Third Place Essay - Kay Hafner

Of Life and the Labyrinth reveals how walking a labyrinth can bring us peace, serving as a reminder that even challenging journies are walked one step at a time.

Of Life and the Labyrinth
by Kay Hafner

I went into the labyrinth looking for answers. My mom had been diagnosed with small cell lung cancer, a very aggressive kind of tumor. But at least it was limited stage; at least it hadn’t spread. If so, they might not have treated it at all. Rather, the “good” news was that the oncologist wanted to fight it with the most advanced, most aggressive chemotherapy available.

After the arrangements, but before any sort of acceptance, I felt pressure weighing on my heart. Where would I get the strength to handle this situation? The answer came in the form of a book.

In my work as a circulation clerk at Crandall Public Library in Glens Falls, NY, I rarely need to search the stacks to look for books to read or music to listen to or DVDs to watch. The best part of my job is that things I have just checked in are in my hands, ready to put on my card if they look interesting. A few weeks after Mom’s diagnosis I found myself flipping through a book called Exploring the Labyrinth by Melissa Gayle West. I checked it out and started reading the same day.

I was already familiar with labyrinths and their meditative uses. In spring 2005, I went to the dedication of a labyrinth that had been erected at the local Unitarian Universalist Church because I wanted to know more about these ancient formations. I learned then about the two kinds of labyrinths in use today—the classic seven-circuit one they designed for the church grounds as well as the more complex 11-circuit kind found originally in the floor of the Cathedral at Chartres in France—and some basic information about how they have been used for meditation and prayer.

We walked through the labyrinth en masse that day at the Unitarian Church labyrinth dedication. It wasn’t the introduction I’d hoped for. There were a few dozen more people than I would have liked. Also, it was the end of service when we went out. I sensed some people considered it an obligatory group event before heading off to the Sunday things they really wanted to do. Other people were, I’m sure, as interested in knowing more about how the labyrinth could affect their lives as I was. It was just hard to tell who was there and who was present.

I left that day glad that I’d participated and learned about labyrinths, but vowing to go back sometime and try it on my own, with less commotion and more peaceful isolation. I wanted to experience being alone with my thoughts while slowly walking the labyrinth, not worrying who was in front or behind me, or if I were doing it right.

What I eventually learned, from books and web articles as well as my own experience, is that there’s no right or wrong way to walk the labyrinth. Some people consider it to be a joyful experience, full of smiles and spontaneity. These are the type that report increased spiritual energy when they’re in a group. For my part, I’m an only child and someone who values solitude. Walking the labyrinth is a peaceful experience leading me back to Me. I walk slowly, reverently, through the labyrinth. I place each foot deliberately and let my breath slow and deepen, allowing the walk to be a physical meditation, a prayer in motion. I empty my heart and free my mind as I walk along the sweeping arcs that form the outside layers of the labyrinth. I do this with relief and certainty, like a knight removing his battle armor, piece by piece, when he knows he is in a safe and protected keep. Layer after layer of defense is removed until I am exposed and vulnerable.

Entering the labyrinth this way, by the time I reach the center I am, truly, centered—focused on that time, that place, open to simple wisdoms and gentle guidance the experience might bring. Walking the labyrinth is like looking into a still pond that’s returned to calm after a storm. Depths that have been moved and changed and hidden are there to be revealed. If you are ready for them.

Conventional wisdom and common usage considers the word “labyrinth” to be synonymous with “maze.” It’s a misconception I hope changes as the labyrinth movement started in the 1990s by Lauren Artress of Grace Cathedral in San Francisco grows in strength. It isn’t that I don’t like mazes. A hay or corn maze in fall or a hedge maze at a Renaissance fair are fun ways to pass the time, by yourself or with a friend. However, a maze is a puzzle, designed to trick and challenge you. With a labyrinth, there are no tricks. There is only one path in, and it is the same path you leave by, but there are no directions to worry about, or dead ends to avoid.

The path may take the walker out the way she came in, but the hope—when I enter the labyrinth, at least—is that I won’t be quite the same as when I entered. Certainly, there will be times when the waters of your mind don’t yield anything clearer than mud. It may take a while. Eventually, you will leave the labyrinth bringing with you answers or insights or even revelations. The walk out allows you time, before you go back out into the world, to ponder how to apply what has been revealed.

When I went into the labyrinth for the first time by myself, I was self-conscious. No one was in the church but it’s in a suburban location, a former dance school, with a highway to the west and a subdivision to the east. It was early spring and trees hadn’t yet budded. The backyard of a nearby home could be seen clearly through the small expanse of woods separating them. It was mid-afternoon. I had just left my parents’ apartment, which is just up the dead-end street from the church.

After reassuring myself that no one was likely to be at home in the nearest houses, I got out of my car and tentatively approached the clearing that held the labyrinth. I scanned the area, trying to remember how it looked with dozens of people of all ages and various styles of dress. Some shuffled, some meandered but all moved together. Looking back, perhaps we were a more cohesive whole than I thought that day. Many people, myself included, had placed rocks and stones from home to help fill in the lines. The organizers had requested this so we could make the sacred space in some small way our own.

That first day by myself I inhaled and exhaled in deep, cleansing breaths as I walked, eyes scanning the wood-chipped path as it unfolded a foot or so in front of me.

The cleansing breaths helped relax me, lifted the weight from my shoulders, eased the pressure constricting my heart—if only for a short time. For several walks I struggled with questions. Why had this cancer struck our family? Why had it happened to my mom just four years after recovering from cardiac arrest and finally quitting her cigarette habit? What could I possibly do about it?

Walking the labyrinth several times a week for a few weeks eventually helped me realize I couldn’t cure my mother. That would be left to a higher power and the medical staff. I could only help her deal with her illness. Day by day and, like the labyrinth, step by step.

I continue to walk the labyrinth when time permits. However, life has been hectic since my mom’s diagnosis three and a half months ago. Treatment is progressing but nothing is as yet known about a full prognosis. The aggressive chemotherapy that started the fight was followed by eight weeks of radiation and more concurrent chemotherapy. It is likely that more heavy-hitting chemotherapy is to come, not only to shrink the tumor but to stop it from spreading. Soon we’ll have another scan to tell how things are going. But I know that cancer is a long road with many hills to climb and few scenic overlooks.

I enter the labyrinth with questions. I leave the labyrinth with reassurance.

Copyright 2006, Kay Hefner

Biography

Kay Hafner is a writer from northern New York State. She reports that her mother’s chemotherapy and radiation treatments were successful in fighting the lung tumor and, so far, in stopping any spread of the disease. “Walking the labyrinth is what allowed me to fill, tap into and refill internal reservoirs of strength during the crisis with my mother. It may not work for everyone, or work in the same way, but I’m so glad it was an option and an opportunity which I was open to taking.”