A few days ago I walked over to the University of St Catherine's, which is only blocks away from us. My mission was to walk an outdoor labyrinth.
This time my experience of walking a labyrinth was different from any other time I've walked one in the past.
While the question I pose when I stand on the threshold is never the same from one time of walking to the next, and it is also true that the insights I gain are unique to that specific walk, at least I am always able to follow the path. I know I will not get lost on my way to the center of the labyrinth, and I know, unlike when I enter a maze, that I will be able to find my way out of the labyrinth.
That was not the case this time.
I found the entrance and before taking my first steps, I closed my eyes and took a deep cleansing breath. I waited for my mind to clear and for whispers of what I most needed to ask to float through my heart.
"What do I most need to know about this time?"
The walk from the entrance to the center is considered a time of releasing. What do I need to let go of? What do I need to shed? What has outlived its usefulness? What is weighing you down? Walking to the center is a time to lighten the load in whatever form it currently takes in one's life. It is a time to empty, to clear the space.
As I took the first few steps, I thought about the ways I hoped to use this time of social distancing and self-isolation. All the writing I could do. All the books waiting for me to read. All the other projects, and all the people I could connect with on the phone or by writing a letter, a real letter. (See an earlier post here.)
The message I carried with me as I stood on the threshold was "Be productive. Use this time well."
But what have I experienced in recent days? Well, a different need has replaced my optimistic plans. For the last few weeks my father has declined, becoming weaker and weaker, and needing more care. Needing my presence and the presence of my family.
What I needed to understand was that now was the time to release, step by step, all my self-proclaimed expectations and thoughts about what I could accomplish.
But that's not all.
The path on this labyrinth had not been tended and the path's stone borders had sunk into the ground and were overgrown with dried grass. The turns were not clear. "Is this the turn to another circuit or do I continue going forward?" I wondered. I soon felt confused, even lost. I tried reversing my steps, hoping to see where the path was leading me.
Eventually, I moved directly into the center, hoping that would help me see the path.
It didn't.
The way forward was a mystery. Unknown. Unfamiliar. Unclear.
Ah.
And that apparently is what I most need to know right now.
I stood in the center, even though I had not followed successfully the labyrinth's path, round and round each of the circuits, and I took another deep cleansing breath. The invitation of the sacred center is to receive. Because the walk to the center is a time to release, room is created to receive. There is space for something new or surprising. Clarity. Vision. A new idea or perspective or a solution to a problem. That doesn't always happen, of course, but just being there sets the stage for a new awareness and reminds me to stay awake.
I have no idea what the next hour or day or week or longer will bring. For my father. For all of us, you and me, all of us, as we face these uncertain days. All I can do is remember to breathe and to stay awake to what I need to release and to the gifts waiting to be received.
An Invitation
Where are you on the labyrinth? Releasing? Receiving? Returning? I would love to know.
Savor.
That's the word I received on a recent labyrinth walk.
The labyrinth itself was small and almost shabby, untended, and I was disappointed when I saw it. The location with driveways and parking on either side of the slim slip of green where it was located wasn't very private. There wasn't even a bench nearby where I could sit and write in my journal after walking the labyrinth.
But there I was, and I felt a need to walk a labyrinth.
I had spent time thinking about a question to bring with me as I crossed the labyrinth's threshold. Questions like
How am I to use my energy right now?
How am I to live in this season of my life?
What is my calling right now?
What needs to be liberated?
What is your desire for me?
As I stood at the threshold, it occurred to me that those questions seemed too big for this humble labyrinth. I envisioned walking a labyrinth like the one at Chartres; a labyrinth that would fit the scale of my yearnings, my unsettled questions; a walk that would inspire deep and lofty insights. How could this labyrinth with its woodchip path and overgrown plants reveal the perfect response to my search for clear direction and purpose? I reminded myself, however, that the woodchip path was defined by stones someone had carefully placed, and I thanked them for their effort, their devotion to the journey. I took a deep breath, and told myself to walk humbly with God.
I walked slowly and stopped frequently, but still I reached the center of the labyrinth quickly, and I thought about how quickly the years have passed and how the coming ones will pass just as quickly, I'm sure. It was then on a wisp of breeze the word came to me, "Savor."
