My Labyrinth Experience

We weren't sure whether the Labyrinth walk would be indoors or outdoors until late in the day, when the rain cleared and a breeze blew some of the sticky humidity away.

I was early, but Fr. Jim and Missy had everything set up, so we could just stand in the beautiful space and amiably enjoy each other's company.

The Gilberts arrived, and we looked up and saw about ten bald eagles circling above the clearing. There were jokes about not standing exposed in the meadow or we might be carried off, but then Emily said the best thing, which is that the eagles looked like they were walking the labyrinth from above, which they exactly did. Once they left, they didn't return while we were walking but many other birds' songs accompanied us.

Fr. Jim described the process of asking permission to hold the event, and of finding out that the parking lot belongs to The Refuge, but the labyrinth is on the other side of the small road and so belongs to the Friary.  When they went to inquire, the first two people they talked to didn't know what they were talking about, but the third one did because he said he mows it, and that sure, it was fine if we wanted to use it.

More gathered, about 16 of us in all, and when it was time, Missy called us to attention by ringing a bell, a practice I adore.  She started with an introduction of what we would be doing, and shared many of her experiences, to illustrate that there's no one way to walk, and every walk can be different.  She also added a great phrase to illustrate the difference between labyrinths and mazes.  I had picked up from previous conversations that labyrinths, being just one path, don't have any dead ends or reversals - like, you won't find yourself back at the start and outside the thing by accident, spit out, ejected.  But she said, "It's not a maze, you can't get lost."  You can't get lost.  She said if you did happen to step off the path and get on the wrong course, just keep going! She also said that she liked to open herself up to the sounds around, and if there was a car, just incorporate it into the experience - what does that remind you of?

She said she had written down a prayer, some lines from Psalm 25, which we might want to carry with us or say to ourselves as we walked.  Or we might like to say the name of a person, to hold them in our heart (this hit me with a little emotional stab, the first spiritual shudder of the experience). Some people might want to skip, or sing, and all that is fine, there's no wrong way.

Fr. Jim taught us how to draw a Classical Labyrinth (the other form, the Medieval Labyrinth, which is the one that's on the floor in the Cathedral of Chartres, was on the t-shirt he was wearing). I missed a crucial step of the drawing instructions because I had faded back to take a photo of the group, but picked it up from the paper instructions later on, and actually managed to draw a seven-course labyrinth today so the lesson stuck.

Classical 7-course Labyrinth, which I can now draw

Medieval 11-course Labyrinth at Chartres Cathedral

Stephanie took us through some breathing exercises, recommended for calming the busy mind and centering us in our bodies and in the present moment.  It was a nice blend of her yoga instruction expertise and Christianity - she taught us mantras that have exact parallels in scripture, including one that goes "So hum", which is an "I am", which applies both to us and to God.

Missy then kicked off the walking. She asked Stephanie to start people off at the entrance, and keep us apart so we would have sufficient space and not be running into each other.  She pointed out that she had placed some bubbles, like, for blowing bubbles, at the center, and that she liked to use bubbles at the center because she liked to send something up, like a prayer.

For those not yet walking, she invited us to explore the table full of things she had brought - clay and silver finger labyrinths, and one elegant one that you walk with a beautiful silver stylus; labyrinths to color in, journalling notebooks (which I picked up, and from which notes I write this post).  Different types of wind-chimey bells, which I don't know if any of us carried but several people walked around the perimeter with them, and they made a beautiful, soft, fun background soundtrack.

I decided to start. Stephanie greeted me at the entrance and suggested how to time my entry so I didn't run into Susan who had gone before me.  She suggested taking three breaths before you enter, to adopt an attitude of respect for the experience.

The first thing you do is a straight, so you walk directly in and are walking toward the center, oriented to the center, before you take your first left turn.  I walked in the style of the Walking Meditation that we had used at the start of the second Deep Listening Walk - as slow as you can, don't pick your back heel up until your front heel is down.  This very soon became a walk as if I was on a tightrope, or on a balance beam like the women I'd been watching in the Rio Olympics a few weeks ago.

Balance.

My focus was on the grass just in front of me, and I put one foot in front of the other and then put my arms out to balance, and was making pretty ballerina shapes with my arms and my hands to keep myself steady, and it was really, really fun.

Play.  Circus.

I was reminded, once again, which I always forget, that to be "at peace", to be "oneself", to be "in the moment", to be "okay with just being", does not necessarily mean to be somber, downcast, serious, like a lead weight. When I am most me, I am playful and energetic.  The somber and downcast state that I feel is being prescribed for me is what takes me away from myself.

I wasn't really self-conscious, because I was attending to not causing disruption for anyone else's walk - not making noise, not flailing my arms into the course beside me where someone might be trying to walk in a different way.

There was music in my head the whole time, too, in time with my steps, but circus music.

It is true that you can't tell where you are with respect to your destination.  You get a feeling that you're getting close to the center and then a turn will take you all the way around back to where you started.  Because I was having so much fun, this was wonderful - there would be no scarcity of experience.

