The Rhythm of Light and Dark on the Labyrinth

Labyrinth at the Chadwick Arboretum on the Ohio State University Campus

I spent the past week in Columbus, Ohio taking a class at the Methodist Theological School of Ohio and was blessed to work with United Methodist Church/Community Development For all People and the Global Community United Methodist Church.  We had Friday off to work on our Saturday presentation.  I took a break and walked this beautiful labyrinth.  It was hot!  And yet there was a gentle breeze.  Silence descended as soon as I walked toward the path.

I really enjoyed the way the stones of the path were laid.  It was a traditional 11-circuit Chartres-style labyrinth but it was a little different, an interesting juxtaposition of square stones in a circular configuration.  There was a small space between the stones down the middle of the path and it helped me to balance my steps.

As I prepared for this class in Ohio, I began to think a lot about spiritual direction on the margins.  What would that look like?   I've been pondering this question and I decided to bring my chaos and all my thoughts to the labyrinth.  

I started my labyrinth walk at the entrance in the shadows of the trees, walking slowly and deliberately, letting my thoughts wander.  Suddenly I walk into the light and its warmth, so bright I almost couldn't see the path.  It "woke" me up, and I continued on in this rhythm of shady darkness and sunlight brightness.  

Everything that happens on the labyrinth is said to be a metaphor for life ... As I settled into the rhythm of the path, I began to think of "knowing" and "unknowing."  There are many things I want to know about the inner shift that I am feeling in my soul and my life but as I moved to the rhythm of light and dark on that very hot day, as I slowed in the shadows and sped through the sunny spots, I began to sense a peacefulness in the quiet darkness of the shadows.  Lingering, I became immersed in God's presence.  

When I reached the center of the labyrinth and perhaps the center of my own soul, I stood very quietly.  I stepped into each petal looking outward and after drinking in the beauty of the world from that perspective I turned, stepped to the center and looked down, breathing in the God-space.  

Around the circle I went until my circle was complete.  I stepped out, back onto the familiar path and simply enjoyed the gentle rhythm of light and dark as I walked out. 

Someone asked me the other day, "What does the labyrinth "do" for you?"  I honestly don't think I gave him a very good answer that day, but I have been thinking about it and here is what I would say today.  The labyrinth doesn't do anything "for" you.  But if you are open, you may experience ... something.  At the very least, you have committed to walk a certain distance and that is something.  Your walk may be awesome.  It may be Spirit-filled.  It may be reflective.  It may be healing.   It may be peaceful.  It may be ordinary.  And ... it may be nothing.  Whatever it is, that is your experience.  

Today, I would say, "if you get the opportunity, just walk and experience what you experience."  Nothing more, nothing less.  What about you?  Have you ever walked a labyrinth?  What was your experience? 

Perhaps the next time (or the first time) you walk a labyrinth you might read this quote from The Cloud of Unknowing ... and find rest for your soul in the rhythm of light and dark.

Let that quiet darkness be your whole mind and like a mirror to you. For I want your thought of self to be as naked and simple as your thought of God, so that you may be with God in spirit without fragmentation and the scattering of your mind.  ~A quote from The Cloud of Unknowing

Finding Silence on the Shores of the Beach ...

(After the resurrection) Jesus revealed himself again 

to the disciples by the Sea of Tiberias ...  

when it was already very early morning, 

Jesus stood on the beach ... John 21:1, 4 (NET)

It may be that Jesus spent his most important days by the Sea of Galilee (also called Sea of Tiberias) wandering along the shore, drifting in the water, listening to the sounds of the waves rolling in and out.  There is something quite mesmerizing about the natural flow of water, sometimes gentle sometimes wild.  Of course, I have no idea whether there are waves on a sea like there are on the Gulf of Mexico.   Perhaps there is nary a ripple more often than not.   Yet, I read somewhere that the Sea of Galilee is known for its violent and life-threatening storms.   As the story goes, Jesus calmed a storm on this sea by simply saying, "Peace, be still."  

