Labyrinths, writing, and travel
It probably comes as no surprise that I love to be on the road. It is one of my essential truths – this need to wander, seeking new places and adventures. I love the way that travel stretches me outside my comfort zone - how it requires me to pare down my essential belongings to what can fit in my suitcase or backpack. How it invites me to meet new people, different systems and ways of being in the world.
Each time I return home I feel I have grown in some important way, becoming more open to the world around me. Maybe becoming a bit stronger and braver than before, a little less judgmental, ethnocentric and opinionated.
I am a work in progress, and travel helps me to keep growing into a better world citizen.
This past summer, between June and September, we spent over 62 nights out on the road. To put that into perspective, that was more than 50% of our summer spent in a bed other than our own. After all those days, you’d think we might be ready to settle back in and nest for the winter, but not us. I just returned from a weekend trip to San Francisco where I participated in the 32nd annual Women’s Dream Quest at Grace Cathedral (amazing!), then this weekend we are going on a short, weekend shake out trip with our new camper “Bigger Betty”, and then we are hitting the road for four weeks, traveling across the Southern United States to Florida and back. We are starting to dream about a possible trip to Ireland and Scotland for our anniversary in April and putting the parts in place for a long-term road trip next summer with hopes of making it to Newfoundland and Nova Scotia. This girl was meant to be on the road, and she intends to make it happen.
One thing I have learned from the road is that travel disrupts routines. Sometimes that is exactly what we need but it can also be disorienting and frustrating, especially when you are tired, or stretched too far out of your comfort zone. To help balance that out I have developed some practices that keep me centered when the road gets a little bumpy– one is labyrinth walking and the other is space and time to write, especially poetry.
I walked my first labyrinth in the early 2000s when they were few and far between, and I have been walking them ever since.
I’ve always been a walker. I love how walking helps me get grounded to a place and lets me see and hear the world around me. I was never one to listen to music or put in earbuds while I walked. I like to tune in - to hear birds, to listen to the traffic go by, to catch snippets of conversation, and to greet other walkers out on the road. Most of my greatest discoveries have been on foot, so it made sense to me that I would be drawn to walking labyrinths. A labyrinth is after all just a path that you follow in and out.
My son Robert preparing to walk a labyrinth in Schule, Ireland., 2016.
You can imagine all sorts of things about this labyrinth path – it can be a symbol for your life journey, a metaphor for finding your way back to your center or to your spiritual core. You can turn it into a meditative walk that helps you slow down and breathe more deeply or you can dance and swing, scurrying from one curve to the next. What I love most about labyrinth walking is that it grounds me back into my body and slows down my thinking. When I walk the labyrinth, no matter how busy the world around me might seem, I get to just be.
And then there is poetry. I have always used words to help me make sense of the world and poetry is my preferred language for doing that. Over the past couple of years, as we have increased our frequency of travel I have begun to incorporate regular pauses for poetry into the experience. I require myself to sit down and write poetry as a sort of spiritual discipline, no matter where we are or what is pressing in on the agenda. This practice also helps me to slow down. I stop rushing from place to place in search of those bucket list experiences and just experience the world around me as it is happening.
I have often said that I feel a deep sense of call to travel (which can sound sort of odd) but labyrinth walking, and poetry writing are what help me be present to that call. They enable me to integrate the whole experience into my being so that I can be fully present to the places we travel and not just consume them.
Travel teaches me how to become a citizen of the world who is deeply invested in the well being of all, not just my own little neck of the woods.
With these practices in mind, I thought it would be fun to share some of the labyrinths and poems that emerged out of our summer travels. Below you will find some pictures and descriptions of the labyrinths we walked, paired with the poems that were birthed along the way. I am torn between wanting them to inspire you to seek out your own adventures or to seek your own spiritual and meditative practices to help you be more present to the world around you. Maybe they can do a bit of both.
Chartres Cathedral (Cathedrale Notre-Dame de Chartres) in Chartres, France is a pilgrimage site dedicated to Mary but known as a place of feminine divine energy back to early Pagan times. The labyrinth was constructed during the middle ages and is seen as the ancestor to all the modern-day labyrinths we walk today.
When I first visited Chartres in the mid-1990’s and again in the early 2000s the labyrinth was not publicly available to walk except through special events. I stood on a path of the labyrinth and dreamed of walking it one day. That day finally came this summer when I traveled to participate in a retreat. I was able to walk the labyrinth twice, first on Friday afternoon when it is made publicly available (the picture below) and then again during our retreat after the cathedral was closed (no pictures allowed, use your imagination).
“I am blue
I am foundation
I am the new moon
and darkness
and swirling
Holy ground cannot
contain me
Where do you feel me
in your body?
Go there and I will
greet you at the door
Don’t be confused by
the trappings
by the form and the rituals
Sink down
below stone, below earth
Put aside the trinkets
and the charms
I am lifeforce
I am Hildegard’s greening
I am Brigid’s milk
I am new wine
All who hunger nurse
at my breast
My love does not end.”