Say that word aloud. Savor. Doesn't it taste good? The taste of honey, of melted chocolate, really good chocolate, or the feel of fresh sheets on the bed or the smell of a rose or lavender you brush against as you walk by or the sound of soft background music, barely heard.
Walking out of the labyrinth I always hope a plan will be revealed, an action to materialize, but that didn't happen. The path out was just as humble.
The word "savor" lingered on my heart.
Savor what I have.
Savor each day.
Savor the simple and humble gifts of each day.
Savor what is right in front of me.
Savor and dwell in the Presence within and around me.
Savor the walk, the steps, the journey, the path.
Savor this season--of the year, of my years.
Savor.
An Invitation
What are you invited to savor? I would love to know.
NOTE: After today's post, I am going to take a brief break. I will be back Thursday, January 4th.
I intend to enjoy these sacred days of Christmas and to enter the New Year rested and relaxed. I wish the same for you.
I made an assumption.
If you read my Tuesday, December 12, 2017 post, you know that one of my Advent practices is coloring the outline of a labyrinth. I decided to do this as a way to stay calm and focused during the busy Advent season. I don't spend time coloring every day, but when I do, I enjoy deciding the colors to use and how far that morning's "walk" will be.
One day last week I thought, "Wow, I better get moving or I will never get to the sacred center by Christmas. That morning I swooped around more curves than I had previously. The day before I had accomplish several Christmas tasks and I felt freer. The way seemed clearer.
But, my husband, who knows me so well, said, "What makes you think the center is Christmas?"
I sputtered. To myself, fortunately, and said something about how I would need to think about that.
I am thinking about that with the help of a meditation in Jan Richardson's book Night Visions, Searching the Shadows of Advent and Christmas. She describes how Advent is a season of preparation, a time of getting ready for what lies ahead. I assumed that means Christmas Eve and Day, the celebration of Jesus' birth.
Yes, that is true, but Richardson also invites me to discover what else this time is preparing me for?
What is the way that is being prepared within
the wilderness of my life? What does it mean
for my own life to become a path, a way of
welcome for the Holy One? How do I give
myself time to notice the ways that the path
unfolds before me and within me? What are
the acts of preparation that bring delight to
my daily life? Whom do I ask or allow to help
me prepare?
I am preparing to dig into a major revision of my spiritual memoir. This stage of writing my book means I need to go deeper into my own material and I need stretches, rather than snatches, of writing time. I know doing that will require some changes in how I spend my time, and I will need support as I walk this labyrinth.
This is a time of preparation, and my intention is to keep walking this labyrinth, step by step.
An Invitation
What are you preparing for? I would love to know.
Walking a straight line on a sandy beach is not easy. The sand shifts and gives way as I walk, swallowing, capturing my feet. Even so I relish the coolness of the sand, the softness, and even how it clings to my skin and hides between my toes. I am awed by how the sand shifts and gives way as I create my own path, but when I look back, the sand has nearly filled in the indentations of my footprints. Had I really been there?
Sand seems to welcome movement. In Zanzibar many years ago I celebrated my 50th birthday by practicing T'ai Chi on a beach, my dancing feet creating a crevice. Years later I led a circle of women on a Captiva beach in that same T'ai Chi meditation at sunset. We formed spiral patterns, our feet becoming one with the sand.
Soon, however, water and wind erased all signs of our presence on the beach. No, sand is not a firm foundation, and yet the way it shifts and gives way forces me to pay attention, just as the ashes I received in the form of a cross on my forehead at last week's Ash Wednesday service reminds me to pay attention to the sacredness of life. When I returned home, I washed the smudge of ash off my forehead, and the next day no one knew I participated in the ritual marking the beginning of the church season of Lent, just as the beach no longer carries a sign of my presence.
But I know I was there. Both on the beach and in the darkness of the sanctuary.
I walked a labyrinth recently. I felt each measured step, pausing at each curve, reviewing the many twists and turns of the last couple years in my life. I moved forward easily and lightly not worrying about when I would reach the center--a new sensation for me. Often when I reach the center of a labyrinth I am hungry for revelation, for insight and direction, but this time it was enough just to be there. I had not doubted my ability to get there, but nonetheless, it was good to actually arrive.
