I have a labyrinth.
I made it out of snow.
It runs past all the stuff I didn’t cut down because the birds like the Rudbeckia seeds… and I didn’t get around to the tall grasses or the hydrangea.
A trained eye will see that it’s technically more “snowy paths in my yard”… but it works exactly the way a labyrinth does.
That is, you walk and walk and walk in a more or less circular way, turning left or right without thinking because the goal is not to think — once you begin thinking you’re toast. At that point it becomes less meditative labyrinth walking and more I wonder if the neighbours are frightened yet walking.
If you’re doing it right, you’re not thinking a single thing except maybe about the crunch, crunch, crunch of the snow under your steps. The zen of crunch.
It’s occurred to me to wonder how many steps long the labyrinth is but I’ve never paced it out. There are angles to be considered and the whole process would require a certain amount of addition.
And who needs the math…
♦
On the subject of labyrinths…
Matilda Magtree
Very sweet. I’m certain there is a poem somewhere in that snow. Have you found it yet?
Gwen, the garden is full of poetry, in all seasons. But I’m sure you have one of those too. (:
Riley would love to join you ,he also like his path . Heck I would too .Round and Round we go ,where we stop no one knows .
It would be a whole new experience through Riley’s eyes! (and nose)
I’ve never done walking meditation in a labyrinth although I’ve often wondered what it would be like. The prospect of using the crunch crunch crunch of the snow as a mantra appeals to me. Here amid Victoria’s cherry blossoms and daffodils, I miss the snow.
But only for a second.
Oh, heck, I suppose if one had no snow (there are people with no snow??), it would work in Eden as well… (;
You’ve reminded me of my favourite line of text from/about Canadian literature, written by Mark Anthony Jarman: “The snow was so deep you almost couldn’t hear Margaret Atwood.”
haha! You’ve made my day.
All the different ways people be. My walks are lines. They don’t have to go from a to b to c, but they’re lines, not labyrinths.
Oh, but it’s such different walking! I’ve never been able to absolutely lose myself, as in meditation, by walking a line. Even at the beach I’m aware there will, at some point, be a need to turn around and so the walking carries with it the question of where and when? And even a true labyrinth isn’t as appealing to me as my circular and winding connected paths that have no beginning or end. I’ve never zoned out as much anywhere… well, not since the 70’s. (;