In the chill of winter I’ve been compelled sometimes to grace my feet on the inside over a carpet or linoleum, wood or tiled floor. Come to think of it, my feet have contacted many a surface. With my many hours behind a desk today, I decided most affirmedly that I’m going to hit asphalt, concrete, and maybe spots of crystal ice. I was downtown bound. The thing about Yonge Street is that with its linear length it somehow encourages speed, if the cold doesn’t, so I hit that trail. Pedestrians are plentiful, it’s the weekend approaching. Everything is a buzz. People are paired up in talking to each other. The cold seems to be transcended.
I reminded two cold phobic persons earlier in the day that in India yogis are known to travel to the north for their self realization, often in the shelter of a cave, brrrr!
I am wrapping up things for the winter pilgrimage to India, bound for Mayapur, not north, but on the eastern side. I’ll be walking on sound earth and sand of a sacred kind. There’ll be granite and marble temple floors, cold on the feet in Feb. But I’ll keep swaying and dancing before the deity, keeping warm.
The feet will various surfaces. There will be a variety, and that is the spice of life.