Take Five: Walking the Labyrinth
by Mary McHugh
Do you know about walking labyrinths? I didn't until I started writing my book, Walking my Way out of Sadness. I've been reading about all the different ways and places to walk, and I stumbled on a book called "The Way of the Labyrinth - A Powerful Mediation for Everyday Life," by Helen Curry. The idea is to walk with no expectations in mind, concentrating on the path of the labyrinth, just seeing what happens. A labyrinth, unlike a maze, has no dead ends. You cant get lost. Since I can get lost finding my way out of a paper bag, this appealed to me.In the back of the book, the author lists all the labyrinths in the country by state, and there are two of them in Union Square in New York City. So one day, I walked to 17th Street, between Park and Broadway, and there, sure enough, were two labyrinths, a smaller one and a larger one.
Curry had suggested flipping through the dictionary before the walk and pointing to a word at random to use as a kind of mantra while walking the labyrinth. My finger chose the word dignify. That seemed a particularly appropriate word for me since I yearn to be dignified but find it difficult, probably because I'm short. You'd be surprised at how hard it is to be dignified when you're only five feet, two inches high. Tall people stride along. I scurry along, taking two steps to their one. I have to ask people to reach items on the top shelves in supermarkets. People don't take short people seriously. As Randy Newman says in his song, Short People Got No Reason to Live.
I tried saying dignify as I walked through the first labyrinth. I used another suggestion to think into the soles of my feet, as Thich Nhat Hahn suggests in his book on walking meditation, "The Long Road Turns to Joy." I tried concentrating on my breathing. I tried using the phrase in Helen Curry's book, I am a pilgrim seeking ---. But I was still too much in the world, too distracted by the chatter in my brain. I remembered her warning to go into the labyrinth with an intention but not an expectation. In other words, I was to ask for guidance, but not expect an immediate answer to a problem.
Since my problem was dealing with the grief of my daughter's death, I asked for guidance to understand how I could best live my life without her. But nothing much happened when I walked the smaller one. It was kind of a warm-up for the larger one.
As I walked through the larger labyrinth, I just concentrated on the green, vine-like path that wound around and around. I looked down at the vine and blocked out all the city noises around me. I blocked out the in-line skaters, the three children on scooters, the sirens and city noises, people walking across my path. I just walked slowly around every turn of the labyrinth, every wind and twist of the green path under my feet. After walking and walking for minutes, I thought I must have done it wrong and was lost, but then I thought, That's silly. You can't get lost in a labyrinth. Just trust that you will eventually get to the center and keep walking.
So I walked and walked, the green path turning luminous, almost day-glo as I walked, concentrating on the path. I noticed the cherry red flowers and green leaves painted on the vine-like path. I noticed another woman starting the labyrinth. She was a plain, no make-up, sensible-looking, gray-haired women wearing a tan jacket and sturdy shoes. She started walking and after a minute or two we met on the path. I stepped aside, smiled and said Hello. She barely answered me and kept on walking. I walked and walked, feeling calmer with each step, clearing my mind of clutter, shutting out the noise of the city, enjoying the stillness and quiet in my mind.
After about five minutes I arrived at the center. I turned around slowly, feeling peaceful and happy. I looked down at the ground at first and then lifted my head and saw, really saw, what was all around me -- people hurrying along on their lunch hours, children darting in and out of the walkers on their scooters, one in-line skater showing the other how to dance on skates. I stood for another minute or so, just relishing the feeling of quietness and stillness here in the middle of a busy square in the busiest of all cities. If I could do that here, I could do it anywhere, as the song says.
I could take this lovely peace back home with me.
Reluctantly, I left the center of the labyrinth, and walked slowly back out again. This time I reflected on what I had learned on this walk: concentrate on the path, not on the goal. I had heard this lesson in one form or another almost all my life, but it didn't really sink in until I walked this fascinating way. The idea is, of course, that you must exist in the here and now, enjoy the process of what you are doing, don't miss the present for the future. Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, today is a gift and that's why its called the present. I knew all that, but most of the time I think about what Im trying to accomplish, and sometimes the actually doing of my work becomes drudgery. I lose the joy of writing, the pleasure of each lovely day left to me in this lifetime. The labyrinth just reinforced that lesson.
For the first time since Kyle died, I felt more hope than sorrow. If I could remember to live in this moment, relishing this meal, this day full of sunshine or rain, this tender touch from my husband, this laughter with a friend, this hug from a grandchild, my life would be a collection of golden experiences building up day by day, helping me bear my sadness, paying tribute to my daughter who knew each day might be her last.
As I walked away from the labyrinth, I turned for one last look, and the lady in tan nodded and smiled at me. Something had happened to her too.
I'm collecting walking experiences from other people, too, and would love to hear from you about your own. Please e-mail me and tell me about them.
Email Mary with your walking experiences. We'd love to hear from you. There are several website that will help you locate a labyrinth: http://pw1.netcom.com/~rlucas/labloc.html and http://home.earthlink.net/~mahanj/labloc2.html
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