And then it was time to walk back out, to retrace the steps I had made, but there were no visible steps. The path was clear with no sign I had made the journey. Had I really walked that pathway? Had I really been there?
I am reminded of something Luci Shaw says in her book Adventure of Ascent, Field Notes from a Lifelong Journey:
http://www.lucishaw.com
Why do I struggle to find meaning in everything I
see, and everything that happens? I'm wishing I could
learn to simply attend to what is there, and then to
open myself to being seen and enlightened by God.
Might this become the place of balance and
peacefulness? p. 77
She goes on to quote Annie Dillard.
We are here to notice everything so each thing gets
noticed and Creation need not play to an empty house.
If I could lighten my desire to find meaning, to have a presence and to leave my mark, I suspect I would experience more peace and be more able to pay attention and to notice the shifting sands.
An Invitation
At what times in your life have you wondered about the meaning of your life and if and how you have left a mark? What have you done to find peace as the shifting sands fill in your footprints? What spiritual practices enhance your ability to notice and pay attention? I would love to know.
A Gift
In case you missed it, this essay by Oliver Sacks recently published in the New York Times is well worth reading. http://www.nytimes.com/2015/02/19/opinion/oliver-sacks-on-learning-he-has-terminal-cancer.html?_r=0
Thanks to my graduation from walker to cane and a boot on my broken ankle, I now go up, and I go down. Six weeks after surgery for a broken ankle, I can now go up to my office garret on the half story of our house, as well as go down to the lower level family room.
Step by step.
Preparing
Standing at the bottom or the top of the stairs, I think about the many times I have walked a labyrinth. Before entering the labyrinth, I set an intention and offer a prayer for the journey. How appropriate that seems now. I have shown over the last weeks that I can live well on the first floor--with great help from my husband and other family and friends, of course. I adjusted to the space and gathered what I needed to live as fully as I could during those weeks of limitations and confinement. But now another kind of movement is possible and necessary. My intention is to rebond with other parts of the house, with other parts of myself, as well as to encourage my healing body to rebuild strength and stamina. I offer a prayer of trust, "May I trust the Holy beyond and within me to hold me securely," and one of gratitude, "May I be grateful for the ongoing healing of my body and spirit."
Sometimes when I walk a labyrinth, I whisper a mantra, as I do for centering prayer. My father's physical therapist when instructing him about going up and down stairs after he had surgery a year ago said, "Up with the good, down with the bad." The meaning, of course, is to step up with the strong leg, and when coming down to lead with the leg which has had surgery. Ah, my new mantra. "Up with the good, down with the bad."
The Way of the Labyrinth by Helen Curry advises, "Don't rush this moment. Let it fully envelop you. When the stillness is complete, the moment will follow, naturally and at its own pace." And so I prepare to leave one level and step by step move to another level. When ready, I use the handrails and my cane and proceed cautiously and slowly and in doing so, my physical world expands. Practical and yet profound movement.
Doing It!
This, too, is holy. As I move with great attention or "gracious attention," as Lauren Artress says about walking a labyrinth, I realize step by step I am in the midst of a body prayer. My body is conversing with the Divine--amazement at how a body is capable of healing and a promise to take as good care of my body as I can. I move step by step, bringing my whole body, including my breath, to this process, taking nothing for granted.
Sometimes when walking a labyrinth there is moment when I wonder if I will ever reach the center and then all of a sudden, I am there. That's how it seems with the stairs. Before beginning, the number of stairs feels a bit daunting, but then all of a sudden I am there! The moment is almost thrilling. I am here! I made it!
Solvitur ambulando….It is solved by walking.
St Augustine
No doubt it will be awhile before I can tackle spring cleaning or go up and down the aisles of Target, but I can go up and down stairs and that feels major. Physical movement becomes spiritual movement.
An Invitation
What step by step journey have you been taking lately? In what ways has your body been your teacher and your guide? I would love to know.
I walked a labyrinth today.
A labyrinth is an ancient sacred design with a simple pathway leading to and from a center on a single path. Unlike a maze, in which you can get lost, there are no tricks and no short cuts in a labyrinth. The way in is the way out.
