A few years ago, a gorgeous dogwood tree in the communal backyard of my living complex had to be cut down to make way for the construction workers who had been hired to rip down our dilapidated old porches and construct new ones. This saddened me because the tree really was beautiful, especially in the spring, and because it wasn’t impinging on the additional space that would be taken up by the expanded porches. Rather, it was simply in the way of the machinery needed to do all the work.
But while the majority of the tree had been cut down and removed, the trunk remained and pretty much immediately it began sending up new shoots, branches, and spring blossoms. Granted, it all looked a little higgledy-jiggledy at first, but the persistent new growth each year was encouraging.
Jump ahead to this spring, 2024, and it looks pretty much like a normal tree. If you didn’t inspect it too closely, you’d never know it had been chopped down just a few short years ago. I’m grateful to once again be able to drink in the beauty of Mother Nature represented by this dogged dogwood tree.
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! ☺️
Lenten Labyrinth Learnings, Part 1A year or so ago, I learned from a cousin of mine that there is a website listing all the labyrinths in the world. (Well, maybe not every. single. labyrinth … but it sure does include a lot!) I remember thinking then that a cool Lenten discipline would be to walk a labyrinth every day, preferably a different one each time. Turns out Baltimore has dozens within a 25–mile radius. So this Lent ended up being my year to give it a go.
I was familiar enough with labyrinths to know and understand the basic idea of them being a metaphor for life: a journey with potential obstacles along the way but if you keep moving forward, you won’t get lost and you’ll eventually reach the center (i.e. God, Spirit, the Divine, Nirvana, Shalom, etc.) with times along the journey getting you very close to the center but then the next turn or two taking you far away from it again. I also knew that walking a labyrinth was a means for introspective contemplation, which made Lent a particularly appropriate time of year to engage in this kind of experience.
So I began my daily journeys on Ash Wednesday, and I’ve purposefully kept my expectations low with no real agenda. I’ve opened myself up to whatever was given to me with each walking.
Some observations so far:
~ Simply deciding which labyrinth to walk each day has been its own kind of journey. The Baltimore area is blessed with an embarrassment of labyrinth riches. Taking time to plan which one to explore each day has been a joy I hadn’t expected. In the 2.5 weeks of Lent so far, I’ve had business outside of town twice. Ooh … let me check the Labyrinth Locator (https://labyrinthlocator.com/) to see what’s offered in DC, Columbia, Wilmington … And obviously not having been able to take advantage of every labyrinth in those locations on these particular trips, I’ve even been inspired to tuck away information for future walks the next time I visit them.
~ Even though the website gives some details about each labyrinth (like the size, number of circuits, construction materials, sometimes even a picture), I’ve purposefully ignored those specifics so that each experience would be a surprise, beginning fresh immediately upon my arrival, with no preconceived notions. As a result, it’s been like opening up a wrapped present and delightfully discovering in the moment what that day’s gift will be. The variety of construction materials alone has amazed me. Who knew there were so many ways to build a labyrinth? Brick, stone, cobblestone, cement, dirt, grass, pavers, gravel—of various sizes—slate, dirt, concrete, mulch, plants … I’ve loved the anticipation of wondering what that day’s labyrinth would look like and how, if at all, those aesthetics would impact my walking experience.
~ I’ve also been especially interested in what, if any, instructions or explanations have been provided. Again, I’ve found it fascinating that there have been so many different takes on what a labyrinth is, what it’s for, and how to prepare for and then experience it. The Hopi Indian-inspired labyrinth encouraged listening to the sounds of nature. The university labyrinth explained the journey as designed to encourage contemplation as well as problem solving (or simply to help the walker slow down and reduce stress). A community garden location invited pilgrims to allow their spirit to be refreshed. Labyrinths on church grounds tended to focus on God/Holy Spirit, transformation, and wholeness, sometimes offering a variety of scripture verses along with encouragement to pray.
The most challenging walk so far has been at American University. This labyrinth was located outside the campus Spiritual Life Center, which was at one end of the main quad. That meant, there would likely be a lot of surrounding activity, and that was certainly the case when I was there. Of course, there was no activity on the actual labyrinth itself (!) so I was able to walk it unencumbered. But there were plenty of aural distractions to test my contemplative patience and skill. Of course, I could hear the murmurings of many conversations between the multiple people passing through the quad but benches butting up against the perimeter of the labyrinth allowed me to hear specifics (“My sister is at USC. I’m so proud of her …”). Apparently every Tuesday from 2:00-3:00, the Spiritual Life Center offers Tea Time for students to drop in and drink some tea, enter into conversation, and get a break from their busy week. My visit happened to coincide exactly with this weekly event so I got to hear the chipper Spiritual Life worker (hoping, I’m sure, to lure students in for Tea Time) greeting everyone who passed by with an enthusiastic, “Happy Tuesday! Happy Tuesday! Happy Tuesday!”
There were also at least three campus tours that ended up within earshot. One of them stopped just shy of standing on the outer labyrinth ring. “This is our main quad,” explained the tour guide. “That’s the library at the far end with the Spiritual Life Center at this end. And this,” he said as he pivoted about 90 degrees to his right and gesturing in my general direction, “is our maze.” Oh, I couldn’t let that go! “No, no! No, no, no! This is a labyrinth. A Lab-y-rinth. Very different from a maze!” He looked at me blankly with a does-not-compute-does-not-compute look on his face, paused only a moment, and then picked right back up with this script, which had already moved on from “the maze” with absolutely no follow up or explanation as to what it was or why it was there.
I have no idea how many of the people in his group knew what a labyrinth was, or how it was different from a maze. But if the curiosity of even one of them was piqued to the point of researching it later on, or if the tour guide (fingers crossed) was inspired to correct and expand (fingers doubly crossed!) his script for future tours, then the educator in me will feel like those 15minutes were not wasted. Because I sure didn’t get much introspective contemplation in that day!
Writing Prompt: Murmurings of Spring