Use it

For years I have loved this labyrinth.  It is in the backyard of someone's house, and I found it listed under Public Labyriths.  The idea that someone built this in their backyard, and also said, "Come by any time and walk this spiral," well, it is one more thing to love about the world.


I have walked it in the blazing heat, in the snow, when the path can't even be seen.  I have walked it when it is dark and night has fallen.  I have taken my daughter, and she has skipped around it like hopscotch while I adjusted my idea of walking it with her.  I have gone with my spouse when he was my spouse.  But mostly I have walked it alone, and many times, arrived at the center of it to find that I am never alone.


Once I brought a problem there and the first step I took upon the path of tiny stones, an immediate answer reverberated from within.  It was not an answer I wanted, so I wrestled it down, drowned it out by re-phrasing my question, and again, the answer that I did not want came back.  Again, I tried to speak over it, rewording the problem, stating it more clearly, and again, the answer that I did not want came bounding back.  It was the most patient answer and it struck terror into me.  It began with You already know.  And I said back I don't know I don't know I don't know.


That was long ago and the terror is gone and I am familiar, moreso at least, with that patient answer that rises from within, and also, with all the ways I try to wrestle it down when I am not ready for that answer, when I think it means harm, instead of seeing that it simply means change, no matter what, change is happening. 


Today I went to my labyrinth.  It was warm and the sky was cloudless and I was driving by the house and pulled over.  I parked my car and walked down the familiar drive and for the first time, the people who lived there were there.  They were in their backyard, in two chairs, each reading a book.  A big dog bounded up to me, a red ball in her mouth. 


It felt invasive, walking into someone's private enjoyment of a cloudless blue sky day.
But the woman smiled and I asked, "Do you mind if I walk your labyrinth?"


And she answered, "Of course.  It's kind of mess.  But use it as metaphor."


She called the dog to her, and I went to the labyrinth and it was kind of a mess.  There were clumps of decayed leaves.  Sprouts of fresh green weeds.  Branches that blocked the path.  One chunk of ice remained.  A crocus, near the side, was trying to bloom.  Several large rocks were out of place.


I used it as metaphor.  Those leaves had been there all winter, under the snow.  They were thawing enough now to become part of the earth.  I walked slowly.  I didn't wrestle anything that came up.  I took note of all the things present on the path.  I felt so glad to see it again, after guessing my steps on snowy days, making the walk from memory while the guiding rocks remained buried beneath white.   


There is a straight path out of this particular labyrinth.  But today I walked back the way I came.  My feet moved quickly, retracing the old steps but with a new bit of information, something I'd learned in a quick moment standing at the center.  More change was coming but I did not have fear.  I didn't have to say I don't know I don't know.  I could say, Okay.  And step along the tiny stones, the decayed leaves, the broken branches, the many pebbles.  Any path can be navigated with a bit of knowledge and a slip of insight.  Walking this path in the winter I had learned: sometimes you make up the path as you go, guess the steps because that's all you can do.  With snow melted, a messy path was no longer concealed and I was overjoyed at the opportunity to walk something with obstacles, something I could see.  Sometimes you bound forward, and other times, you stop every two feet, pause, look around, and take another guess step.  Spring is for vision, for seeing the bend in the road, knowing there may be a fallen branch, but feet are nimble and answers are there at every turn.