Monday's Labyrinth - Alone and Changed

A uniquely beautiful labyrinth and a the most remarkable tree that is both dead and alive at the same time

Today’s labyrinth was one that I had to go alone.  Scout has been with me since last Monday on these but today she couldn’t come along.  The labyrinth today is an incredibly unique one at a retreat center in Indiana.  But as amazing as this center is, there’s one drawback - they don’t allow dogs.  Sigh.  So it was just a quick trip out there for a few hours and then back home.  What is unique to me about this labyrinth is that the path is the grass and not the gravel.  Most others that I have seen that are a mix of the two have the plants as the dividers between the paths.  Not this one.

What is lovely about walking this labyrinth is that it is perfect to walk barefoot and to feel even more of the experience, especially for someone who struggles as I do with understanding feelings (cough...enneagram 5...cough...feelings, what are they?).   It was a warm early March day and so I did walk barefoot today and felt each step differently than the other labyrinths the last week or so.  And I walked it alone and that was ok because sometimes alone time is necessary in grief and loss.  We sometimes need others around us and other times, we need to make parts of the journey on our own.

I noticed something else about this labyrinth today.  Other times I visited, there was a small sign at the entrance to the labyrinth that simply said “Enter Here.”  I used to snicker a bit at the sign because I thought, “well, where else should I enter?”  But today the sign was gone.

And again, like with grief and loss...there are plenty of resources (books, people, etc) that can tell us how the process should go but no process is the same and how we should enter it.  But each path is unique.  There is some overlap yes but each is different.  So, I appreciated the lack of a sign today as it spoke to me of the unique path that was mine today, and this week, and this past year.

When I reached the heart of the labyrinth this morning, I sat down on one of the three stumps (which I’ve wondered if the people who crafted it meant to imply that the Trinity was at the heart) and I simply took in the stillness of the space.  I heard a woodpecker in the distance, birds singing and chattering, and distantly the humming rattle of some kind of power machinery.  But mostly what I heard was my deep breathing and being present in that moment and the primary feeling for me was gratitude.  It wasn’t loss or sadness but gratitude for Bonnie, for Lisa, for Phil, for Drew, for Lynne, and for so many others that I could name.  But gratitude for the beauty that was each one of them and how grateful I have been to traveled some part of our lives together.

After about 30 minutes (?) I slowly walked out, noticing the first few green blades of Spring starting to poke out of the dormant grass.  I know that in a month or so this labyrinth will take on a new beauty in the deep green of lush grass but right now it was just the few sprouts reminding that is it in a beautiful but not yet stage.

But one more thing from this all-too-brief time at The Springs this morning.  I took one of the trails through the woods back to my car because I wanted to go by one of the most amazing trees I have ever seen.  I wish I could have a conversation with this tree because it is incredible and I truly don’t know how it is still standing and is still alive.  I would love to hear about who it once was and what it once looked like.  And I would like to know what happened to it. It is also a tree that I have found nearly impossible to photograph to really give a sense of what it is like.

It is a tree that seems to be both dead and alive at the same time.  The trunk is completely hollowed out and yet there is that piece on the right side that is alive and branching out and seemingly thriving.  In Spring and Summer, that right-side part is in full bloom like the rest of the trees around it.  That tree was grievously wounded at some point - lightning, infestation, something.  But yet here it is...somehow still alive and branching out.  I am sure it is still fragile but it seems to continue to withstand winters, storms, winds, and anything nature throws at it.  I think I have shared this quote previously, but MaryAnn McKibben Dana writes in her book on hope about one of her running coaches who told her that “it doesn’t get easier, but you get stronger.”  Life is not easy for this tree, but it seems to have stayed strong regardless.  Here’s a video of this tree for some more detail of it.

The tree is not what it once was but it has been transformed into something new by whatever happened however many years ago.  It is truly remarkable.

But even with the unique beauty that it is, I don’t know if the tree would say that it prefers this to what it once was.  It is too easy to simply pull out Romans 8 or Romans 5 with something like this and say “all things work for good for those who love God and are called according to God’s purpose” or “suffering produces endurance and endurance produces character and character produces hope.”  And while God can work through pain, suffering, loss, and grief, it doesn’t mean that God puts those things in our paths in order for us to grow.  But instead God helps us to grow through (or sometimes in spite of) those seasons.

So today’s labyrinth and path away from the labyrinth - our unique journeys towards something new even through the hard hard roads.

And one last pic...Scout did need a walk this morning so we did a short walk and saw this perfect mirror moment..

.GPLJ,
Ed

PS - Here is the 2022 Labyrinth Walk from here at The Springs

MaryAnn McKibben Dana

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