It had been a long time since I’d walked the labyrinth at Grace Cathedral. So Friday I went. Bonus: Karma Moffett improvising on the Tibetan bowls, bells, and horns. A rich soundscape and a silent walking meditation. I was thrilled to once again dive in.
You enter this sacred space and begin to walk along the winding path. Like any meditation, it brings up all your stuff. I saw impatient people pass others to rush to the center. Others stayed a long long long time in the tiny center, even though many others were waiting. I felt myself judging, then gave it up. There will be space when I get there. No worries.
This is a pilgrimage in miniature, the feet following the crenelations of the brain rather than long torturous mountain paths. I fell into fascination with the stillness and the steps. I loved watching our shadows and hand gestures as we all walked together. Some held their hands in prayer, close to the heart. Others clutched clunky shoulder bags. I held a wisdom mudra with thumbs touching index fingers, hoping to catch something good.
I was happy for the company of strangers. I’d left my spiritual circle years ago. I wondered about people’s reasons for walking. Some are ill, I thought. Others are suffering in other ways. Some, like me, are missing God.
As I walked in, when you are to let mindchatter fall away, all these characters and scenarios for a short story kept bubbling up. I noticed those ideas and focused on my feet in thick wool socks kissing the expertly laid terrazzo. Others wore shoes, and besides the Tibetan bowls and bells and the resonant long horn, I listened to the footfalls. The sounds echoed and bounced off the high cathedral ceiling. The silence wove in and out among us.
I remembered my friend Barbara telling me about Michael Bernard Beckwith, a spiritual teacher who reminds us to ask God how He/She/It wants to see itself in us. The answer I got, when I finally reached the center of the labyrinth, was Painting with Words. So here I am writing and thinking about cooking dinner.
