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  • Recently a friend asked me this question. "What did you come with that caused you pain? The crack in your soul that you're trying to fill?"

    I’ve been thinking about it - the crack as he calls it, and it boils down to this. At some point I was given the wrong shoes. Imagine going through life wearing shoes that rub and blister and pinch; that trip you and cause you to stumble when you need to be walking tall (OK -tallish) with your face to the sun. And imagine accepting that, because doesn’t everyone have to walk in the shoes they’re born with? Isn’t that life?

    Then one day you begin to notice other people’s feet. They have shoes that dance and click and shine; shoes that cause sparks to fly from the pavement., that sound like songs being born. They have shoes that enable them to climb to high places. They have shoes that are scuffed and battered and moulded to the shape of their feet; beautiful shoes that know how to navigate the road as it rises and falls, shoes made for joy; shoes made for love; shoes made for peace; shoes that fit.

    You realise something is amiss, and you begin to desire. You dare to entertain the possibility of shedding the hard, painful lumps of leather that dig into your flesh. You contemplate how it would be to exchange them for shoes that could take you to places you’ve glimpsed at the extreme edges of your vision, or in dreams when the night lies thick and soft upon the face of the earth. So you begin hacking away, lump by lump, peeling off the shoddy matter that clothes your feet, and it hurts, it burns, it is bloody at times, and you wonder if you’re making a mistake, but it’s too late to stop so you keep pulling and tearing and suddenly, la, a toe is freed, and then another and another after, wriggling with delight at the warmth of the air on bare skin.

    And there they are. Your feet. The universe on which you stand.

    Friend, thank you. I want you to know, I am changing my shoes.

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