Labyrinths
As described by Lauren Artress, founder of Veriditas, a global labyrinth community, “The labyrinth literally reintroduces the experience of walking a clearly defined path. This reminds us that there is a path, a process that brings us to unity, to the center of our beings. In the simple act of walking, the soul finds solace and peace.”
A spiritual practice is essential to happiness. Sitting meditation has been at the core of many spiritual traditions, and research on people who meditate has indicated many benefits. How does a person like me sit or lie down and empty my busy mind? In short, it doesn’t happen! (Well, not very often.) My body wants to move. Taking a walk is as natural as breathing to me. Walking a labyrinth is totally different from dashing from one task to another, as we so often do in life. Walking a labyrinth invites reflection, and many layers of connection. Firstly, you connect with your body, as in other types of meditation. Begin with awareness of your breathing, and center yourself. Invite yourself to slow down and be present in the labyrinth. Open your heart to the experience of simply placing one foot on the path, noticing contact with the ground as you walk; allow your body to find its own pace, its own rhythm, walking mindfully, listening deeply, with a softened gaze, noticing whatever is happening in this moment. Often, I have meditative music playing as I walk. And my intention is to open my heart, to invite a prayerful attitude.
Winter labyrinth at Gracefield
Mystery… a liminal space, a magical time Walking in darkness, subtle light, the moon… An ancient path, alive with the spirits of all who have walked here before, and all who walk with us. At Gracefield Camp, in the January chill, a dozen of us don our parkas and snow pants, light our hurricane lanterns, and venture out into the night, while others cozy up to the fire with their knitting and sip hot chocolate. We make our way along the edge of the forest, silent but for the sound of boots on crisp snow; it’s a familiar path, yet stark and strange. Nestled in the forest, this labyrinth is usually snow-covered during the winter months; in the summer months, it is an exquisite garden path, always delighting walkers with new blossoms and surprising visions. In the dead of winter, a map, a pair of snowshoes and an hour or so of purposeful wandering in the waning afternoon sun unveils it. To a winter labyrinth keeper, this is a spiritual exercise, a pleasant time of preparation. Stillness now, then a cold breath of wind. Ann was with us the last time we made this journey. We carry her light too, remember her singing, her voice thin as she was approaching that veil… Heaviness of grief. blanket of snow Warmth of community, well-worn paths of friendship Elspeth MacEwan December, 2020
Remembering Caroline
When I was at my father’s home in February (and the house I grew up in), one of our Labyrinth Guild members was dying and so I made a labyrinth path in the backyard here. It’s the same pattern she had in her backyard, and walked until a week before she died (February 11). I have memories of walking this path in all the weather conditions of Winnipeg winter: crisp cold with dawn easing in, darkness and fluffy depth, wild wind with blowing snow, bright sunshine. When I returned here at the end of March, the path was still visible, so I walked it again - most often alone but a few precious times with others. With the moisture of melting, it became a mix of spring corn snow, thin sheets of ice, shallow pools of water, bare grass and a hint of mud, as though containing all the emotions of grief and life
