Walking Meditation

"First one foot, Oma, and then the other one."  This instruction from 3 year old Asaka was given with furrowed brow, hands up and palms open, watching from the bottom of the stairs.  I grasped the rail with both hands and pulled my way up, left foot first, then joined by the right foot on the step. "Be careful, Oma!  Go slowly!"

My New Legs

Eight weeks into two broken ankles I am learning to walk up the stairs.  For the first 3 or 4 weeks there was no going up the stairs at all.  Then my feet were strong enough, in my big cast-boots, to help me scoot up the stairs on my bum (ridiculous and sometimes humiliating, but I was glad to join the family in the dining room).  Now a big change:  the boots are replaced by smaller air braces, allowing for more flexibility and stability.  Now I can walk up the stairs, first one foot, and then the other.

I keep my walker close by, especially when the children and the dog are underfoot, but after a few days in the air braces, I am feeling comfortable enough to walk a bit without help.  The words "comfortable" and "walk," however, need some redefinition.

"Comfortable" used to mean "feels good."  Now it means "without significant pain" if I'm talking about the physical sensation, and "I can breathe through this" if I'm talking about the fear factor.  "Walk" used to mean, well, just walking without thinking about it much.  Now it means something entirely different.  Now, walking is an exercise in mindfulness.

Before I take a step, I check the floor for toys,evaluate the trajectory of movement of others, and my own carefully placed position in space.  My body is turned in the direction I want to go - no rotation allowed unless it is in short steps while hanging on to something.  Leg lifted just enough so the toe clears the floor, foot placed flat down.  Heel-toe movement will come later.  The feel of the floor under my foot is glorious - a step!  Go through the checklist, and take another.  I'm walking!  With each step I inhabit my body completely and am fully present to my activity and myself.  Thoughts don't wander, conversation doesn't register, I know exactly the intention and the effort of every muscle.  I am here.

This is a gift I could not have anticipated in this time of injury and healing.  Movement, my own simple movement through space, is offering me an experience in mindfulness that in healthier times I struggle to achieve.  In other times, when my days are full of things to do I find it challenging to slow down that monkey mind and just be where I am.  Now I must be where I am.  Knowing that the days of fully regained mobility are coming and that built-in walking meditation will cease, I soak it up, trying to integrate this awareness more permanently into my being. 

Asaka's admonition about "one foot and then the other one" made me think of a children's book by Tomie dePaola with a similar title, Now One Foot, Now The Other.  It's about the relationship between a little boy and his grandfather.  First, the grandfather taught the little boy to walk, then a few years later, after the grandfather had a stroke, the roles were reversed and the little boy was the teacher.  You can listen to the story here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xlhS4YuLOQE.

I am learning to walk again, and although my brokenness is not as traumatic as a stroke and the recovery period is shorter than for other disabling injuries, I welcome the help of the children.  Eleven month old Kiyoko is cruising on furniture now, showing me how it's done.  Could be that she and I will be independent walkers at about the same time.