The Labyrinth as a Spiritual Tool
The spiritual practice of walking a labyrinth allows the mind to relax and become aware. By meditatively walking a labyrinth we can be led to ourselves and therefore, to a deeper relationship with God, the Sacred, the Divine. Walking a labyrinth can create balance and calm within or can mend your heart and help you find wholeness and healing. As you experience a labyrinth, you are invited to discover the sacred in everyday life.
Choosing to Walk a Labyrinth Today
As preparation for retirement, my husband and I have a plan: sell our home here in Madison and instead, rent an apartment here until he retires fully. At the same time we intend to buy a home in St Paul where the majority of our friends and family, including my 90 year old father, live. A clear plan, but apparently, not so easy to accomplish.
Our home has been on the market for well over a year. We have had more showings than I care to acknowledge. We have lowered the price more than once. We have had many people express interest, but the magic has not happened, and we are weary and discouraged. We need a break.
Along with this ongoing stress, my father has had two surgeries recently, and we are in the process of moving him from his home of 40 plus years to a senior living apartment. He is willing and eager to do that, but all of you who have had this experience know the challenges. I repeat, we are weary and discouraged and we need a break!
Today we took our house off the market.
Today seemed a good day to walk a labyrinth.
Today's Labyrinth Experience
Madison Christian Community, located not far from our home, has an outdoor labyrinth, and that's where I headed. I must admit I didn't expect to see a labyrinth that appeared so untended and bare, but I mused that the state of the labyrinth might match my inner spirit at the moment. I stood on a slight hill above the labyrinth and thought about how easy it is to lose one's way, and I prayed I could find my center once again.
Before walking the labyrinth, I sat on a nearby bench and thought about what I hoped to gain or learn as I walked. How marvelous it would be if the labyrinth were a fortune-teller gazing into a crystal ball. "My dear, I see a new house in your future. You will sell your home soon, very soon. Trust me." Instead, I prayed that this quiet time would help me restore some spiritual balance in my life. That I could find my own rhythm again. That this symbolic pilgrimage would help me build strength and energy for the months ahead. That I could be assured that our hopes and dreams, our plan, will be fulfilled. A lot to ask, and then I wrote in my journal one more request:
To be surprised.
More than One Surprise.
Usually, when I walk a labyrinth it takes time to find my own rhythm and not feel wobbly on the narrow path. Normally, one is advised to walk the labyrinth slowly and deliberately, and that can take some focus and concentration. This time, however, I was surprised at how fully at ease I felt on the path. My arms hung easily and naturally at my sides, and I just walked as if I were strolling along my familiar neighborhood sidewalks. That was surprise #1.
Surprise #2 was discovering the clarity of this path. From a distance I had wondered if I would be able to find my way, for it looked so overgrown. Would I be able to see where to turn, for example? I was relieved to see how clear and distinct the path really was in spite of the weeds. I noted, however, my desire to tend the path, remove the dandelions, neaten the way. No surprise there!
Surprise #3 was how quickly I arrived at the approach to the center of the labyrinth. In past experiences I have been astounded by how long it seems to take to reach the center. I usually wonder if I have lost my way and may even have repeated part of the path. Often, when it seems I am almost there, the path swings further away from the center, and I begin to feel as if the center will never be attained. That was not true this time. I was so surprised when I arrived at the center before I expected to be there.
Entering the inner circle, I heard words whispered within, "Be prepared to be surprised." Being prepared and being surprised seem like opposites, but at the same time being prepared can mean being open to whatever surprises occur on the path.
As I walked out of the labyrinth, retracing the way in, I gave myself credit for being more balanced than I had been feeling, and I felt more energized and stronger than when I had started. I reminded myself to experience fully the path beneath my feet right now and to remember that what is worthwhile is not necessarily neat and well-tended. I rejoiced in the surprise.
An Invitation
If you have walked a labyrinth, I would love to know your experience. I invite you to leave a comment.
If you have not walked a labyrinth and would like to do so, here is how you can locate a labyrinth near you. Labyrinth Locator
I have written about previous labyrinth experiences before on my blogs. You may want to read Walking the Labyrinth at Chartres and Take Your Soul for a Walk.
