Dirty Feet

The Way of Artemis

I watched two bullies, a cowardly bystander, and a room full of cruel onlookers berate an exhausted hero beneath the heavy lights of performance and power.

I stepped outside and watched the dogs crunch through the mulch and bask in the sun funneling through the trees.

I felt the frost-kissed wood of the deck under my feet and wondered how it felt to be ambushed.

I closed my eyes, lifted my face to the sun, and prayed for my country.

I stretched a little, touching my toes that now warmed the wood planks beneath them.

I turned my ears to the birds—their song, melodic and rhythmic, even as they sang out of sync.

I wondered what has to happen to make someone cruel.

I checked the fermentation of my sourdough to see if number three is the loaf that will satisfy my standards, and wondered if the children in Ukraine will have any bread at all.

I looked down at my feet and estimated how dirty their soles must be, having walked barefoot outside.

I wondered how dirty his soul must be, having walked on everyone who disagrees with him.

I carried smoking incense through the house and walked past the dogs, Jeffrey teaching Tula about the sweet things in this life - both gazing outside, snouts offered to the perfume of the sky.

I sat, crossed one leg over my knee and confirmed the truth of my dirty soles. “Just wear shoes,” Michael might say, as I chisel hardened pine sap from my heel. He must not know how Mother Earth and I are one, and how she speaks to me, in part, through the soles of my feet.

I think I’ll tell him next time: “You know, I bet Artemis never wore shoes outside…she was a hunter and protector, and she ruled with compassion. She never married, was childless, yet still a goddess of fertility.”

I bet she never wore shoes. I bet she knew that dirty soles were far preferred to dirty souls. I think my path is exactly that: to be as deeply me as possible. Dirty feet, humble heart.

Bullies can take so much.
But they cannot take who we are.

They cannot take my feet on this earth.
My hands open to the hurting.

I will be Artemis.
Wild. Protective.

Untamed.

Bare feet, dirty soles, humble heart.