The Souls Of My Feet

There was no resisting the call of the wild today, no way I was ignoring the lure of sunshine and October blue skies.  The wind was up, releasing cascades of golden Autumn glory upon the road before me.  I don't honestly know how anyone can resist piles of multi-coloured leaves to shoofa-shoofa through, leaves that smell of damp earth under old logs and freshly roasted pumpkin seeds.  So I walked to Economy Park.  Those of you who know the area are already impressed-those who don't, well, it's quite far, and you'd be impressed.  For some reason, once I get moving, I can walk for hours, maybe even days, on end.  I think it is a law of physics directly related to my butt; when my ample rear gets in motion, it propels me forward with great efficiency.  Stopping actually goes against the force of the propulsion, and is difficult.  Anyway, the trek to the park is strenuous, and I went about the task with plenty of means of distraction.  I had Brou for hill-pulling, I had my music player for rhythm, and I had my camera to break up the monotony of the pound-pound-pound-pound of my feet.  It took a while for Brou to adjust to my erratic pace, as I stopped frequently to snap off pictures of finely dressed trees and fall flowers and funny looking weeds and what-nots.  I made a conscious effort to draw this journey out, to not rush my feet along.  I stopped, I studied, I sang out loud, quite loud, actually.  I was into the "r" section of my playlist.  There are plenty of great tunes in "r"- The Cult's "Rain", Flogging Molly's "Rebels Of The Sacred Heart", Rage Against The Machine's "Renegades Of Funk", Lloyd Cole and the Commotions "Rattlesnakes", Talking Heads "Road To Nowhere", to name but a few.  All through the "r" songs, Brou and I traipsed around the park, occasionally breaking for pictures of fire trees or glowy trees or the contrast of dark green piney trees.  On the trails, I can let Brou run free, so he can satisfy his doggy need to chase after squirrels he will never catch, for he has all the cunning stealth of a rabid elephant on speed.  But I think for him, all the fun lies in the chase itself, and I can dig that-the utter thrill of running after something just to run, to flap my ears in the wind.  Besides, his independent instinct frees me to think, to wander the complex maze of my own brain, where I often stumble across those perfect words to describe what I deem important in this world.  And intense, long-term walking seems to focus me, as if my body absorbs all the blockages and detours and pit falls that prevent the word flow from reaching its intended destination.  So I was there, part of all around me, detached from all the unnecessaries of the world, and I found the following revelation, so I thought I would share that with you, too.

I used to think it was a fundamental fault in my being that I could not understand why people did not feel passionate about things that obviously require passion.  I thought I must be too pig-headed, too critical of others.  I thought, too, that some things were universal, some drives part of all of the human collective spirit, and assumed others had the same feelings I did.  I see now the flaw lies with them-those who are incapable of that kind of fire, or of sharing the fire of another just for the sheer joy of seeing someone they know, and presumably like, get so interested, become so keen on something that means so much to them, even if the view itself is not shared by the other person.  This desire of some to shit all over someone's happiness, it's not something I even want to pretend to understand.  I am not naive; I know there are times when we must be critical of another person, times when it is necessary to be harsh or realistic.  I know most of us are judgmental, at least once in a while.  What I'm talking about here is people who so readily share nothing but their misery.  I don't know why they do this, why a joyous noise never arises from them.  I don't know if it's because that's all they can or choose to feel, or if they are unaware that negativity is all that exits their mouths, or if they derive pleasure from the act of crapping on other people's spirits.  I know first-hand of this quirky behaviour, sadly, from someone I love in my own family.  He takes his critic's duty very seriously, never misses a chance to find faults or darkness even in the lightest environment.  He is abrasive, stubborn, self-centered, and for all his wisdom, he knows very little about what I've spent all my years cultivating-kindness, gentility, forgiveness, inner peace, and understanding that the world is an imperfect, but still beautiful place.  He demands perfection, takes things as a personal slight if they are not said exactly how he wants to hear them.  He is restless, negative, unsatisfied with all life gives him, even when things are going fine.  He overreacts, and looks for others to blame for his feelings, never takes a reflective moment to listen to the vitriol that comes from him sometimes.  If anyone mentions any of these areas of himself which could use some fine-tuning, he explodes into inappropriate rage and lashes out with nastiness, pettiness, and hurtful words.  I've tried for many years to pull him towards even some semblance of light, and often, I can get him to peek out of the gloom and maybe even smile a bit.  The tricky part is I just never know when he's going to throw it all out of the window and return to what he's obviously always known.  The sad part is I know what a great person he is inside, underneath all those layers of smothering wet woolen blankets of negative energy.  He can be loving, he is good to animals, and he has a terrific sense of humour.  But he expects perfection, in the world, in others, and does not ever want to see his own imperfections.  I love him regardless, for he is family, and I never give up on anyone with potential.  But it can become a drag on my good spirits, and when I feel like my happiness is being stolen, when I can no longer absorb any more blows to my central core of peace, we have it out, and go to our respective corners and take some time to let the dust settle.

