The first time, a few weeks ago, was with pilgrim priest Anna. Before she
entered it, she told us how she usually walked the labyrinth. She took a stone,
carried it with her while walking and with every step she thought about
something she was dealing with in her life, big things and small things, trying
to let them go. In the centre she would leave her stone behind and with it all
her worries.
The first time I walked the labyrinth my mind stopped the
moment I took my first step. I didn’t think of anything. I just walked with an
empty head. Even though I tried to bring things to mind I should concentrate
on, nothing entered my head. Only when I stepped into the centre my brain
started working again and I wondered how long I could stay in there. The second
time the same thing happened. I just put one foot in front of the other. No
thoughts. Nothing to struggle with. Emptiness. Until I reached the centre. And
the moment the thoughts came back, I automatically stepped out of the
labyrinth.
There was a man in our company who didn’t do the walk with
us. He said he was too impatient to walk slowly through a labyrinth. He sat at
the bench on the side and watched us. Afterwards he said that everybody had
been looking so serious and troubled. “You were the only one smiling,” he told
me.
I hadn’t realised it. And his words made me sad. And the
sadness made me smile again.
It isn’t that difficult to get to the centre. But
staying in the middle is the most difficult thing there is. A lifetime usually
isn’t long enough to learn the skill. And there is nobody who can teach you how
to do it. You can only be your own teacher.
The best way to learn is to walk. And if it doesn't teach you all you want to know, at least you've been walking.
