Walking in circles

Walked a labyrinth this afternoon, a beautifully crafted labyrinth made of stone nestled into a quiet courtyard. Labyrinths have appealed to me for years, although in practice I often walk away feeling I must be missing the full complement of spiritual genes.

While I’m sure everyone else is approaching nirvana, here’s what walking a labyrinth feels like to me:

• Getting in a rhythm is hard. I tend to speed up. Then remind myself to slow down. But at least I’m consistent; from start to finish, I’m speeding up, slowing down, never satisfied with how I’m performing.
• I forget my purpose. It’s a spiritual experience, not a competition to see how spiritual I can be.
• My head won’t stay where my feet are. I glance around again and again to see how far I’ve come and how far I have left to go.
• I’m never as close to the center as I think I am. A couple of twists and turns can take me right back to the outer edge again.
• Stepping out  of the labyrinth has great appeal. Who’ll know? Who’ll care? Why am I doing this anyway? Is this really better use of a Sunday afternoon than going to the movies?
• When I reach the center, I think I’ve “arrived.” Then I remember the center is only a rest stop and the next right thing is simply to take one more step.

The point here is so obvious I’m afraid I risk sounding flippant, or as if I’m trying to make forced, not-so-cute correlations between life and labyrinth. I’m not. I’m always simply struck that the intricacy and beauty of the labyrinth’s pattern feels, when I’m in the middle of it, so much like the ordinary chaos of being human.

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