Expansion and Contraction

When I first started walking for distance, one of the things I was hoping to get out of the experience was a much smaller space to focus my attention. Walking seemed to couple a slow enough pace to take things in, and the meditative practice of repetitive motion.

On my first longer distance walk, I remember wondering how I would feel at the end of seventeen miles at about the time I hit the three mile point. Like many other aspects of my life at the time, I was always mentally rushing ahead to some goal or objective pretty far down the path in the future. It took a few months, but after continued practice, I finally began to shrink my world to that one meter of space around me during my time out on the trail.

A curious thing started to happen once I’d finally been able to turn my attention to the very near term during walking. Instead of my world contracting like I suspected it would, my world started to expand. The distances measured by time or space didn’t expand. Those had gotten quite a bit smaller, but my ability to pay attention to things at close range started calling my attention to things I’d been missing as I rushed right past toward the next new experience out on the horizon.

At various times during the preparation for the current walking adventure, I’ve felt the ebb and flow as “my world” expanded at times and then subsequently contracted again in time and space.

 
Walking the Path of the Deer - Grundy County, Iowa

Today, my attention was almost entirely focused on a quarter sized patch of skin on the ball of my right foot between my great toe and my index toe. I have a blister, for no apparent reason, that’s been giving me trouble for a couple of days. Today, that sucka’ was on fire.

I was on another one of Iowa’s numerous and beautiful trails, but all of my mental energy was focused on that one small patch of skin. Every step with my right foot was a searing reminder to be grateful that I still had feet. Still, it was a little distracting from my surroundings.

Eventually, I’d experienced all the fun I could stand for awhile, so I decided to stop and focus all my attention on that one little blister. I would shrink my world to that one discrete spot, and that’s where I would “be” for a moment.

I stood and looked at my feet. My world shrank. The burning fire emanating from somewhere between the insole of my shoe and the bottom of my foot calmed a little. I noticed that I’d been following in the footsteps of a deer that had travelled this same path the last time the trail was wet. My world expanded a little, and the discomfort, though still present, became a little less important.

When I stepped west again, I’d remembered the times I’ve been encouraged to breath into the areas of tightness during a yoga class. The practice of Ujjayi, or ocean, breathing came back. Four beats inhale, four beats exhale, my breathing focused into the bottom of the foot. As the heat built, the discomfort remained, but suddenly the suffering was gone.

Keeping my breath focused into the area of tension on the ball of my right foot, I was once again able to look around.  My world grew a little bit larger.

I passed the Oxbo and John Deere farm equipment dealers in Grundy Center, IA, and I was able to marvel at the complexity of the highboy sprayers and combines that would one day work the miles of cornfields around me. The ebb and flow of expansion and contraction of the walk returned, and I continued on down the road.