Walking meditation

Labyrinths have come to me a couple of times when I most needed their help. A couple of years ago I’d been going through one of those grotesque periods that convince you Kafka wrote the script for your life, and Dalí is designing the set. I was participating in Reston’s annual Habitat for Humanity walk that ended at St. Anne’s Church, which, it turned out, had just dedicated its labyrinth the day before.

The only thing I really knew about labyrinths was the Theseus myth and some of the medieval history. I’m not actually a candidate for the contemplative life—the term butterfly brain was coined with me in mind. But I was drawn to the labyrinth and took my first walk.

It was an extremely powerful experience. My body temperature shot up, I started shaking, and tears kept spilling out of my eyes. And I left the sanctuary feeling, well, different.

The labyrinth experience is a walking meditation. Although the form has been around for millennia, they became a part of Christian ritual during the middle ages, when pilgrimages were all the rage. For those who couldn’t afford the time or expense of a trip to Jerusalem, Rome or Santiago de Compostela, the labyrinth built in to the local cathedral floor allowed you to make a symbolic pilgrimage.

To my surprise, I found that most of the time in a labyrinth, I was indeed able to focus more fully on things that were important—without whirling round and round in worry. It’s as close to meditation as I’ll probably ever get.

The thing about the labyrinth is that, as convoluted as it seems, there’s one path to the centre, and one path out. It’s not a maze, which is created to confuse; it’s created to focus.

I decided that, as messed-up as my life was, I could make the labyrinth my contribution to the community, and became a Labyrinth Keeper. LKs set up and take down the labyrinth (a canvas one that was constructed to fit in the altar area). One always stays on duty to help walkers if they find the experience overwhelming.

Being a LK steadied me, gave me something to focus on and provided access to the labyrinth monthly.

As part of my work, I researched other labyrinths and came to know the outdoor one at the Church of the Holy Comforter in Vienna. Starting about a year ago, I walked that labyrinth about once a week—heat or cold, it kept me going. Some walks I seemed to miss the mark; others filled me with new strength.

I’ve made an effort to find a labyrinth to walk in cities I visit. Through March I’d walked at the Association for Research & Enlightenment, Virginia Beach; Grace Cathedral, San Francisco; and St. Margaret, Palm Desert.

When I came to Seattle for my interview last June I found two outdoor labyrinths. I walked the one at Unity of Bellevue the evening before my marathon interview, and the one at St. Paul’s Seattle the morning after—when I’d got the offer. Unity’s is made of stones, which had been kicked around, so you couldn’t follow the pattern, and St. Paul’s is very, very small.

Still—they were something, although not a patch on Holy Comforter’s.

A few months ago I went in search of labyrinths that didn’t require I cross water or go to Tacoma to reach. It wasn’t a rewarding Saturday. Two were no longer around, and the only one I did find turned out to be in a seriously dodgy part of town, dedicated to recovery (which I’m sure is a hot topic in that neighborhood).

You can’t really concentrate on a walking meditation when you’re keeping your eye out for muggers or car thieves.

There are supposed to be outdoor labyrinths on Bainbridge or Whidbey Islands; but that’s kind of a schlep. And, as the names denote, you have to take a ferry to reach them.

Suffering from lack of access to a labyrinth, when I saw the ad in last week’s local Redmond throw-away paper (not the Bellevue one I usually read) for a New Year’s Eve walk at the Lake Washington United Methodist Church in nearby Kirkland, I decided I had to go.

It’s the best I’ve found so far. Or perhaps it’s just the right one for this point in my life. The setting, in the church hall, has been completely thought out. There are chairs with paper and writing implements for you to write or draw your response to your walk. They set up paper and pens for you to write out an intention for the New Year and carry it to the center of the labyrinth to leave in a bowl.

It’s exactly what I needed to close out 2008.

If you’ve not walked a labyrinth, it would be worthwhile to see if there’s one available near you. If not an outdoor one with open access, many churches have monthly walks for their indoor ones, like St. Anne and Lake Washington United Methodist. They’re open to all—no need to be a believer; just a sojourner.