5km in bare feet

This past weekend, I felt the deep waves of integration calling me to one of the places my spirit loves to rest: Karloo Pools. My heart and feet were drawn to this sacred and nourishing land on Dharawal Country in Heathcote.

It’s about an hour's walk down to the pools from Heathcote Station—approximately 5 km for the round trip.

There are a bunch of puddles on the trail, so I thought I’d wear my Gumboots to ensure my feet stayed dry throughout the hike.

About three hundred metres in, my toes began to complain, begging me to release them unto the earth beneath my shoes.

I resisted for a short distance, but after a while, I couldn’t ignore the pain in my feet anymore.

Having just been on my good friend Rrorr’s beautiful land barefoot the day before, and with no way to go back and fetch another pair of shoes, I strapped my boots to my backpack and decided to tackle the trail barefoot.

Immediately, when my feet touched the ground, I felt a breath of relief fill my entire being. My muscles relaxed, and I let go of all the pent-up tension I was holding in my feet.

With a nagging desire to be at my destination already and a growing fear that this was a decidedly dangerous endeavour, I asked myself why I was so afraid of walking without shoes.

My response had me doubled over in fits of laughter.

“If I’m not wearing shoes, I have to be mindful of where I put my feet.”

Have to.

Have to.

How often do we perceive life through that lens? My response inspired me to dig deep and find the reservoir within me that empowered me to strap my gumboots to my backpack and take slow steps, feeling the bottom of my soles against each small rock, stick, and bump in the road.

I began my slow journey across the back of my Mother. My feet enjoying the textures and shapes, savouring the sensory experience of aliveness from a new place of embodiment and patience.

Many people passed me. I was slow. Intentional.

Some stopped to ask if I was okay—one lady in particular said, “God, you’re game!” I nodded and replied, “Just learning to trust my feet,” as I kept going.

I realised this was an exercise in deep learning, presence, and mindfulness. I needed to be aware of where I placed my feet, what I was thinking, and how I was feeling from moment to moment.

To perceive it all from a place of being perfectly content with everything as it was. To sense life through the appendages we keep so tightly bound up in the shoes we wear every day.

My feet have always been powerful and kind allies to me. Even though one of my feet and the right side of my body are slightly smaller than my left due to a condition I was born with called talipes, I have always felt grateful for my able body.

The gift of being able to walk, run, move, dance, flow, and create with the body I have been blessed with is profound. The journey to this appreciation has been long and slow.

I used to hate my body for not being what I wanted it to be—thinner, more “perfect.” It has taken me 29 years to realise that my body’s shapes and textures, colours and crevices, are life-sustaining and innately supportive of the rhythms of creation and death that I am here to birth, embody, let go of, and surrender to.

What a gift it is to live in this place of awareness. Although sometimes I forget, I always return to this appreciation. 

With this understanding of who I am, what my body is, and where this journey was taking me, I continued onward. Not knowing when I would reach my destination, but trusting in the soles of my feet to carry me.

I experienced many moments of severe doubt, judgement, fear, and worry. In each of these moments, I also copped little nicks, bumps, or grazes on my feet.

I understood these to be badges of my learning—mementos of remembrance. Every time I fell into these moments, I experienced the physical resonance of this learning. This Earth has always been my greatest teacher.

I breathed trust and bravery back into the cells of my being after every moment and forged ahead. Before I knew it, I had arrived at my favourite halfway point: a cliff overlooking a vast valley right before the descent to the pools—the rockiest part of the journey.

I took a moment to drink in the journey up to this point, to truly see and be with the shapes of the trees and the sound of the wind through their leaves. I felt the overwhelming support the natural landscape offered me on this transformative journey.

I sat, breathed, drank water, and ate some cashews. I thanked the land and asked an Old Man Banksia to mind my shoes and my walking stick as I prepared for the descent to the pools. Renewed, invigorated, and excited—with considerably less to carry—I began my journey downwards.

I leaped over rocks, feeling my feet tune into the natural rhythms of the land. They knew where to place themselves and which grooves to settle comfortably into. I surprised myself with how much fun I was having.

I still encountered moments of carelessness and learning, but every time I rose to keep going, I found a new frontier of challenge and eagerness resting in my soul.

I scaled big boulders, hoisted myself up and over large rocks with ease, let my fingers dance with the leaves along the way, and sang to the bees nestled in native flowers.

The world looked so vibrant and whole through this lens.

This lens of all things serving my growth.

This lens of meeting the next frontier of challenge and rising to the occasion.

This lens of all the unseen realms rising to support me on this journey.

When I finally made it to the pools, it felt like returning home to a place I visit as often as I can—the womb of the mother. The place where all of me is welcome. The place I know I will one day return to when my body is ready to let go of this life. 

The soles of my feet sang when they first touched her waters. The coldness splashed a connective aliveness into the very cells and sinews of my body. 

Taking my time, I walked slowly across her riverbanks, feeling into the fullness of what it meant to be here. The privilege of being able to be here.

I sat, I swam, I laid, I created and I played on the shores of her riverbank for hours, allowing her wisdom to speak to me. I asked questions and waited for the answers to come like a long, slow silence that settled over my bones.

The answers were so simple and profound that I cannot do them justice in written form.

I found myself weeping on her shores, allowing the waters of her pools to carry my tears downstream.

Brother Goanna, Crow, Eel, Bee—all joined to paint a beautiful exchange of messages from the beyond, from the underground, from the world without words.

I imparted my gratitude to this sacred land, and with a full spirit, and a readiness to take responsibility for the patterns of my life that brought me to this very moment, I decided to begin my ascent. 

Nature has always helped me realise when I have strayed too far from the song of my own truth. To her, I will always return, again and again.

In my loneliest moments, it is she who continues to hold me and speak life into my brokenness.

In my moments of greatest darkness and doubt. It is she who renews me with purpose, strength and truth. 

My journey back to Heathcote Station was filled with gratitude, learning, and recognizing the innate intelligence of my feet.

I let out a gigantic series of WOOOOOPS back at the cliff top as I collected my boots and walking stick.

Usually, when I hike—especially without shoes—I am so focused on the terrain under my feet. This time, I felt myself ease into a new place of witnessing and breathing in the canopy, even closing my eyes while I walked at certain moments.

The whole experience left me feeling renewed yet ancient, slightly insane but oceanically joyous and ecstatic.

I thanked the spirits of the land for holding me and for allowing me to walk upon sacred country in this way.

I washed my feet in little creeks, splashed in mud puddles, and regained a core trust in my body that I don’t remember having lost.

Five kilometres of barefoot walking taught me patience, grace, and trust on so many levels.

I have walked this trail many times before—so if you intend to do some barefoot hiking, make sure you are familiar with the places you walk.

Develop relational intelligence with the land around you and become a custodian of the Earth. Allow yourself to be guided by the magic that surrounds us.

I am so glad I let go of the need to wear shoes on this journey.

I am so grateful that I get to share this experience with you.