Christmas Eve a year ago. My mother sighs : 'where are you going to celebrate Christmas next year, will you have food and a shelter?' Fear feathers irritate my stomach, but my Soul Shoes tell me to go. One woman, after just having closed the church door, in a holy (perhaps) manner, announced 'such a stupid idea would never occur to me'.
But we dared to go. Dared to follow the new, our own unpaved track. We sifted the jar of tips and suggestions, not following anyone blindly. We walked our own soul road despite the fact that to someone it looked too short or too straight, too fast or too rocky, or slippery.
The saint or the sinners, the wise or the fool, willing to warn, advice or help, may err. No one of them is in your Soul shoes, because they solely have their own Soul shoes. Sometimes they are dirty and neglected, but some are shiny and spacious. Bet they are theirs. Your soul shoes might be worn out, but they suit you. If anyone says they tried to wear them and now they know what does it mean, they only think they can. Your shoes to them were still too tight or two capacious, and soon they might have gotten blisters. They don't know what does it mean to wear a day, a week, a year...
If you desperately try to look at somebody's shoes, remember: scarlet high heels may look very elegant, but the blue toes inside impatiently waiting to be free. Maybe your shoes out of season, maybe the laces are wet and dropped down, but they are the most precious and the most comfortable.