Peace, be still!  As I walked along the shores of the East Beach in Galveston, Texas last week Tropical Storm Bill was brewing in the water.  I wanted to have the power to say "Peace, be still" to the wind and the waters threatening our vacation.  And yet, as the week unfolded we witnessed the glory of God through nature in ways we would not have otherwise.  I am grateful for each and every moment spent in the solitude of the silence and in community with my family. 

The first photo I took held the promises of God for our week ...

a double rainbow over Galveston Bay, Texas

God is equally ever present in wind and storm, in silence and stillness.  That is the promise I find in the rainbow and the waves.

Sunrise on East Beach the day after Tropical Storm Bill in Galveston, Texas

If the waves could sing

what song would they sing

caressing the beach

with each roll of the wave

protecting the life

of the tiny sea creatures

the waves never pause

in their quest for perfection

even though surface fades

trying to catch them

as they gently race by

clouds overhead

it’s a day for living

moment to moment

for you just never know

when the rain will fall …

 

I confess the flags on Galveston Beach were red all week and yet I played in the rolling waves.  They were enticingly delicious and the power of them crashing all around me was refreshing to my soul.  I don't think I've ever seen this beach as lovely as it was that day.

Tropical Storm Bill rolling into Galveston, Texas on June 16, 2015

Spirit of God, I am here

with you the wind blows

softly softly softly

 the sound of the waves

rolling rolling rolling

don't seem gentle 

on a day like today

weather threathens

and my soul weeps

if I think 

for more than a moment 

into the future

just enjoying this moment

this beautiful moment 

as the fresh gulf air

flows by

and my hair sings

of freedom and flowing.  Amen.

pelicans glide by in tandem ... free and flowing

Pelicans in flight over East Beach in Galveston, Texas

Each day I walked along the beach gathering up the most unusual shells and their fragments, especially after the storm.  Such wonder in the colors and the shapes, even in their brokenness they are beautiful.  They remind me of people and the way that God takes our brokenness and creates the vessels of love that we are ... if we surrender to the process. 

My Collection of Shells begun a couple of years ago with a gift of shells collected by a Loving Friend just for me.

Crabs were scurrying along the hardened packed sand of the beach and tiny fish stung my legs repeatedly as they were carried along by the waves.  Seagulls were grabbing up their breakfast along the shore, joyously reveling in their abundance.  Their appetite never wanes.

 

Seagull looking for fish food on East Beach in Galveston, Texas

After the storm, people reappeared in all the wondrous places here and there and everywhere to live into their day and their love of the water.  The world seemed to come alive before my eyes ... I am here, in this present moment, and I find the silence full of possibilities in moments like these.

People fishing in Galveston Bay

 “You see persons and things not as they are but as you are. ”
~ Anthony de Mello

Oh God, I hope so!  Amen.

a walk around the lake ...

Perhaps the truth depends

on a walk around the lake.  ~Wallace Stevens

 The (United Methodist) Wesley Center, Woodworth, Louisiana

Yesterday was a day of rest between working 2 separate retreats in 2 different states.  In the afternoon, I spent 2 hours on a contemplative walk around the lake.  I usually bring my camera with me so I can savor the images, trying to capture them in a receptive stance rather than a stance of "taking." 

Before I began my beautiful walk in the silence of the early afternoon, I took a few moments to become aware of my heart beating in tandem with the heartbeat of God in nature.  Breathing fresh air into my lungs and my heart, breathing out carbon dioxide and heart toxins that accumulate as I mind-numbingly live my life at the speed of sound.  Ok, that is an exaggeration but as a metaphor it expresses how I feel inside sometimes.   

Blue Heron?

