In the midst of life’s uncertainties, what brings you peace and joy?
One of my favorite things to do, especially in the Duluth summertime, is to walk an outdoor labyrinth at the McCabe Renewal Center close to where I live. Sister Teri Spinler, one of the Benedictine sisters at St. Scholastica Monastery, tends this labyrinth of grass and wild daisies and I am grateful for her faithful work. The labyrinth definitely is a “happy place” in this community for me, a seven-circuit sacred path where I consciously meet the present moment and find peace.
My first walk on a labyrinth took place on a June afternoon seven years ago at Grace Cathedral in San Francisco. Grace Cathedral has two eleven-circuit labyrinths—exactly like the twelfth century design on the floor of the famous Chartres Cathedral in France—and the labyrinth I like walking best is the stone labyrinth outside. Before visiting Grace Cathedral, my experiences with labyrinths had been confined to meditating with paper or wooden labyrinths which means I was “walking” through the labyrinths by tracing with a pencil on paper or my finger on wood. When I finally used my legs for the walking, I found myself inside a much-needed and surprising whole body prayer.
Whenever I enter a labyrinth, no matter whether it’s made of stone or grass and no matter how many circuits it has, the first circuit takes me close to the heart of the circle—just where I want to be—but the eternal lesson is that right then I am actually the farthest distance from the center. The second equally important lesson comes during the last steps of the journey when I’m feeling the most distant from my goal…I’m walking on the very outside of the labyrinth—what looks like far, far away from the center spot—and then in just a couple quick turns I surprise myself every time to find I’ve arrived once again inside the heart of that small sweet circle.
Sometimes I walk the labyrinth as a way to practice the presence of God for myself, but this week I’ve been walking for friends who need healing energy or extra support for the challenges of life. Saturday’s walk was for a friend’s healing; a misty rain was falling as my husband and I made our way on the path, the soft healing kind of rain that is so lovely to experience and so hard to come by. My walk yesterday included seven circuits for a friend carrying heavy burdens at work. As I walked through the labyrinth thinking of her, I could hear the sound of the wind above me in the trees. I was moving in and out of tree shadows, but when I got to the heart of the labyrinth I was welcomed and warmed by the sun.
When I arrived at the top of the Grace Cathedral steps that first summer of labyrinth walking, the stone labyrinth was bathed in light. I flung myself into its circuits right away, and I was walking too fast to be steady, wobbling into the heart of the labyrinth, sunshine on my face. I came to that labyrinth many days in a row, trying to absorb everything I was learning and enjoying every minute. Just steps away from me in the cathedral garden on one of those days, I saw a thin ancient man practicing tai-chi in small and silent movements. He was in the shade and always will be, next to where the sweet flowers bloomed. There we were together in what some people would laughingly call a “happy place.” I think of him from time to time, wondering where he is now—he was very old and frail seven years ago—wondering if I will meet him again in the hereafter and if we will find a labyrinth and sweet flowers blooming nearby us world without end.
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
HAPPY PLACE FOR YOU AND ME
In the midst of life’s uncertainties, what brings you peace and joy?
Pretty much every day brings me some sort of bad news these days, and I’m not sure if this is something new or if I’m finally getting worn down to life’s gritty reality. I’ve spent over fifty years on the up side of the teeter totter, although people close to me will tell you I’ve been trying for thirty-five years to overcome the unbalance.
A good story to explain my predicament comes from when I was nineteen years old and touring with a college group through Europe. We started in London, and my friend Diane & I got permission to leave the group to visit my older cousin Jane & her husband, Mike, who were living in a suburb just outside the city. We spent the day with them visiting the Royal Family’s Sandringham Estate—Queen Elizabeth II was celebrating her Silver Jubilee that summer and had opened her house to the masses—and after dinner Diane & I traveled back to our hotel using the underground train.
We were switching trains that night at a lonely place where it was just Diane & me and a smiling man in a raincoat. He’d smile at me, I’d smile at him, and Diane would edge the two of us away from him and whisper-hiss “Lezlie!” I wondered why Diane was jumpy because usually she would have been smiling too. Our little dance went on—smile, smile, edge away, whisper-hiss, smile—for several minutes until the train came and the dance ended. Diane & I got in one car, and the smiling man chose another.
“Lezlie, why were you smiling at him?” Diane said as soon as we were seated. “He was flashing us!”
“Diane, I didn’t know that,” said a very surprised me. “Because I never looked down.”
Smile. Smile. Edge away. Whisper-hiss. Smile.
The whole problem of not looking down reminds me of brain-injured patients who suffer from left neglect. Sometimes people lose the ability to be aware of things on their left side and they need to practice working carefully to see their whole world from left to right and back again. In much the same way, ever since London 1977, I've practiced working carefully to see my whole world—up and down, down and up.
