That picture up there is an actual picture of the one we visited. It is 94 feet in diameter and built of stone and wood chip. This one is particularly nice because it is so large, it took about an hour to walk the entire thing.

If you've never walked a labyrinth, it can be quite an experience. This one, like others we've experienced, is shaped like this:

You walk the path as it winds all the way in, spend as little or as much time as you wish inside, and then travel back over your steps to exit.

When I travel a labyrinth, I do not talk. At all. It takes me about 3/4 of the way in to get my mind to stop thinking words too. Sometimes I can't shut my head off. I begin by thanking God for all the things that I have, and of course, that uses words, albeit unspoken. Then I try to focus on the experience. I try to experience the labyrinth as a smaller model of life itself.

By eliminating my words and just absorbing any and everything I see hear smell and touch, all of my senses seem keener. My sense of hearing is enhanced for sure. I can hear my own breathing, I hear the wood chips crunching under foot. I hear birds and crickets, I hear the wind in the trees. I heard the children from the church grounds. Two young girls, somewhere around the ages of 6-8 were deeply embroiled in an intellectual conversation. One of the girls was having a hard time, it seems, and said that at times she felt like she had hurt feelings. The other girl told her that she was sorry she was having such a hard time, and the first girl replied that at least she now had her own little brother. It made me smile. Such a large conversation between two such little girls.

A little guy in a yellow shirt tried to disrupt me, he had to be about 3 years old. He excused himself, quite politely, and explained that he had to run through because he had to run with Ben, his brother...his brother was Ben and he had to run with him. And then he ran and ran, calling out for Ben to stop. Ben didn't stop. Ben (perhaps 4?) was busy looking for corn in the nearby field.

I kept my focus well today. I keep my head down, trying to look at only my feet. By doing that, I keep my eye on the path I am on. My peripheral vision is very good, and by focusing just on where my feet are, I am also able to take in and appreciate the boulders that line the path, I can see a few steps in front of me, I know with a few steps' warning that a turn is coming. I can see fallen twigs, over which I must step. I can see where the feet ahead of me have scraped away the mulch. I see the various weeds and wild flowers beginning to sprout up. I see, I notice, but I change nothing.

Occasionally I bend down to touch a rock that seems to need touching.

As MOTH and I occasionally cross paths, we silently reach out our hands and touch. When I deep in the zone, as I was today, I can hear our skin's contact. I keep my footsteps even and steady. Not too fast. I fight back the occasional urge to look up and see how much further I have to go on my path. What is my hurry? So I don't look at how far I've gone or how much is left, I try to appreciate the now of every step.

One a good day, like today, the labyrinth is very much a replica of life. MOTH and I took the entire trip, stayed on our path, made sure we touched each time our path's crossed. Another woman, I don't know if she was older or younger, began after we did. She didn't make it the whole way. I didn't look for her, but when I finished, she was gone. As I was on my path back out, I sensed a small pair of feet rushing up behind me. Out of the corner of my eye as I turned a bend, I saw that I was being closely followed by Ben. He was right on my heels. I could hear his feet, I could hear his breath. He kept my pace. At one point his father called for him, but he replied that he was "taking the walk." He stepped on the back of my shoe twice. I smiled. He made no attempt to pass. He stayed with me for quite a long time for a little boy too hyper to wait for his little brother to catch up to him earlier. As I turned another bend, I stopped, turned to Ben, smiled, and extended my hand for him to pass me. He smiled at me, and handed me a large fluffy dandelion puff. I accepted it, nodded silently, and smiled to him, and he then led the way for a bit. His pace quickened. Each time we passed each other, we also touched hands. Eventually, his little legs had to run, and he was gone before I finished. As I exited, I place the gift Ben gave me on the first large rock (or the last large rock depending on how you want to look at it I guess), as a gift for the next visitor.

There are many ways to walk a path. One can stay the course, absorb and acknowledge and experience everything that there is with all of your senses. You can skip over the path, by doing so missing bits and pieces of potentially valuable or important stuff. You can run, blurring all of the individual treasures upon the path into one image. You can take shortcuts, stepping over the rows and making the end closer. You can quit before the entire trip is completed. You can linger, linger so long that the path loses its one-ness and continuity.

I choose to walk the entire path with conviction and appreciation, with awareness and awe. I take care to not disturb the path, but I am not afraid to touch something if it seems the thing to do. I do not look far ahead and in the process lose track of what's right in front of me. I do not anticipate the end, rather I am ready for it when it eventually presents itself. I leave with my heart full and my hands and pockets empty.

Yes, for me the labyrinth is much like life.

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