On walking the labyrinth, 2014
You take a step forward, and another, still not sure you’re on the right road. And yet, there is something deep inside you urging, this way. The child-in-you is afraid. You look around for confirmation, for some wiser, older “adult” kind of person to nod “yes.” If only someone else would fall into step beside you, someone who could take your hand and tell you who you really are and where you’re meant to go. Instead, every morning you wake up and set out once again, a fumbling beginner on the path of awakening.
The road is full of travelers. (You think: Does everyone else have this all figured out? Am I the only one who’s lost?) You can – and do — follow in another’s footsteps for a while. But ultimately, you have to find your own way. This life, this trail through the wilderness, is a creative journey: your own. It’s full of unknowns; no map or guide is going to tell you what’s around the next corner. All you know for sure is that the view isn’t ever quite what you expected. The plans you make? No guarantees, no promises.
And so you have no choice but to proceed on faith. Little by little you learn to trust: the murmurings of your own heart, the wisdom in your own two feet, the forces at work in the world that are larger than you. What you need, you have. What you want changes moment to moment.
Road-weary, you begin to let go of the wanting and the craving. You move more slowly, more quietly – taking time to listen, to look, to wonder. Befriending the silence, you turn away from the chattering voices in your head. You see into the depths of things. And what you come to understand, as your pace slows and your heart opens, is that not all desires need to be met. That there is a kind of beauty in accepting yourself as you are, your life as it is, the path you are already on.
Once you slip through the net of your own fears, there is mystery in every step. Out here, in the open space between the “yes” and the “no” of judgment, you discover the treasure that’s been yours all along: your life is filled with grace. You stand still for a moment, overcome by the shock of it. You weep. You look around, through new eyes, and are suddenly filled with compassion for all those who are walking ahead of you, behind you, beside you. There is nothing to do but love them all. There is no other place to be but here. There is nothing to feel but gratitude.
A New Year’s Wish and Benediction
My heartfelt thanks to all of you who have joined me in this space, to read and write and share this magical journey that is everyday life. You are the ones I keep writing for. As long as you keep showing up to read, I will show up, too, deeply grateful for your company. May we continue to travel well together, to support one another along the way, and to celebrate the gift of all our ordinary days. Blessings to you and yours in 2014 and beyond.
(Each New Year’s Eve morning, volunteers in our town painstakingly tape this labyrinth onto the floor of the town hall, creating an exact replica of the famous 13th-century labyrinth at Chartres Cathedral. In silence, townspeople arrive throughout the afternoon, New Year’s Eve, and New Year’s Day, to walk the path and reflect. It has become a special tradition in our family. Yesterday, as I traveled through the labyrinth with my husband and son, I was surprised by the emotions that came up. Such a simple ritual. And yet, so much mystery. So much beauty. So much.)
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