These days uncertainty has me looking down more than up. My children, both in their mid-twenties, have spent the summer looking for jobs and housing; several close friends and family members are experiencing health problems; and my community—Duluth, Minnesota—has just witnessed a 100-year flood which made many here wonder if a modern-day Noah would be floating by us with an ark filled with animals on Great Lake Superior.
Even so, I'm finding consolations. On Saturday night ten members of my family were sitting about twenty rows up from 1st base at the Target Field Stadium watching Minnesota play Cleveland. We were in Minneapolis to celebrate the 55th anniversary of Family Hahn—my parents’ June 8, 1957 wedding. The real party was an Anniversary Cruise on Lake Minnetonka with thirty-two family members on Sunday, but some interested people fit in a Twins game as well. One of the grandchildren at the ballpark now lives in Zurich, Switzerland; Elle’s family used to attend several Twins games each season, but Saturday’s game is the only one she’ll be seeing this year. Elle said, “This is my happy place,” and she enjoyed every single minute of the 12-5 win.
After Elle’s comment, I’ve been considering what a challenge it is to live inside our happy place even though uncertainty reigns all around us. Where can we find peace and joy no matter what? As I’ve been thinking, it’s become clear that my happy places aren’t really places at all…I find what I need to survive by reading and writing, walking and praying. In this blog, I’m going to explore these happy places of mine and I’m inviting you to consider and share your happy places too…Let’s go exploring!
Pretty much every day brings me some sort of bad news these days, and I’m not sure if this is something new or if I’m finally getting worn down to life’s gritty reality. I’ve spent over fifty years on the up side of the teeter totter, although people close to me will tell you I’ve been trying for thirty-five years to overcome the unbalance.
A good story to explain my predicament comes from when I was nineteen years old and touring with a college group through Europe. We started in London, and my friend Diane & I got permission to leave the group to visit my older cousin Jane & her husband, Mike, who were living in a suburb just outside the city. We spent the day with them visiting the Royal Family’s Sandringham Estate—Queen Elizabeth II was celebrating her Silver Jubilee that summer and had opened her house to the masses—and after dinner Diane & I traveled back to our hotel using the underground train.
We were switching trains that night at a lonely place where it was just Diane & me and a smiling man in a raincoat. He’d smile at me, I’d smile at him, and Diane would edge the two of us away from him and whisper-hiss “Lezlie!” I wondered why Diane was jumpy because usually she would have been smiling too. Our little dance went on—smile, smile, edge away, whisper-hiss, smile—for several minutes until the train came and the dance ended. Diane & I got in one car, and the smiling man chose another.
“Lezlie, why were you smiling at him?” Diane said as soon as we were seated. “He was flashing us!”
“Diane, I didn’t know that,” said a very surprised me. “Because I never looked down.”
Smile. Smile. Edge away. Whisper-hiss. Smile.
The whole problem of not looking down reminds me of brain-injured patients who suffer from left neglect. Sometimes people lose the ability to be aware of things on their left side and they need to practice working carefully to see their whole world from left to right and back again. In much the same way, ever since London 1977, I've practiced working carefully to see my whole world—up and down, down and up.
These days uncertainty has me looking down more than up. My children, both in their mid-twenties, have spent the summer looking for jobs and housing; several close friends and family members are experiencing health problems; and my community—Duluth, Minnesota—has just witnessed a 100-year flood which made many here wonder if a modern-day Noah would be floating by us with an ark filled with animals on Great Lake Superior.
Even so, I'm finding consolations. On Saturday night ten members of my family were sitting about twenty rows up from 1st base at the Target Field Stadium watching Minnesota play Cleveland. We were in Minneapolis to celebrate the 55th anniversary of Family Hahn—my parents’ June 8, 1957 wedding. The real party was an Anniversary Cruise on Lake Minnetonka with thirty-two family members on Sunday, but some interested people fit in a Twins game as well. One of the grandchildren at the ballpark now lives in Zurich, Switzerland; Elle’s family used to attend several Twins games each season, but Saturday’s game is the only one she’ll be seeing this year. Elle said, “This is my happy place,” and she enjoyed every single minute of the 12-5 win.
After Elle’s comment, I’ve been considering what a challenge it is to live inside our happy place even though uncertainty reigns all around us. Where can we find peace and joy no matter what? As I’ve been thinking, it’s become clear that my happy places aren’t really places at all…I find what I need to survive by reading and writing, walking and praying. In this blog, I’m going to explore these happy places of mine and I’m inviting you to consider and share your happy places too…Let’s go exploring!
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