Conscious Choice: Labyrinths Offer Lessons in Life’s Larger Plan

April 2005 | Body & Mind Health

Labyrinths Offer Lessons in Life’s Larger Plan

by Julia Mossbridge

Every plan I made to celebrate the evening of my 36th birthday this year fell through. Instead of being miserable, I took this turn of events as an opportunity to spend some time receiving whatever sort of birthday wisdom the Universe cared to offer me. My plan was to head back to my new place in Evanston and see what sort of “tingles” I felt as I moved through the evening. I was committed to following these tingly feelings, because they’ve always led me forward on my path.

As I drove up Ridge Ave., I passed St. Scholastica on my left. Something seemed tingly there. Was I supposed to check out this school for my kid? Unlikely — it’s a Catholic girls’ high school and I have a 5-year-old Jewish son — but I felt the tingle nonetheless. I pulled into the service entrance, parked and locked the car. The evening was clear but cold. The city lights were dim enough that I could see a few stars and a silvery crescent moon that my son might say looked like “God’s fingernail clipping.”

Surrounded by town homes, apartment buildings, and the school’s brick walls, I wondered what I could be doing here. Ahead of me was a white gate, seemingly leading to an open field. I can never resist a gate — especially on an evening such as this, one made for spiritual initiation.

Passing through the gate, I could barely see some sort of maze on the ground, outlined with bricks, leading to a round center area. As my eyes adjusted to the light, I saw what it was: a labyrinth. I remembered a friend telling me that walking a labyrinth had been a transformative experience for her. I knew then that I was on the right track.

As I set out with my usual left-brained confidence, I thought about how much I loved puzzles. I knew I would very quickly get to the center of this labyrinth, as I was sure I could calculate the most efficient route there. Yes, I actually thought that the Universe was trying to send me a birthday message like, “You’re so smart! Go, Julia!” As if I hadn’t had enough experience to know that God delights in challenging us.

I figured out the rules fast enough. Walk only between the bricks, on the path they delineate. Concentrate on the present moment, just putting one foot in front of the other. I knew enough about the seeking of spiritual wisdom to realize that I wasn’t supposed to be thinking of the center as the “goal.” I tried thinking of it as just a place I’d happen to end up. Of course, as I started out, I couldn’t squelch my desire to discover the quickest way to the center of what was a strangely growing series of winding paths. After a few minutes of walking and seemingly getting nowhere — possibly even retracing my steps — I had a crucial insight. A labyrinth is not a maze. There are no choices, no paths that diverge into two so you can proudly take the one less traveled.

Once I understood that absolutely everyone who walked this labyrinth would get to the center in exactly the same way, I became earnest in my attempt to concentrate on each moment. I slowed down, because I knew that if I didn’t appreciate the twists and turns, I’d miss them once I got to the center. I let myself be led by the path, appreciating the wisdom of the circuitous route. The walk shifted from the left to the right side of my brain. There was no decision-making challenge anymore; the challenge was instead how to receive the messages the labyrinth offered.

As I slowed down and concentrated on each step, the messages came fast. If I paid close attention to the small details of a curve here or a line there, I could I see that I was never retracing my steps. Each step was a new experience. The message was that when we notice the small differences in our lives, we are able to see and celebrate our progress, even when it seems that life circumstances are repeating themselves.

Because there were no blind passages, I also realized that I would walk the entire labyrinth before I got to the center. I was excited to learn that, without even trying, I’d know each curve intimately. The center would come to me in its time, and only when I was ready. This second message was even more exciting to me than the first: Without having to figure anything out, without having to hurry along, nothing would be left undone. Nothing ends prematurely; everything ends when it is complete. And, furthermore, everything is complete without our effort, at least as long as we’re ready to take the next step, whatever that is.

That realization led to the third and final message. As I continued to enjoy the walk, it became obvious that I had only three choices with each step: move ahead, stop or walk backwards. Moving ahead came naturally to me, because I’ve always been focused on the mystery of the future. But I knew it was time to challenge myself, so I stopped. And I was amazed to discover the meaning of rest. I wasn’t being lazy. I was taking it all in — where I’d been, how I felt in the moment, where I was going.

After that discovery, I next challenged myself to walk backwards. I thought that there was nothing to be gained by retracing my steps, but again I was wrong. It allowed me to celebrate everything I’d already experienced, as well as to see that my past existed independently from the present. The third message was received: There are no mistaken steps.

As I continued to wind my way to the center and out again, I walked back to my car repeating my three birthday messages, thanking the Universe for the only gifts I really wanted.

Julia Mossbridge, a Chicago-based writer, is a mother, cognitive neuroscientist, and author of Unfolding: The Perpetual Science of Your Soul’s Work (New World Library, www.unfolding.org).

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