Labyrinth, a brilliant metaphor: each circuiting step a way of making conscious my yearning for Home. When I begin walking the labyrinth, it brings me close to its center. I am just a breath away, a cheater’s step. I come so close, my yearning is nearly fulfilled, but not: not yet. I learn and re-learn that the path home is a readying one of softening the heart and opening the eyes, so that wisdom’s eye will merge with the source of radiance. I measure each breath, each sway, each step and each almost mis-step, as I sense the teasing closeness to my core and then find myself back again on the surface.
Inner/outer/outer/inner: all circuiting paths; some shorter, some longer, as I turn, losing mind-sense and finding deep sense. Sense: everything makes sense as I move in and then out again: sensing how-very-close-but-not-yet-there I am.
Whenever possible, I walk the labyrinth in my backyard. I can’t remember how long I dreamt of having a labyrinth, or how long I yearned for it. Dreams unanswered burn holes in the fabric of my core. I skim above them, never quite touching Home.
What is this dream of Labyrinth?
The labyrinth’s power resides in movement, and in its complexity of pattern. Shifting from inner-ness to outer-ness, and back to inner-ness, reflects the fluidity of my internal states. Challenging ego-centered fixations, I circle, like the hawk, with my eye on my own center-point. Round and round I go, tempted by the aura of sweetness and drawn to its nectar, only to be torn away. The labyrinth challenges me to hold myself solidly and to restore balance in the face of being pulled away.
When I step onto the labyrinth, I notice. I notice presences. I notice the energies, efforts and inspiration that brought, and continue to bring, it into being. I feel the footsteps of all who have come to walk this path, and I sense their prayers and intentions. I step again and again in their footprints.
My labyrinth teems with life: insects crawl, fly, and buzz around me; birds caw and sing; leaves rustle in the breeze; scents of herbs and flowers beckon. I notice beauty in color, in form and in marvelous multiplicity. I notice creation itself in the sun’s daily rising and setting, and in the subtle turning of the seasons. I notice vibrant, fluid processes—ever-changing and ongoing.
I notice all that I have imbued with meaning and that imbues me with meaning. I notice meaning itself. At the center, I know that I have all that I need, and that I am all that I need to be. I rarely feel so directly connected to my own essential being. I, who can feel so alone, find a profound sense of companioning: I feel myself loving and loved. I feel great gratitude. I thank those people whom I know and those whom I don’t know, who have preceded me in coming to this path and whose inspiration I now carry. And I thank those whose paths I will have the privilege to inspire and whose prayers will one day join with my own.
The journey to Self is never straightforward; nor is the journey to Spirit. Labyrinth is the path of surprise, of exalting the unexpected, and aligning my core with sacred intention. Wherever I look, flashes of light energize my steps: everything seems an emanation of the divine.
On the labyrinth, I find myself spontaneously praying: each time a new prayer comes that I chant over and over as I am walking. Today, I begin with Creation:
Source of Being, bless me with knowing I am
never far from Your first, continuous
inspiration; and join my small breath
with Your big breath of creation.
Pathmaker, I offer you my lostness, my yearning.
Guide my steps as I circuit through my day,
seeking my own creative potential;
inspire me and bless me with perspective.
In my turning, contracting and expanding,
I glimpse you everywhere, as my breath deepens
and my path fills with holy sparks.
Source of Life, in your presence, I am whole
and no longer separate from You.
With the confluence of path and prayer, Labyrinth truly is my way Home.
On the labyrinth
it is only a matter of placing
one foot after the other.
Simple steps from outer edge
to the center, winding and
unwinding, round you go,
on a path deemed long ago
to be sacred.
Take worries to the labyrinth,
and as you turn, you might
breathe them into a stone, as
the Incan Shamans teach:
one hard breath for each care.
Then leave the stone on the path,
letting go, letting go.
Walk close enough to the chime
hanging from the high tree branch
and singing in the breeze.
When the birds join in,
you have a chorus.
Seek what finds its way to you.
As you walk, your breath deepens.
Prayer may come. Tears may come,
or the most mundane thought.
Sometimes the sky opens up,
opening your heart with it.