Because our labyrinth was mowed into grass, the corners were sort of irregular, some of them pointy, some squared off, some blobby circles.  I used their shapes to improvise lots of different flamboyant turns - pacing off the corners, spinning a full turn and then around far enough to grab the next path, a version of a three-point turn like you'd do in a car.  I almost took Emily out while executing one of these, because she was passing on the inside just as I was backing up, but I don't think she noticed the close call, and it was all good.

As I worked over to the far side, I got into a more settled state.  You can't help but think of the path as representing a life. I remembered the twirling and playful balance beam walking, and I was now more settled, but it was okay, it was like a memory from one's 20's, but still part of me - and I did realized, strongly, that I would be passing back that exact way again once I had reached the center and was coming back.  I think this is an important feature of the labyrinth - no experience is lost, you know that you will pass this way again.

I did look up, at various intervals, to different vistas, arranged orthogonally around me.  There was a bank of trees, with some sort of critter rustling in it, as it got darker. I saw Jorden walking Gillian's little white dog around the perimeter. I saw Missy walking with bells.  The most stunning vista was back toward the entrance - people I love, arranged around the meadow, either walking or finished walking and standing by, with a large weeping willow tree, lit by the golden and rose colored sunset.

I was thinking I was probably more than half way when I met the first person coming back.  This was very strikingly like being greeted by elders, by ancestors, by those who had gone before. This was a very powerful feeling.

I thought, will I be at the center now? And there would be another turn. Now?

And then suddenly I was there, at the turn to the right and the straight that clearly led to the center point, which I could easily see.  And I stopped, with another stab of emotion, thinking, I'm not ready!

I stopped, and turned and regarded that beautiful willow and the sunset and the people I love.

Others passed and it was actually getting a little crowded, and I thought, well, and I turned the other way.

And then I saw Sarah there, blowing bubbles, and I thought, it's alright, because Sarah's there.

I remember those footsteps very distinctly.  One after the other heading to the termination of this walk, and thinking, oh, well, okay, this is what this is like, I'm doing this.

As you can tell, that whole last length represented the end of life and the journey to death.  It couldn't help but represent it.

I arrived near the center and Sarah was blowing bubbles which were so perfect and beautiful, reflecting the evening light. I put my hand out and touched a couple of them, and they burst, and so those prayers didn't go up, if that's where she was sending them, but I thought (with the front part of my brain) that it was okay if I took some of her bubbles for myself. I hope that's true. The last one, I just put my hand behind, and it was like looking at the world itself, that sphere with my hand behind it.

I blew some bubbles myself after Sarah walked on, in several directions, for the others still walking the path.

Leave something behind for others to remember you by.

Now the walk back seems shorter in my mind. I did notice that I was one of the last ones walking - that balance-beam walk turned out to be a slow way of doing things.

The song in my head I tried to change, different fugue variations for each course as I turned each corner.  Walking a musical composition into being.

I had a punk rock moment in which I thought about what it would be like to just diagonally walk across all the courses and head in a straight line to the exit. One certainly could do it, the patches of grass between the courses were only like two inches high. I thought it, but I didn't do it, and didn't feel like doing it.  The borders weren't real borders, but the feeling I had for them was respect.  I felt respect for the borders and the path and the walk, and the way to get back to the exit even though it was going to take a while.  It helped me feel how it would feel to be punk rock but still respectful. You can just walk across the lines, but I didn't.

I did wonder what it would be like to take big steps, so did so for a bit and thought, "Silly Walk," like John Cleese.  I wondered what it would be like to go fast, so on one of the longer stretches, where I could see no one was in front of me, I jogged for about ten steps. I could tell it would be fun.  You get more absorbed in the rhythm of your feet because they're falling faster, closer together, and the cluttered thoughts get more effectively blasted out of your head.  Because it's on grass and uneven, it might be dangerous, ankle-risking, but I'm still interested in going back sometime and trying it for comparison.

The word I had when I came out was "Effervesce."  To truly be my true self, that's what I need to do. When I'm being my true self, playful and happy with pretty ballerina arms, I feel like a glass of champagne with bubbles rising.

Missy had said that Fr. Jim would be available for administering Holy Unction and healing after the walk, "because for some people sometimes it brings up stuff."

I asked him after my walk if he had administered a healing prayer to anyone, and he said no, and I asked, "Do you want to do one?" because my ankle did worry me, from last year's injury.  He had some Chrism oil, which is usually used for baptism but he said he brought it because it smells good. I would say sort of patchouli-y, and the scent stayed with me all night, although no one mentioned it.  Patchouli-y, but subtle.

He free-formed a prayer, which skill I greatly admire and feel like I'm one of those people that don't know how to do it and need a prayer book to read from, he free-formed a prayer which addressed my ankle but also my job search, and questions about life, and, "I'd say", he said, "worth", which I think is fair.  A phrase I wrote down in my little journalling notebook was that he asked God to help me walk "safely and confidently".

Safely and Confidently.

It was dark by the time we helped them pack up the things and the tables, and the mosquitoes were biting and there was reason to hurry.  We all sort of lingered at the cars when saying goodbye.