“Done properly, the spiritual practice of going barefoot can take you halfway around the world and wake you up to your own place in the world at the same time. It can lead you to love God with your whole self, and your neighbor as yourself, without leaving your backyard. Just do it, and the doing will teach you what you need to live.”
~ Barbara Brown Taylor, An Altar in the World

Yesterday, while driving along the East River Road in St. Paul, I was busy enjoying the end of the fall colors, oaky brownish-reds and brilliant golden maples were providing a full array of entertainment. Now and then I would notice a walker or two, busy at their morning exercise. Cars move slowly along this stretch of curving road so there is much time for reflection and I was taking full advantage of this rich time.

While I was taking in the sights in my own sweet time, I saw a large rather portly man, all in black, running toward me on the river trail. He was running with enthusiasm. In bare feet! I jerked my attention away from the beauty of the aging leaves to look at this not-so-young man running with such joy. I thought of the stones and acorns that no doubt littered the path on which his bare feet now galloped. I cringed at the thought of my own feet walking, much less running, on such a surface. But he was smiling to beat the band seeming not to notice any obstacles in his way. His joyful running transmitted itself to my morning spirit. I went on in the safety of my car while he continued on his way, full of mirth.

The fact is I had already been thinking about bare feet. Before leaving the house I had been preparing for a book study I have been leading using Barbara Brown Taylor’s book, An Altar in the World: A Geography of Faith. One of the chapters had spoken of the spiritual practice of going without shoes, of being barefooted. Taylor’s words were still resounding in my brain when I saw a living example of someone, shoeless. In Minnesota. In November. What to make of it all?

I think of the few times I go without shoes. Like most Minnesotans, I have the habit of coming into my house, any house, and removing my shoes. But I am usually wearing socks so I don’t have the full feeling of the floor beneath my feet. I can’t tell where the pile of the carpet is worn from the regular pathways of many other feet. I don’t get the prick of any sharp objects that might have escaped the vacuum…..a stray crumb of toast, a lost piece of pencil lead, a valiant evergreen needle from last year’s Christmas tree. I walk most of my days with protected feet. Do you?

Here is what I imagine: Walking around the majority of my waking hours with protected feet keeps me from being completely grounded on the Earth, even if the ground I walk is mostly carpeted. Walking around the majority of the time with something covering my feet puts miles and millennia between me and my ancestors whose feet, uncovered,created the history in which I now make a home. Walking around with shoes and socks that warm and provide a safety net for my feet,and me, keeps me from being mindful of all those who have no shoes, all those for whom a safety net for their feet and their lives is nonexistent.

Frankly, I am not sure what to make of all this. It is unlikely that I will be walking outside without shoes anytime soon given the snow flurries that float outside my window. But I can take off my shoes and socks in the warmth of my house and realize the privilege it is to do so. That could be a first step in connecting once again with the ground that holds me and the Ground of All Being who holds us all, shoeless or otherwise.

I think I will simply trust Taylor’s wisdom that removing my shoes and walking mindfully will teach me what I need to know. Perhaps this is what the barefooted runner was experiencing. Barefooted learning. Barefooted joy. If so, I’m in.