You have to pay attention when you walk barefoot. Naked, our feet feel their own way: firm ground for the heel, open space for the arch, smooth pad for the toes. Left . . . right . . left . . right . . . eyes and feet engaged in a serpentining dialogue.

Intentional steps calm, give attention to the breath, unhinge the stride, and lift the stress of busyness, allowing things to be remembered and forgotten, imagined and released until we are – present.

Writing rewards with focused attention. Puzzling words together unifies fragmentation, harmonizes cacophony, and clarifies uncertainty.

It often begins with nothing: a journey down an empty rabbit hole. Then, as words follow words, ideas form, questions arise, answers emerge, then – if you are patient – the familiar turned over, becomes strange, new, revelatory. Hand and brain engaged in a conversation like bared foot and searching eyes serpentining with wonder.

I prefer to begin with pen on paper. The smooth role of the ball point staining the page in a blend of print and script, crossing t’s and dotting i’s; punctuation establishing rhythm. Once inked, the piece is typed, computerized and ready for revision. But even then I find I need the printed page, the feel of the paper, the pen marking this, crossing out that, making arrows to direct something somewhere else, my cryptic number system signaling where newly scribbled ideas might go. Then back to typing, then print, then markup, and repeat – all the time reading out loud, listening for the flow, wondering what the words are trying to understand. Clay on the wheel turned to an empty bowl, needing to be read for completion, my spaces filled by a reader’s living.

Finally there is the publishing – the sending of the piece out into the world to be read – or not. Letting go of it all: the idea, the worry, the pain, the suffering, the joy, the confusion, the certainty, all of it purged – expelled like a deep breath released to make room for the next. Free of the work, I can pay attention again – direct my mind to new territory – wait for a word, a sentence, a phrase – to emerge from something observed – a new wondering. Back down the rabbit hole I go.

Too often we find ourselves standing feet-fixed at the edge – in the impact zone. No time to wonder through things – to find our way to the other side. To name the deck of cards and in so doing return renewed – more certain of who we really are. 

Too often we are buried by the rush of the next thing. Too tired to break free, we sink into that place where life smacks at you again and again. Wave upon wave into the quicksand of the undertow. Knocking us forward, pulling us back, blunting our feet against the rocks scrambling on their return to the bottom. 

Three steps back and you stand safe on dry sand – reduced to a distracted member of the audience. A bystander in your own life. For those able to take three steps forward – three steps deeper into the trouble – to the place where the water is overhead, the smacking turns to lifting, the pulling to cradling, and where the bruising rocks cling to the bottom while your feet float weightless with the rise and fall of each wave.

There in the deeper water when the rogue wave comes – they are inevitable – if you dive deep, submerge yourself, then you will be buoyed on the other side. Life deeply examined – confronted with authenticity, is not simple or pleasant or happy, but it does slow for understanding – for the peace of mind that comes from having stepped into confrontation, for piecing things back together. 

Fully exposed, our thinking goes quiet. Our body floats weightless.  Grasses dance with wind. Clouds pass overhead. The world spins. Then we dive below the surface, submerged and uncertain where we end and everything begins. Swallowed, we find ourselves aware of the breath – the miracle: floating on this planet, at this time, spinning through the universe – our thoughts reduced to the beauty of a single empty moment filled.