In the back of the Hotellerie St. Yves in Chartres, France is a Legacy Labyrinth. These are labyrinths being built throughout the world in hopes of healing our global consciousness through labyrinth walking. The goal is to have one labyrinth on each continent by 2020. When you walk one of these labyrinths it is felt that you are walking simultaneously on all continents and for all people.
“My ink is silence
my words are blue.
Are you hungry?
Let me feed you
a little of my love
even broken as it is.
Letter by letter
vowel by vowel
when all is silent
except birdsong and cloud.
Whole words
can be too much.
Sometimes it is best
to just nibble one tiny
syllable at a time.
Concentrate on
swallowing the sound.
Feel the vibrations as
they move through your
throat down into your tummy.
The earth makes only sound.
Do not drown it
out with too much
talking.
”
While in Paris I took a morning to visit Rodin’s museum which is set in the most beautiful gardens. While all the world swirled around me I sat down on a park bench, sipped a cup of tea, and wrote a poem about my visit. I am a great fan of the poet Rilke, who worked as Rodin’s secretary in the early 1900’s, and I like to imagine him here in this garden, and in the midst of the many sculptures on show in the museum.
“Ice cream in a park
once graced by the likes
of Rilke, Balzac, Rodin.
If ever there was thought
that art was merely
talent then look up
see the lines, the contours,
the colors.
Not one model
but thousands of
inlaid images
one over the other.
I too would like to collect
feet and hang them
on my wall
to study
when times got rough.
When I could no longer
see a path forward.
A sculpture is made smooth
by sanding layers.
Genius lies in repetition,
not birth.
I came for ice cream
and to eat words
written by another
but instead I write,
and write,
and write .
Layering words
on words
on words.
Until they arise
out of the
marble.
Walking away
on their own carefully
studied feet.”
In Southern Utah, amidst the red rocks is a special labyrinth called the Kayenta Desert Rose Labyrinth. It is placed amid a sculpture garden and framed by the beautiful Red Rocks of Snow Canyon State Park. We have walked this labyrinth twice. It is a very special and energetic place infused by the beauty of its surroundings. A truly unforgettable experience.
“Resurrection lands
the Places where we are made whole again
rooted places of mystical hope
where we are re-membered
that take us back
to the place that is not yet formed
and where all your possibility
awaits.”
While visiting family in Salt Lake City we searched out the Jordan River Peace Labyrinth. It was a bit difficult to find but thanks to Google map we finally located it in an overgrown field across from a residential area. It is the edgiest of all the labyrinths I have ever walked, covered in graffiti and discarded beer and alcohol bottles. Most of the mosaics have been vandalized. I walked it thinking of all the troubled people that find their way to this place, hoping that the labyrinth offers some healing to them in its own mysterious way.
“We go in with blindspots
it is uncomfortable to have
them revealed to the light
but still necessary
see them as opportunities
for learning and growth
not fear or failure
face them heart centered
open to the edge of light
that they offer”
This summer I took my first trip to Minnesota for a week-long retreat and was overwhelmed by the beauty. I sat out on the deck of the retreat center each morning and over the course of the week, composed two poems. The first was a response to the wonderful divine feminine energy that seemed to be companioning me through my summer travels and the other was in response to the Loon call I listened to each day. Hearing a Loon is supposed to be a special blessing and so it felt as if it deserved its own poem.
“If I had stood beside Eve
in that lush garden of choice
surrounded by so much possibility
straight jacketed into a picture of Eden
I would have taken her hand
and asked what she hungered for.
I would not have condemned her
for wanting
watching as her eyes darted
back and forth to the voices
surrounding her that were all
about not questioning
not touching
not wanting more than was given
and I know that somewhere down where
my belly growls and paces
I would have understood that hunger.
On my better days I like to imagine
that I would have picked that
fruit myself
opened my mouth wide
and let it caress my tongue
biting down through the skin
releasing the upending juices into the story.
And then I imagine I would have
placed my pink stained lips
on that fresh rosebud of creation
and given her the very fruit from
my own mouth to eat.
Later, as the sun dipped her fire to the earth
and the dreaded footsteps came pacing down
the garden path I would not have abandoned her
leaving her discarded as I back pedaled away
through my excuses, waiting for judgement
to come and find us.
Together (as women are ought to do)
we would have prepared a banquet
while we waited
Spread wide the blanket on the
soft green grass inviting even the serpent to dine
As the afternoon lengthened we
we would have picked and harvested
side by side
When the coolness of evening finally
descended we would have cut open
all that colorful abundance and
boldly offered our choices to the only
one that could understand our need
We would have changed the story that day
and a feast it would have been indeed.”
“Perhaps it is not
necessary to be so afraid
the Loon calls from the
dawn light of the morning lake
I am here, where are you?
All thought mirrors
the mottled surface
reflecting the ancient
Loon’s song call
Can you stand for
something else if needed?
Label you savior if I may?
Christ figure much wanted
but neglected with story
so worn and tight
it breaks?
