Be aware of metaphors...

Every year I take my IB juniors to two of the labyrinths in town - the one at the First Christian Church which is only two blocks away from school, and the one at CC next to Shove - as an experiential learning opportunity to augment their understanding of Borges' use of them as a motif in his collection of short stories, Ficciones. I get a lot of good feedback about the trip. Inevitably, the students tell me they find something valuable, not so much in the book, but in themselves. And every year, despite having walked the labyrinths in the past, I too find something new. 


If you've never walked a labyrinth, the first thing you should know is that it's not a maze. No tricks, no gimmicks, no dead ends or frustrations. No winners. A labyrinth is merely a path. One way in, the same way out. Sounds rather ridiculous, really. Just walking? In a pattern? That's it? That's it. And yet, along the way, you pick up pieces of yourself you'd forgotten about, and find new pieces of yourself that you didn't recognize as yours before that moment. As the description of CC's labyrinth points out, "In a maze you lose your way; in a labyrinth you find your way."


At first the walking seems forced and awkward, especially when you're walking with 26 other people. Everyone is trepedatius, cautious, worried that they're being watched. But within a few short minutes, we become individuals walking the same path. Together, to be certain; but most certainly on our own, as well. The rhythm of the walk, and the effortless placing of one foot in front of another, surrender us to our own minds. Not into a deep thought. But a deep state of not having to think. A freeing of the mind, where we succomb to the tasks of walking, breathing and being. 

We pass each other at curves. We approach each other at one point, and lose each other across the expanse at other points. We come close to the center. We teeter on the edges. We surrender to the inevitability of the path, not knowing exactly where we are on it, but knowing that we'll all get to the same place eventually. 


We arrive at the center at different times, and each realize only then that we're only halfway. Disappointed for a moment, and then encouraged by the opportunity we still have to make the most of the path that's left - the path we've already walked. In this direction, though, the path seems so different - so new. Territory we've not yet explored or experienced. Each step is one that takes us closer to the end; we know this, but we don't fear it. Nor are we disappointed when we reach the end, knowing that the labyrinth is always there when we need it - ready to take us back into its folds...


Releasing, recieving, returning.

The path is one, yet each of us who walks it has a unique experience. And every time we walk it is our first time. Releasing, recieving, returning.

"...the labyrinth speaks the language of movement and is a metaphor for life. Walking, breathing, being - things we rarely have time or opportunity to think about in the rush of life - become conscious and intentional. Paying attention to how one is walking has the potential to teach much about how to live."

Living between the labyrinths...

Baseball, outside, at the foot of Pikes Peak

There aren't many moments better in life than watching baseball, outside, at the foot of Pikes Peak, with my four year old son (who's currently enjoying all things baseball). Wrapped up with him under a blanket as the sun sets and the high school players do their best (high fly balls, blundered catches, wild pitches and walk after walk do nothing to dampen the mood), I realize that I've got it pretty good. I answer all of Jack's questions about the mechanics and nuances of the game, and smile when he cheers for the batter on deck. I'm looking forward to the next million or so games...

First Thunderstorm of the Year

I wonder if my incessant fascination with weather comes from my Minnesota upbringing. Or if it's just some strange obsession separate from that. Either way, I love the weather. And I especially love weather that other people (especially weathermen) deem "bad." What's so good about the sun shining all the time anyway? What's so good about heat (even if it's a "dry heat")? I much prefer clouds, wind, rain and snow...


I walked out of an 8 hour meeting today ready to enjoy the cool breeze of the Colorado spring, and was greeted by torrents of rain. I stood at the door for a moment, contemplating my options. My car was parked a block and a half away. I was wearing sandals. I had no jacket. I had no umbrella.


I really had no choice.


So out I went into the rain, a bit put off at first by the amount of water already collecting in my hair and between my toes. And then, the thunder cut into my consciousness. And I smiled. I relaxed my shoulders and let the rain wash over me during the 2 minute walk to my car. It's not like I could run or skip - I'm 7 months pregnant. So I just let it be. And it was refreshing to let go, once again, of my incessant need to control everything around me.


By the time I got to the car, I was grateful for the warm jacket I found in the trunk, but I certainly wasn't the least bit annoyed with the slow and jaunty journey which had thoroughly soaked me from head to toe. Instead, I felt baptized and refreshed by the opportunity to walk slowly through the elements over which I had no control.


Sometimes what we want doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things. Sometimes we just have to take what we get and be grateful for the getting.


Life is not about waiting for storms to pass. It is about learning how to dance in the rain.

The Wind

I love the wind.


Most people, I've come to learn, don't. It makes them unsettled, anxious, annoyed and generally just angry. It blows trash around, hair into faces and dirt into eyes. It's noisy. It slams doors unnecessarily. It takes our sense of control away from us in unpredictable bursts and gusts.


Despite all that, and maybe in some cases because of that, I love the wind. 


I love that it's an invisible force that derives its energy from forces we can't see. I love that I can hear it coming. I love that I can hear it going. I love that the energy of the wind approaches me like a train rumbling down the track. I love that it touches everything in its path without apology or permission. I love that the wind comes from somewhere, where it was just touching someone and something else. And that on its breezes travels the business of the earth. I love that it's going somewhere, and sometimes I wish I could go as well. I love that it carries kites high into the sky in the spring and creates swirling tornados of dried leaves in the fall. I love that it can be windy when it's sunny, rainy, snowy, or cloudy - that none of the usual weather is a predictor of the wind. I love that, when it's windy, I can either hold on tight or let go altogether - and the wind decides what it takes forever, and what it might give back. 


But mostly, maybe, I love the wind for reminding me that we're all connected. And that as hard as I hold on to some things, I can't possibly control everything that happens in my world. Sometimes, you just have to let go. 

Finally, some others' thoughts about the wind and about letting go: 

"I stuck my head out the window this morning and spring kissed me bang in the face." -Langston Hughes

"The cool wind blew in my face and all at once I felt as if I had shed dullness from myself.  Before me lay a long gray line with a black mark down the center.  The birds were singing.  It was spring." -Burl Ives

"As I started to picture the trees in the storm, the answer began to dawn on me. The trees in the storm don't try to stand up straight and tall and erect. They allow themselves to bend and be blown with the wind. They understand the power of letting go. Those trees and those branches that try too hard to stand up strong and straight are the ones that break." -Julia Butterfly Hill

"To live in this world, you must be able to do three things:
to love what is mortal; to hold it against your bones
knowing your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go, to let it go." -Mary Oliver