The Wandering Footsteps of a Sole-Storyteller
From the quiet corners of my past, I stumbled upon a treasure trove—a testament to the memories my mom treasured and passed down. It was an envelope that protected relics of my infancy, caretakers of my earliest steps and the tales they quietly tell. Nestled within its papery embrace lay my first pair of baby shoes, slumbering within their cardboard cocoon for over six decades. These tiny artifacts, like crystallized fragments of my origin story, now find their place atop my dresser, assuming the role of story keepers—reminding me of the multitude of beginnings that have woven the fabric of my life. As I placed them gently, a ritual unfurled, paying homage to the journeys embarked upon and the budding trails that beckon ahead.
My footprints, etched indelibly upon the earthen floor, defy time's relentless march. Each mark endures long after my footsteps have wandered across the landscapes they grace. I strain to recollect when these walks—my foot journey—those moments of unraveled thoughts, sought tranquility, and liberated stress—seeded their intimate dance with my consciousness. Yet, there's an almost magical alchemy in those steps, bestowing upon me newfound thoughts to muse upon, as if the cadence of my strides imparts a symphony of understanding to my contemplative mind.
Working wonders with my hands is one of my inherent passions. Within these palms resides a nuanced wisdom, honed by the intricate and delicate dance of fine motor control, the seasoned art of palpation, and the abundant receptors that communicate through the silent language of touch. My hands transcend their tangible existence; they become touchstones linking me to the natural world. They bring food to my lips, cradle my children, forge intimate connections through tender caresses, and weave ease through their healing touch.
In the midst of these marvels, my feet stand as steadfast companions, often overlooked but harboring an innate wisdom of their own. A wealth of knowledge, they guide me through a dance of contemplation with every step taken. Each footfall births a thought, a morsel of reflection that is embraced in one stride and relinquished in the next. An intricate dialogue unfolds between the musings of my mind and the palpable progress of my steps. These two worlds intertwine, weaving an intricate fabric of form that narrates the tale of my inner landscape, inseparably interwoven with the world that surrounds me.
Do my footfalls inscribe my dreams, thoughts, confusion, intentions, aspirations, and sorrows upon the trails I traverse? Do fellow travelers perceive the echoes of my story as they tread the same path? Could it be that, in walking, I become a vessel for their narratives, their hopes, and their experiences?
As a practitioner of the healing arts, I'm attuned to the stories inscribed within muscles and fascia. After these walks, weariness sometimes courses through my supple tissues, tenderness lingers in my joints, and the sensation of liberation courses through my feet as they cast off the confines of shoes. It's as if these feet—these silent witnesses to my life's journey—experience a cathartic release of the tensions that bind them. Within them reside stories concluded and chapters yet to unfold, waiting with quiet anticipation for their tales to bloom into fullness.
In the nature of questions, one lingers: Does the path I tread bear witness to the memories I impart? Could it be that a faint trace of my essence lingers behind, akin to the whispered resonance of an echo?
Stepping into my role as an educator, I am captivated by the etymology of words. The word "learn" beckons me with its connection to walking and intriguing origin—meaning "to follow or find the track," a path akin to the course blazed by a foot's sole. This reminds me of how a course is designed, one step at a time, one concept at a time, one challenge at a time. A symphony of parallels resonates between this linguistic journey and my own musings, beautifully weaving thought and action, teaching and learning into an elegant stroll.
And so, here I stand, a sole storyteller. Amidst the whispered echoes of my footprints, I tread the trails that bridge past to present, curiosity to understanding. In the company of my first pair of baby shoes, I honor the journeys that have sculpted my narrative thus far while embracing the mystery of the new paths unwinding before me. In these footprints, in these stories, I discover the essence of the sole storyteller—a blend of wanderer, contemplator, and explorer.
Thoughts Inspired by: Robert Macfarlane ~ The Old Ways
