Last week I got an email with some lousy health news from
a friend. I happened to be in a café in Cupertino, so after I read the email I
packed up my kit and drove to Saint Jude’s Episcopal Church a few blocks away.
They have an outdoor labyrinth—not a very big one, they certainly could have
done more with the space—but it’s the closest one to me, and it’s serviceable.
Labyrinths help me when I have things
to sort out. Not for nothing are they referred to as a walking meditation.
And I have things to sort out.
Yesterday I walked it again and was struck (again) by what
an amazing metaphor for life labyrinths are. The path folds back on itself so
many times—you move forward, then you turn and seem to head back where you came
from. But it’s actually never quite the same.
I also like that every time you reach one of the turns,
if you pause and look straight ahead, the view you get is different from every
other turn. If you’re looking ahead, the view actually changes with every step.
But I pay attention at the pauses. Focus, even.
(Yeah? Well, you
try it with a brain like mine.)
I’m not always successful at freeing myself from things,
but I always leave the labyrinth feeling like my breathing has improved.
No comments:
Post a Comment