sweet feet / field guide to getting lost

SWEET FEET

So much of life demands we are “top heavy”; overthinking, overanalysing, mentally dissecting to the point that we become disconnected with the sense of grounding and presence of the lower body. We forget how to stand on our own two feet, allowing our bodies to express and process the information we receive.

To stretch and tangle our lower limbs rejuvenates the feet and spine and rebalances the energy. The lower body is forever holding us up, and such a practice gifts them love back.

The outlines of our feet replicate the curvature of our spines. The heels reflect our seat, the middle arches mirror the arc of our lower spine, and the space beneath the toes reflect the curve behind the neck. Just as the feet ground and connect us to earth, the spine lifts and connects us to sky. They are interwoven – as we move our feet, the lines of energy sweep along the spine.

The feet are also a significant space for the sciatic nerve, so focusing on them provides the additional benefit of releasing our hips and glutes; places well-known for holding tension, sadness and anger. Many people suffer with tightness in hips and/or hamstrings – movement like this month’s allows us to tease these spaces open and restore balance between the lower and upper body. Though, of course, no bodily part is ever “separate”; it's just that the overarching emphasis on our “mentality” means we increasingly distance ourselves from the felt sense.

We don’t have to overcomplicate the practice to rejuvenate the lower limbs. Simply removing shoes and socks is a good start. Our feet were meant for trekking this earth, really feeling and connecting with all the varying textures, over pavement, grass, mud, shingle, sand and into water. We receive information of texture and temperature. All these sensations telling us where we are.

Earth-caked feet are a sign of the wandered, carrying pieces of places with them.

A FIELD GUIDE TO GETTING LOST

“This light that does not touch us, does not travel the whole distance, the light that gets lost, gives us the beauty of the world, so much of which is in the color blue.”

The Blue of Distance by Rebecca Solnit (A Field Guide to Getting Lost)

We must get lost to get found.

It’s easy to become swept up in ideas of who we should be, how we should act, and craft the expression of us upon other people’s wishes and expectations. But whenever we do so, we distance ourselves from our authenticity, in turn suffering a sense of longing, unravelling, and loss.

Movement can also be like this.

When we approach practices with a preconceived idea of how they should look or feel, attempting to “perfect” or “perform” a pose, we dull our sense of self.

If we can instead approach movement with a “beginner’s mind”, seeking the nuances of feelings and shifts of sensations, we open doorways to presence.

Every pose offers an open question.

Every practice influenced by places, spaces, people, circumstances, and emotion.  

Always something new.

Just as skies shift every second, we can walk the same route every day but experience it completely differently each time. Yet, we only need witness how easily people lose their sense of wander on the daily commute.

Becoming lost can offer a remedy to the forgetfulness of feeling. Taking ourselves to new places, awakens our presence, and we can recall the pieces of us that were left (or taken) along the way.

We remember each experience is multifaceted and flowing. Recognising there are a million hues of blue, each expressing individuality yet intricately connected. Drops of water poured to create an ocean.  

Becoming lost is a full-circle journey. We wander and roam, only to return where we began, as if for the first time.