So, why do some people cultivate peace and sow seeds of joy in their own souls and share the bounty with the world, and others contaminate the soil so nothing good can grow, then take their disappointment out on others?  Why can't everyone see a perfect Autumn day in all its splendor and think, "This is magic, this is why I am here, to see the beauty, to share the power of this pure energy with everyone I know, so that they, too, can join in the fun."?  I would think that living under the weight of such a crushing level of darkness would be so tiresome, so cumbersome.  Wouldn't the logical answer be to shed one's being of such a heavy burden?  Why wouldn't people want to seek out happiness and peace in their lives?  It just doesn't make a whole lot of sense from the perspective of someone on the other side.

A hazy, cloud-filtered sun casts its light on the gold-laden trees of the park as Brou and I leave the trail and head towards the main road.  The "r"s have ended, and I now get to cut loose in a private public moment and dance my way out of the park to Men Without Hats "Safety Dance" (the extended dance remix, which is the only really good version of the song).  I twirl around and kick up my heels, I sing loudly "'cause your friends don't dance, and if they don't dance, they're no friends of mine."  I shuffle in leaf piles, throw my arms skyward and close my eyes and let a shower of falling leaves join me in the harvest dance I'm creating.  I breathe in the wind and take in the sun and feel all the individual components of my being come alive and synchronize and celebrate en masse.  I embrace this day and give it the gift of song from my own throat.  I don't care who sees me.  I would invite them to join me if I would encounter a fellow road walker.  I snap pictures and trudge in time with the music- Fleetwood Mac's "Sara", Flogging Molly's "Selfish Man", Third Eye Blind's "Semi-Charmed Life", Echo and the Bunnymen's "Senseless", Cinderella's "Shake Me", Most Precious Blood's "Shark Ethic", The Cult's "She Sell Sanctuary".  Now I'm getting a little weary, my legs are getting harder to give orders to, my feet getting heavier to lift.  I've still a long way to go, but at least the stretch is flat and straight.  Deep breaths, feel the music-Days Of The New's "Shelf in the Room", Warrior Soul's "Shine Like It", Pink Floyd's "Shine On You Crazy Diamond", Smashing Pumpkin's "Siva".  Almost there, on my own block now, just a few more houses...

I look at my humble, time-worn home.  I feel all the love I've put into it spilling out of the door to greet me.  I recognize sanctuary, and am endlessly grateful for its presence.  Brou cleans out his water bowl and collapses on his end of the couch, content, exhausted.  I make tea, refill the water bowl, and settle back in to the comforting familiar routine I have also cultivated.  I'll deal with all those pictures another day.  For now, I can still see everything clearly in my mind, all I've done, all I've learned, all I've seen on my chosen path.  I'm content with who I've started to become.  I'm amazed at how easily wisdom comes at this age, and how much harder it is for anger to come.  I feel more balanced than before I left this morning.  It's one thing I deeply wish to share with all I love, all of you, all the world.  And so, I write, and I give of myself freely to provide some pleasure to a world full of people in a state of upheaval.  For what good would all this wisdom be if I selfishly hoarded it in the recesses of my ever-churning mind?  Smile, all ye who read these words, I wrote them specifically for you.  Smile and share the light with all those you love and care for.
Blessings to us all,
Tanya