Feet

Several months ago, I made the masochistic decision to go running around a rocky dirt track barefoot. I was inspired by an article I had read about the harmfulness of expensive running shoes. I am in love with the human body, and it's capacity to grow, expand, become strong, develop callouses. On that day, I could've used a callous. (As soon as I wrote the word the second time, Ani Difranco's Callous came on shuffle. Three cheers for meaningless synchronicity).

Needless to say, I spent the next several days off my feet. It was a strange kind of bliss. Walking from point A to point B became a directed act of will. The degree of pain, the time it took to move across a room, pushed me into a state of almost zen-like clarity. I had no painkillers, and no cannabis. I soaked my feet in the bathtub regularly, and when I had to walk to the grocery store, I designed temporary bandages out of wads of toilet paper and masking tape.

This was not the first foot injury I incurred in my first month in New Mexico. A week or two previous, I had purchased a six pack of beer, and assumed a wine bottle opener could serve roughly the same function as an absent beer bottle opener. I was corrected in a startling hail of broken glass. Despite my best efforts to sweep the floor, I still ended up with several pieces of glass imbedded in my feet. And yet, I found it immensely rewarding to sit down with a pair of tweezers sterilized by my lighter and slowly dig out the offending shards.

Still, after these two events, my feet did not feel quite right for a month or two afterwards. Luckily, they are back to normal, and, in fact, look healthier than they have in years. Feet are, or should be, a human's constant connection to the earth. It seems strange and inappropriate to me that we place barriers like shoes between ourselves and the natural world. Another feeble attempt to spare precious humankind from the ugly slimy natural world. Yeah, right. Almost as ridiculous as sidewalks, a marvelous invention that becomes so hot in the summer sun that a barefoot ambulator has to dash from shadow to shadow to avoid scalding his/her skin.

At a party this weekend, I encountered a man with kindly eyes, a purple bandana, and a grey beard that hung past his sternum. He had no shoes, told me he rarely wore shoes, and I asked him what it took to live like that. He said it was all natural, all about feeling things out, there was no technique for it. Which makes sense, given that this is a matter of reconnecting with reality, and all the pebbles, mud, thorns, broken glass, and dog shit that comes with it.