It’s there—right beside Austin’s Long Center in a park filled with gentle curves. I nearly passed it by, but then I stopped and studied the pattern of white and red bricks: could it be what I thought it was? Yes, the city of Austin had built a labyrinth into its newest park, near the Barton Springs Road side. This one’s not the only labyrinth in Austin, however. You can find them both outside and inside several area churches. In fact, labyrinths are increasingly popular across the country: in hospital courtyards, in city parks, at retreat centers, and in prisons.
A labyrinth is a walking maze, but it is impossible to get lost within its circle. The labyrinth path takes the walker on a circuitous route toward the center, where its traveler can then sit or stand. When ready, the walker retraces his or her steps out of the maze.
So what’s the big deal about labyrinths? Studies show that walking a labyrinth reduces stress. I find it to be more than that: for me, labyrinth walking is prayer. As my feet move along its path, I feel the solidity of God’s creation bearing me up, and the natural rhythm of my gait joins the music of the universe. The path is deceptive: when it appears that I am almost to the center, the path suddenly turns back on itself and heads me in the other direction. How often have I experienced that! The labyrinth’s hairpin bends slow me down and challenge me to find my center of balance. The labyrinth grounds me—literally. When I walk the labyrinth with another person, the path draws us so near that one of us must pause and allow the other to move forward. How often in daily living do we speed along, isolated in our horse-powered tins cans, passing other tins cans without any real consciousness of their occupants? On a labyrinth I make room for the other and the other does the same for me. At last, the labyrinth welcomes me into its center, into its very heart, and lets me simply be. On a hot summer morning I can sit and feel the stone’s refreshing chill or, on a winter’s day, I can stand at the center, watching my breath go up like a prayer before me. When I am ready, I am lead, gently but firmly, outward to its entrance. It feels like being birthed.
The labyrinth is grace-filled. It accepts my walking feet no matter what I am wearing. It blesses my steps whether I take its path slowly and contemplatively or whether I dance along it, laughing as I go. I can come to it alone or in the company of others. It is always there; if I haven’t the time or inclination one day, it patiently awaits my feet the next. How does that sound to you?
Sometime during the coming month, find a labyrinth near you and gift yourself by walking it. Don’t feel you have to come with any kind of “attitude” other than to stay on the path, to pause at the center, and return as you entered.