The lake ripples along the wind
licking the shore in mantra
Mesmerized by this repetition
I sit and chant “I am here”
ten thousand times
into the water’s edge
Words spill, the Loon enters
taking the place of breath
and for one slow moment
all goes silent and calm
There is only
Loon and lake
night fall and light rising
the living and the dead
This ineffable stillness
and my complete surrender to song”
In September we headed to Germany to visit our son and took our first trip into Italy. We happened upon three labyrinths in our travels, the first one is tucked away in the courtyard of the Neues Rathaus in the corner of the famous Marienplatz of Munich. I have not been able to find any information about why it is there or if it is ever open for walking. The closest we could get was to sit down at the lovely café that sits on top of the pathway and enjoy a glass of wine.
Luckily we discovered two more labyrinths that we were able to walk. The first was in the lovely town of Ingolstadt about one hour north of Munich. This has become my favorite labyrinth of all time and I cannot wait to walk it again one day. It is located in gardens of the Klenzepark just over the Danube River. It is a lush garden pathway that is full of plants that many people have brought and planted in the space. The garden overflows with art installations, buzzing bees, and greenery. It was absolutely spectacular in late fall.
“It is still raining as I
blow out the light from
the candle.
I have been writing by
candlelight and somehow
my words feel more like
spells when written in the
dark.
There is something about
darkness and mystery
that make good
companions.
For example:
When all seems lost
sit quietly in the early
morning darkness and feel
the possibility pressing in on
you.
Not just dawn rising
(which can feel more
like dirt and grinding loss)
But before that,
when sleep has left and
all is quiet and soft
and you step quietly
with sturdy feet across the
bare floor.
Take a moment to
whisper your incantations into
the dying night.
All the greatest dreams have
been birthed here, situating
themselves over blankets
weighted down with magic.”
While roaming the city of Munich one afternoon we looked up to see we were in the Gasteig – a rather modern cultural center in the heart of the city. I had read that there was a labyrinth located on the grounds, so we went searching through the courtyards and buildings. It is all cement, and very modern, and we were about to give up hope when Jason spotted a sunken courtyard in the distance. We made our way over and found the most unique labyrinth we have ever walked – very geometrical tiny paths, separated into quadrants. I won’t say it was my favorite, but it invited a nice meditative stop in the middle of a busy day of touring.
“You are flow,
be flow,
I am wind, flow, water
dirt, blood, creation
come into being now
and simply let it go
swim into existence
piece by colorful piece
you are enough.”
In Italy, we were not fortunate enough to find any labyrinths in our travels and I found myself not really drawn to do much writing. I think I just found the beauty of Italy enough meditation of its own. We walked and walked and walked. Taking pictures and allowing the camera to invite its own meditation of seeing.
Finally this past weekend I attended Dream Quest at Grace Cathedral over All Saint’s Day. Grace Cathedral has two labyrinths, one inside the cathedral and one outside in the courtyard. Participants of the quest spent the night in the Cathedral and were invited to walk the indoor labyrinth at any time. I awoke around 2:30 am and walked the labyrinth with two other women. It was the first time I had walked a labyrinth in the middle of the night, and it felt like a very sacred time.
“All Saints Day Aboard a Plane to San Francisco
We lift up into the fall sky
closer to the angels I think
remembering when I was little
and would watch the clouds
float by waiting for a chorus
of angels to appear
sure I could see them in faint outline –
Then came pillars and levels
and ancient pictures of earth and heaven
wiped clean of any mystery and
imagination
Being of the mind of one who
never bought that story
I have lately been thinking of
exile and belonging and
entertaining angels unawares
Imaging how I stand at the
edge looking back toward
the center and seeing no
veil between the two
Yesterday and old friend -
long an angel now -
made her way into my imagination
And I started using words
like auspicious and portent
to describe this particular time
On this day of saints
I want to be awake
to count each strand of
hair on the stranger’s head
in front of me
to not count him as stranger
at all
to believe in angels
and other worlds
and saints that visit in dreams
To imagine a veil so thin
I can poke my finger
into the other side and
feel the shape of the flesh
that rests beyond
When I close my eyes I
am sure I can sense the warmth
All around the world seems
to be crumbling
and angels seems only to
be singing
and saints appear everywhere
to be greeting
and we appear so unbelievably
beautifully created and
so unapologetically
clueless.”
The morning after the retreat I walked the outdoor labyrinth. I first walked this labyrinth with my family in 2006. As I followed the path, I felt my family surround me on the labyrinth even though we are now spread out across the world. I think that is one of the wild things about labyrinths – they seem to suspend time and you sink out of the here and now and into a time that is less linear, less goal-focused.
My daughter Tabby walking the labyrinth in 2006.
As I left the labyrinth, I snapped this picture of my suitcase sitting in the center. I love this picture. It feels like an offering of my life to the world. An affirmation that I will keep on traveling, keep on walking, keep on writing. Keep finding moments of stillness where I can be present and awake during my travels.
As long as the world will have me.
“Sabbath is rest from ambition
rest from doing.
And the point I am beginning to
understand is that it is hard,
and even worse than we originally thought.
But, for this moment if I want to understand
stillness, I need only watch the
hummingbird land on that
one singular branch and watch as it turns
its head and flashes that purple
flint of its throat forward.
I am required to do nothing else
in this moment,
except watch and receive.
And this is Sabbath.”