As I breathe, I allow the "slowing" to begin.  After I feel the connection, I walk.  Slowly, intentionally I take each step, wondering where the next step will take me, just the next step and no further, one step at a time.  I listen.  The birds sing as they soar, the frogs croak sign unseen and something mysterious stirs in the water just a few steps away.  I can hear the steady movement of a train in the distance.  And of course, the sound of silence whispers in my soul ...  

water lilies and their lily pads

As I walk across a small bridge, I notice a few white floating water lilies with their delicate yellow centers, very lotus-like within a maze of lily pads.  Although the water lily, like the lotus, has different meanings in different cultures, I am drawn to these beautiful little lilies as a symbol of love and life.  Isn't that a lovely thought on a lazy afternoon walk by the lake?   I'm not sure how long I simply stood and gazed at their beauty before moving on.


As I continued to walk, I began to notice the large number of vines wrapped around trees.  The variety of vines was immense, some green and wiry, some dense and rustically gray.  

And yet, the one I was most drawn to was a vine that looked like it had been "sewn" on to the tree.  It reminded me of my mom, who was an amazing seamstress.  I think she would have appreciated this.

For the most part, the vines and the trees seemed to be doing well together ... until I got to one very tired pine tree, almost completely wrapped up and taken over by the vine.  

It is not a symbiotic relationship.  In truth, most vine/tree combos are not symbiotic.  The vine takes from the tree.  And I wondered about my own relationships ... am I mostly the vine or the tree?  I guess, in truth, I am both, sometimes the vine and sometimes the tree.

Labyrinth at The (United Methodist) Wesley Center

As I was contemplating the question, I came to the outdoor labyrinth located just off the path.  Pausing at the entrance, reading the stone, "we walk by faith not by sight" 

I felt invited to step in, and let my faith in God's amazing love guide me through.  I've been meditating on Psalm 62:1a recently and with each step it bubbled up to the surface of my consciousness ... "for God alone my soul in silence waits."  

My walking settled into rhythm with these lovely words.  As I walked along the outer edge, I realized that the relationship between the vine and the tree was also like my relationship with God.  

God is the strong pine or perhaps an oak tree and I am the vine, hopefully I am green and growing!  Yet, I often cling to God just like the vine with "strings" binding the vine to the tree. 


And the poetry emerges ...

the tree and the vine

most intriguing

loving the vine

bound to the tree

with what looks like thread

and I wish that for myself

to be so intricately bound to God

that one can hardly see the vine

for it appears to simply be

and embellishment

and it is beautiful

so beautiful

yet the true beauty

is that unlike the vine-wrapped tree

God is not drained by my clinging

... soothing my soul

Moments of Silence for Earth Day

The Canticle of Creation 

~St. Francis of Assisi

O Most High, all-powerful, 

good Lord God,
to you belong praise, glory,
honour and all blessing.

(pause for moments of silence)

Be praised, my Lord, for all your creation
and especially for our Brother Sun,
who brings us the day and the light;
he is strong and shines magnificently.
O Lord, we think of you when we look at him.

(pause for moments of silence)

Be praised, my Lord, for Sister Moon,
and for the stars
which you have set shining and lovely
in the heavens.

(pause for moments of silence)

Be praised, my Lord,
for our Brothers Wind and Air
and every kind of weather
by which you, Lord,
uphold life in all your creatures.

(pause for moments of silence)

Be praised, my Lord, for Sister Water,
who is very useful to us,
and humble and precious and pure.

(pause for moments of silence)

Be praised, my Lord, for Brother Fire,
through whom you give us light in the darkness:
he is bright and lively and strong.

(pause for moments of silence)

Be praised, my Lord,
for Sister Earth, our Mother,
who nourishes us and sustains us,
bringing forth
fruits and vegetables of many kinds
and flowers of many colours.

(pause for moments of silence)

Be praised, my Lord,
for those who forgive for love of you;
and for those
who bear sickness and weakness
in peace and patience
- you will grant them a crown.

(pause for moments of silence)

Be praised, my Lord, for our Sister Death,
whom we must all face.

(pause for moments of silence)

I praise and bless you, Lord,
and I give thanks to you,
and I will serve you in all humility.

(pause for moments of silence)

Amen.

As you consider your moments of silence, is there an image that is drawing you deeper?  

