I was sitting
deliberately
cross-legged
on the carpet,
listening to a
divine lecture,
each word felt
like light
falling in
my heart.
As I gazed
down,
my attention
drifted towards
the movement
around me
so many feet,
each searching
for space in
the crowd.
There’s something
special about feet.
They perform
classical
conditioning
on the pilgrims.
Each step a
response and
stimulus to
the next,
saying “Come.”
In mosques,
temples, and
churches,
people take
small, reverent
steps toward God.
Each foot quietly
follows the
imprint of another,
as if reinforcing
belief,
creating a path
of shared faith.
The ground
becomes sacred
not because
of what’s built
upon it,
but because
of all the feet
that have
stepped on
it with devotion
each one distinct
in size, pace,
weight, and
locomotive
ability, yet
move toward
the same purpose
carrying people
through rituals,
toward altars,
toward prayer.
They become
silent guides.
Perhaps this is
why sacred spaces
are always crowded
not just with bodies,
but with the energy
of countless footsteps,
layered one
over the other.
In divinity,
one foot invites
another,
and by these holy
increments,
faith multiplies.