Lenten Labyrinth Learnings, Part 2
A big part of the joy my labyrinth walking is providing me this Lent is in discovering what delights, challenges, and invitations each new labyrinth presents each day. Whether in the size or number of circuits, the varying construction materials and surrounding ambience, the unique descriptions and suggested instructions posted on placards at the labyrinth’s entrances/exits, and even the difficulty level involved in actually locating each labyrinth once I’m in the general vicinity, I’ve been open to it all and it’s been fascinating.
I’ve also been open to changing that up. Recently, therefore, while enjoying the gift of a rejuvenating 10 days at the beach along the NC coast, I didn’t have access to multiple labyrinth options. Luckily, there was one only 1.5 miles away. So I adapted my Lenten practice for those days to walking the same labyrinth while there on retreat. And that was delightful as well.
First of all, the setting was lovely with coastal flora providing a cozy and peaceful cocoon of sorts around the circle. There was an attractive and well-maintained brick patio flanked by a tasteful half wall directing walkers through the trees from the church parking lot to the labyrinth. And while it was close enough to the main island thoroughfare to hear traffic, as well as the sounds of construction occurring across that road, the songs of the birds in the nearby trees tended to be more prevalent and conducive to a spiritual experience.
My main question at the start of this week and a half was how different it would be to walk the same labyrinth every day after several weeks of daily surprises. I wasn’t prepared for the daily surprises continuing. True, I was technically walking the same labyrinth every day but it actually wasn’t the same labyrinth every day.
Sometimes it was covered in leaves from the windy storm the night before; other days it was completely devoid of leaves altogether. Several days I walked in my bare feet (the labyrinth was concrete with darker-colored concrete marking the borders) and not only did the temperature of the concrete vary depending on the time of day and thermometer reading, but if there were some leaves, and they were still a little damp, they’d stick to the bottom of my feet for a time, providing a natural protective sole. A couple of times the gray day misted my hair and then there were the sunny days when the rays poked through the overhead trees causing the canopy shadows to dance along my path.
Once, I skipped through the labyrinth; another day I walked out backwards. One time I took small enough steps to ensure that the lead foot was firmly grounded before picking up the rear foot and my last day I danced along to the Latino music the construction workers across the street were playing. Most days I was by myself but on three occasions some of my retreat participants joined me—first two others, then one other, then three, sometimes all within the labyrinth at the same time and other times waiting for each other to finish before starting.
From day one, there was an altar of sorts in the center and, daily, I studied it closely upon reaching this halfway point of that day’s journey. It was made up largely of shells—different shapes and sizes—but there was also a bouquet of fake maroon flowers, a baseball, a 6-inch cross inscribed with “Love is patient. Love is kind. Love never fails” and a moss-covered rock supporting a Mexican coin and another cross ensconced in a clear plastic oval and inscribed with the word: JESUS. Later in the week, a little rubber ducky was added and there was one day when the whole arrangement seemed to have been tidied up and slightly adjusted. But for several days at the beginning, that display didn’t seem to change at all, and I took those occasions to look more closely so as to encourage myself to find something new.
That’s when I discovered a spider web inside one of the conch shells, made more visible by tiny drops of water from the recent rain that were now glistening in the sunlight. On my last day, I saw the teeniest little spider crawling over the rock. Was she the one who had spun the web? I noticed the unique grooves and carvings some of the shells bore, revealing a glimpse into their histories. One day the Jesus cross was gone; but it was back the following day. Where had it gone? Who had moved it? Why had they taken it? And why did they no longer need it in their possession? So many questions!
I always journaled about my experience afterward and what I noticed was how many times I used the word noticed! “Today I noticed …” “I also noticed …” “Then I noticed …” “Finally, I noticed …” So I concluded that, among many other delights, discoveries, and gifts, perhaps the main offering I received from my St. Francis by the Sea labyrinth experiences was an invitation to NOTICE:
- ~ the obvious and the obscure
- ~ the natural and the human-made
- ~ the delightful and the mundane
- ~ the constants and the variables
- ~ all the gems hiding in plain sight, if I’d only take the time to notice.
NOTE: The etymology of the word “notice” is connected with information, knowledge, and intelligence and descends directly from the Latin “notus,” which means “known.” I’m most interested, however, in it also being related to the past participle of “(g)noscere,” meaning “come to know, to get to know, get acquainted (with).” There’s a cordial, amiable, chummy sensibility around a relationship that develops as a result of “getting acquainted with” someone or something. I feel like being able to spend multiple days in a row with this one labyrinth and its various features did indeed allow me to not only “get to know” it, but to warmly and affectionately “get acquainted with” its unique personality. What a gift! ☺️