As you sit with the image you are drawn to resting in your soul

or perhaps as you simply sit in image-less silence, 

how are you being moved to "be" in the world 

as we celebrate Earth Day 2015?

The Great Silence 2015

If you are looking for The Great Silence, my photos and reflections of the contemplative (silent) retreat I lead each year with a small staff of spiritual directors, you can take the links in the order listed below. 

On the blog, they are in reverse which confuses some people.  I invite you to move forward slowly.  You can move through them by taking the link at the bottom of each post to the next post.

1. The Great Silence:  Invitation to Healing
2. The Great Silence:  Invitation to Silence
3. The Great Silence:  Invitation to Awareness
4. The Great Silence:  Invitation to Community

The Great Silence: Invitation to Awareness

Deep peace of the running wave to you, 

of water flowing, rising and falling,

                     sometimes advancing, sometimes receding                    

 ~Celtic Prayer~

Breathing in … Creator God

Breathing out … fill me with Peace

 
On the 2nd and final evening of our contemplative retreat, I offered a labyrinth peace walk in silent community ... I walked toward the end and on my way out, I did a few turns on the turns, I suppose it is almost like dancing, that's what people say as they watch, for me it is simply the way I respond ... on one of the turns I heard Clarissa's sweet sweet voice in my head, "I'm dancing in heaven now!" and I felt her love.  You see, that is one of the things I used to tell her as I tried to give her a vision of heaven, that one day she would be dancing in heaven.  They say that your dying loved one can hear what you say and is fully aware of you. Oh how she loved to dance!  wow!  still there are no tears, no emotion that I am feeling.  Why?

The next morning I walked the labyrinth again, on my own, carrying a prayer station card with the word "sorrow" on it, the other side held the bible verse "My soul is weary with sorrow; strengthen me according to your word."

Very logically I think, I thought, "I will carry the first part "my soul is weary with sorry" as my release phrase and the second part, "strengthen me according to your word" as my response phrase and I'll just be still in the center.    As I walked in I saw something new, someone had written on a card beside a canvas Jesus sculpture at the edge of the labyrinth,

"When was the last time you cried on my shoulder?"  wow, too long Jesus ... and I walked ... perhaps it was somewhere on the way out that I realized I was no longer experiencing grief, grief had been left behind on my yoga mat, when tears streamed down my face exactly a week after Clarissa died.  Now I was experiencing guilt, and strongly.  Why hadn't I been closer to her?  Why hadn't I reached out in a more meaningful way?  Why hadn't I asked more questions at MD Anderson?  Why had I not been there to talk about what would happen in the end?  Why hadn't I done more to help her?  Why? Why? Why?    All these questions and more I asked after I left the labyrinth ... guilt can a crippling thing, I think.   I didn't experience a release of the guilt, not in a tangible way on the labyrinth but I think I can work through it, now that I am aware for it feels different than working through grief.   

I walked outside onto the porch and suddenly there was a cardinal on a shrub by the lake

and it beckoned me to come.   Since my mother's death birds are a sign from heaven, especially cardinals which she loved.  red, she did so love the color red.  I walked down to the lake with my camera and she flew up to the top of the trees, of course it was really a he but since it's some kind of metaphor I am not bothered by that ...

A cardinal is a representative 
of a loved one who has passed. 
When you see one, 
it means they are visiting you. 
They usually show up 
when you most need them 
or miss them.    ~ unknown ~

I looked up, and suddenly the sun shined, the clouds floated, and the tree swayed in the wind.  I was enveloped in the love of the cardinal, in the love of God our Creator and in the love of all the saints who have gone before us.  In this moment we are one.

I am a ditch-dweller.  I am one who lays on her back looking up,  seeing chaos on one side and beauty on the other.  I am one who knows they simply reside side by side, interwoven and uneasy friends on the path of life.

Take this Link for Part 4: The Great Silence: Invitation to Community

To begin this journey from the beginning, take this link:  The Great Silence