Last winter when a trip to Paris was proposed to celebrate our 40th wedding anniversary, I wondered if a side trip to Chartres would be possible. For years I had heard about the labyrinth on the floor of the cathedral in Chartres. I knew the story of Lauren Artress, an American Episcopalian priest who is largely responsible for creating interest here in the US in labyrinths as a spiritual tool. She visited Chartres Cathedral in hopes of walking the labyrinth only to discover that it was covered with chairs. Determined to walk it, she and her companions moved the chairs and now because of her passion the labyrinth is once again available.
I dreamed of walking that labyrinth myself, but was it even near Paris? How hard would it be to get there? What would I do if my husband and our dear friends traveling with us didn't want to go? Would I be willing to go by myself? Yes.
Information about when it is possible to walk the Chartres labyrinth was not readily available. However, Rick Steves, the contemporary god of travel, came to my rescue in his Paris guidebook. He gave all the pertinent information for what turned out to be an easy day trip by train from Paris, especially the fact that Fridays are the only time the labyrinth is not covered with chairs --and not always then. On the internet I discovered a woman who led tours from Paris every Friday, but not that Friday. Why was that? Was that Friday one in which the labyrinth would not be available? Well, we had one Friday in Paris and if it was meant to be, I would walk the labyrinth.
We enjoyed the train ride to Chartres, admiring the kitchen gardens, open fields, window boxes, tile roofs and cream stucco homes, and I took advantage of my captive audience to share what I knew about labyrinths as a spiritual tool, since my companions had not yet experienced a labyrinth. Once there we took pictures of the cathedral's gargoyles and angels. We appreciated the gardens and sent best wishes to the bridal couple being photographed. We walked the entire perimeter of the cathedral not sure where to enter. I could feel the anticipation and some anxiety build within me. What if it isn't accessible today? I was almost reluctant to find out, and I realized how often that is my response: to prepare and build and then at the last minute hang back, fearing disappointment or even unworthiness or a lack of self-confidence.
My first view inside the dimly lit cathedral was one of chairs. Row after row of chairs. My heart sank, but I took a deep breath and told myself, "Oh well, at least I am here, and this is sacred ground." Bruce was ahead of me, however, as he usually is, and he discovered the uncovered labyrinth where many were walking. I would fulfill my dream.
I sat in the dark, opening myself to an intention. What did I hope to learn? Did I want insight about writing aspirations specifically or about the next stage of my life generally? I prayed for openness, and then I entered the labyrinth. The path was crowded. I noticed four young adults moving slowly, like parts of one body. A caterpillar moving slowly, deliberately. Pilgrims, I assumed. I was surprised to see Bruce walking and at times we were on adjoining circuits, passing each other easily, closely. When eventually, he went around me moving quickly on the path, I felt a jolt of loss, of being left behind. I reminded myself to find my own rhythm, to let go, to breathe, to relax, to open, to be here now.
Many moved swiftly, not really following the path, cutting across the circuits, even talking as they did so. I am used to walking with those who do so intentionally, understanding the sacred nature of this practice. I sent blessings, but only after reminding myself to be tolerant and to remember that we each have our own path.
As I moved towards the center, I thought of all those who have walked before me and those who will come after me, and I prayed for all those I have accompanied on other labyrinths. Once again I felt a reluctance. Was I ready for the center? Had I prayed enough? Let go enough? Was I empty enough to receive?
I always hope once in the center for a neon light or a loud ringing directed just to me. "Nancy, your next step is......." Instead the voice, the knowing I receive, if in fact there is one in that moment, is most often subtle and general. This time a familiar theme was repeated. "Live your life. Do what you need and want to do. Be grateful for all the gifts of your life." But this time there was even more. "Don't be too flexible. Act from your essence." Hmmm.
The walk out, following the path in reverse, was lighter. I didn't know exactly how I would live the whisperings inside my heart, but I felt a certain assurance that I would indeed find my way.
Oh, and how's this for "meant to be"? Soon after we finished walking, the labyrinth was re-covered with the chairs. Thank you Spirit, for this dream fulfilled.
A few days ago I walked over to the University of St Catherine's, which is only blocks away from us. My mission was to walk an outdoor labyrinth.
