planet.
If I keep crawling straight along my path I will end up back in the same spot I began.
There is no new or final destination.
*Thanks to Sophie Cabot and Vicky Vergou for coordinating this group walk on March 5th and the inspirational prompt to focus on the ground.
