Dusky, dark blue sky
hovers over the wide,
tree-edged lawns.
Brown, dusty fields fade
into the horizon.
Honking geese drown
out distant city traffic
as they fly in packs
southward, from where I came.
Abbey bells peal
across the way,
calling the monks
to prayer.
I step from concrete
onto the short-trimmed
grass path. It winds, only
one way, into a center,
spiraling, twisting, back-tracking
in a carefully mown, eternal
pattern.
Its width is just
enough for my two feet
in their natural stance
to walk, stroll, or amble. And
so I do.
At the beginning, one foot
tentatively placed in
front of the other, my
hands clasped behind
my back, I am thoughtful
and expectant,
purposeful and slow.
I notice how the stately,
tall edges of the grass keep
me focused on
the worn path, whose occasional
patches of dirt testify
to the journeys
of previous pilgrims.
I settle into a rhythm,
and a cadence thrumming
in my head.
Soon, my mind begins
to burble: I worry,
fret about life, even though I
know it does no good.
I question and
criticize, even though
that does no good either.
As I turn left and then wind right,
I grumble and spew.
God lets me purge until
I wonder, as I continue
my mental rant, "Haven’t I
been on
this path before?"
By the time I finally
reach the center, a
time to pause, I can leave
the negative behind, be
thankful as I step around
the circle, praying thanks
for my world inside
the semi-concentric
rings. And for messages
sent and received.
I leave the core, fully
centered, peaceful,
light-hearted.
As always, the journey
in has eased my heart. I venture
back into the path,
eager to embrace
the Lord’s positivity, to choose
the bright side, to allow
the glistening tall grass
to lead me back
even though I must
veer left and right
and curve back on myself.
I set out briskly. Night is falling
quickly across the great,
green expanse, and something
new pushes away my
newfound peace, the comfort
and confidence of the center:
I’ve never walked such a
complicated design,
nor a labyrinth so wide.
"How long have I been
walking, anyway?"
The wind has picked up; I pull
my collar higher and shiver.
The lights from the abbey seem
brighter in the distance,
a welcome sight.
There are people inside.
But are others outside? Hidden
in the shadows?
I should walk faster, get
back to my room
where it’s warm and
I can pray
in solitude.
I glance down at the path.
Where is it? The tall grass
has vanished. All the turf
looks the same:
dark, dark black.
There are no taller areas
tipped in glistening white dew.
Does the path
turn or go straight? I can’t
say. I can’t see it! No
part of my return is clear
now. All the grass seems
the same height. Nothing is
clearly demarcated.
"What is happening?
Is it the distraction of
the lights in the distance?"
I’m nearly blinded by the
bright halogen.
The lamplight obscures my
vision and my progress.
I must slow down. In my
leather shoes, my feet
are cold and wet from slogging
through the damp grass
of the disappearing path.
"Should I step out of the coil?
Excuse myself from this
self-inflicted diversion and
simply walk straight
back to the abbey where
I can relax, be warm and safe?
After all, I made it
to the center.
Isn't that
enough?"
My hand raises
and blocks the light. I look
ahead, farther
down the path. Ahhh…
I can see the path, my goal.
Darker, but more distinct,
It's still there,
waiting for my feet to
leave their mark.
“What is happening?
Isn’t the light supposed
to help?”
“Don’t get distracted,”
I hear. “Don’t let
bright lights or noise or
darkness stall your progress.
Keep focused ahead. Not on
the minute details
underfoot.
Then your goal
-your life-
will be clear
and manageable.”
And with God’s hand
in mine,
walking this journey,
it is.
