It was hard to wash away my days—and I didn’t want to…

I went out purposely in nature to get dirty, to be cleansed, to be vulnerable, to discover her rhythms, and to listen deeply to what she might have to share with me. We would prioritize each other and dance. Free. Wildly. I desired that. I was hungry for simple outdoor time.

My daily barefoot walks and ecstatic movements on the beach and in the desert meant I would sleep with sand and red dirt in my sheets or in my sleeping bag. It was inevitable. Even when I thought I had washed my hair, ears and feet clean, I had sand. Everywhere. I found sand in my socks, my shoes and the floor of my car. Sand came out of my books, off my clothes, and I tasted sand when I made my meals because somehow it was on my cookware and crawled into the matchboxes and well…. I just couldn’t keep the sand out, so I welcomed every bit of it. For me, feeling sand on my skin became a physical reminder of my joyous days activities. I wanted that yummy natural earthy feeling close by.

I know of the studies that speak to the calming grounding effects of walking barefoot—where the free electrons and antioxidants from the Earth are transferred into ones body with each step taken. The practice of being mindful of how we can give to the earth and how we can receive from the earth is a healing—a special prayer. The textures, hardness, temperature underfoot delight. I paid attention to where I put my feet often so as not to step on bees, broken shells, glass, or cacti.

At the end of the day, my body felt tired from the fresh air and the exercise but also rejuvenated. My soul full from soaking in the beauty and the elements all around. Everything in me was getting recalibrated. And then there was the dancing I did periodically which helped me shake energies off so I could be better embodied when things around me start to feel chaotic.

I enjoy the feeling the sand and dirt on my feet as much as I enjoy feeling of the sand going through my hands. I’ll bring the sand and dirt close—to smell and to touch. There is a quality of feeling like life slipping by. A feeling of the difficulty of holding onto something that has its own movement. Imagining the history and the sea beds and the time that created the fine particles. I feel so lucky we have these state and national parks. They are treasures that invite imagination. I contemplate that felt sense of impermanence as I spend hours one day just sitting, rolling down the dunes, and dancing barefoot on the light white crystals under foot. Playing like I remembered doing as a child. Again, like no one watching. And, then the tears come. I welcome them. I can’t seem to get enough. The colors—some muted; some vibrant.

“When it is over, I want to say all my life I was a bride married to amazement. I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.”
—Mary Oliver