The Labyrinth
Labyrinth (n): passages or paths in which it is difficult to find one’s way; a place constructed of or full of intricate passageways or blind alleys; an ancient symbol of wholeness; a meandering or purposeful journey; a spiritual journey
Merriam-Webster Dictionary
I entered a walking labyrinth meditation in April 2023 asking for a sign. I was at an ending that I was having a hard time honoring, celebrating, and growing from. I was preparing for shifting sands in the landscape of how my organization operates, is nourished, and thrives. I was deeply understanding that some relationships of the past could no longer authentically sit alongside my legacy vision.
I entered after a few days of intentional practices and being held by my rest coach still with a seed of self-doubt about my strength, my worthiness, and my ability to lead my legacy in the way I envisioned. I entered: asking for a sign.
Breathe, Gabrielle. It starts with stepping forward.
Breathe, Gabrielle. It probably won’t take long to finish.
Breathe, Gabrielle. Let’s go.
I took a deep breath and stepped into the mystery of the labyrinth’s stones and curves. Into the seemingly simple design — a nook in the middle of tall, tall trees that held the stories of the generations that came before me.
I stepped into a seemingly simple design.
And yet, complexities unfolded.
At times I walked too quickly, getting a little anxious to find the end and make sure I had time to get to the airport for my flight home — only to find myself tripping over stones.
A forced slow up.
A self-created created slow up — arguably resembling self-sabotage.
Please, show me a sign.
I wondered about shortcuts — the fastest way to make it to the center and back out to the exit. An analogy perhaps for how I sometimes built my resume and prepared and wore my armor in predominately white institutions: master their flywheel, prioritize efficiency and urgency, accumulate the wins and honors. Experience micro-aggressions, burnout, and loneliness along the way. Repeat.
Other times, I found myself cautious to not sink into muddy patches. To not succumb to the inevitable forces beyond my control. Trying to resist and ward off change — counter to the wise and seemingly simple words of Octavia E. Butler: “the only constant is change.”
Please, show me a sign.
It took a solid thirty minutes to settle into stillness. To settle into listening with all of my senses to the subtleties of the labyrinth.
I began standing still for what felt like hours watching a bright red cardinal return, and then return again, as if he had a message for me from my modern ancestor Peter to just sit back and relax. To lean back in the proverbial chair with a huge smile and appreciate for life — just as it is.
As dragonflies danced through, I held close the first and only time I met my husband’s loving grandparents. I held close the memory of how evident their presence and legacies are to this day — still flowing through the Gardners’ daily practices and routines.
As strong gusts of wind bent the tree branches and brushed my curls across my face, I felt my father on our best days together. On the days we didn’t feel conflict or hold animosity about our painful truths. I felt his endearing dark brown eyes follow me as a I continued to ask for a way forward — for a sign. Those eyes that held a deep love for our family, and a deep belief in my strength.
Please, show me a sign.
Most of the time, I found myself on the verge of tears as I settled into the uncertainty of when a turn would take me to the labyrinth’s exit versus deeper into the labyrinth. As time went on that day, I longed for the latter. To remain in the comfort of the liminal space — of walking through the space in between an ending and a beginning. A space where, every now and then, I’d turn into a new part of the labyrinth in front of, behind, or walking in step with my rest coach - knowing I was still held by not only my own body, but by her and the earth.
In her book Enchantment, Katherine May describes her affinity for forests as rooted in their never-ending variance and subtleties: no matter how many times you return to a forest, you always meet a different one. “Bring questions into this space and you will receive a reply, though not an answer. Deep terrain offers you up multiplicity, forked paths, symbolic meaning. It schools you…in interpretation.”
I didn’t get an answer that day to say the least.
But I received a reply.
Through stillness, our journey unfolds with intention. Even if seemingly meandering, stillness nudges us towards a life of potential, not purpose. It guides us like the labyrinth’s patten to an unfolding. An intentional unfolding of how we really want to love and be loved. Of how we want to heal and be healed. Of how we want to build a future where our families and friends are thriving. Of a future where we all are well.
“A deep terrain is a life’s work. It will beguile, nourish, and sustain you through the decades, only to finally prove to you that you, too, are ephemeral compared to the rocks and trees.” - Katherine May
I was nudged back towards the power of remembering. Of remembering the often unseen or forgotten truths of how I was and am unfolding. Of remembering how I carry my ancestors within, behind, and in front of me. Of remembering, with comfort and grace, that “the only lasting truth is change.”
Stillness is a coming back to — a remembering of — the divine truths in front of us all along. Through stillness, revelations — divine guidance, inspiration , or unseen truths — are seen, heard, and embodied.
As spring transitions to summer, a time when I’m back in my favorite parks and forests, I honor that I too have changed. In seen and unseen ways. I honor that I’m not entering as the same Stillness Ranger I was a month, year, or decade ago. But rather, I’m beginning again with inquiries about my vision - my why, my potential - for fortifying and nourishing my legacy instead of prioritizing getting into the nuts and bolts of how to build infrastructure. I’m entering with inquiries about what it looks like to continue to move my choices and actions into authentic alignment with my legacy vision.
I’m going back to the basics to remember again. To meander again through the curves of the deep terrain.
I’m heading back to the ever-changing Ramble, in still of revelations.
Grab your shoes — step in,
Gabrielle
