Winter Wisdom from an Outdoor Labyrinth
Today's spiritual insight brought to you by: Walking an outdoor labyrinth in 20-degree weather because apparently indoor spiritual practices weren’t challenging enough.
On my annual 5-day silent retreat, I usually walk the retreat center’s labyrinth as part of my spiritual practice. Usually, this labyrinth is inside where it’s warm. Usually, I walk the labyrinth in my socks.
An indoor labyrinth.
So, this year, when I decided to go to a new retreat center, I decided to do my usual retreat rituals differently (except for drinking coffee all morning and wearing slippers all day. Some traditions are sacred.).
Enter the outdoor labyrinth.
In addition to being the title of one of my all-time favorite movies, a labyrinth is a maze where you can’t get lost. It’s a spiritual practice symbolic of a pilgrimage. The design contains twists and turns to the center, and the way in is also the way out. They're like life's spiritual journey - you think you're almost at the center, then the path curves away so you cover more ground before you arrive at the center.
I learned this firsthand a few years on a silent retreat where I was processing traumatic grief. I stood at the labyrinth’s entrance and noted the distance between my starting place and the window on the wall opposite the labyrinth, which was about 20 feet in front of me.
When I got to the labyrinth’s center, I looked up at the window to see how much progress I made. “I’m not that much closer to the window than I was when I started. I spent all this time walking but I didn’t get very far. Is this for real?” Annoyed at my lack of progress, I looked down to see the maze-like path I had walked. There were a lot of twists and turns. I actually had covered a lot of ground, even though I hadn’t moved much closer to the window.
I had walked 130 steps on a winding path to advance 6 linear feet.
That's the beauty of the labyrinth and the spiritual journey. While the world measures progress in straight lines and ladders climbed, real transformation happens in spirals and curves, pivots and turns.
This year, I traded in my socks to walk an outdoor labyrinth in my snow pants, hiking boots, parka, and wool hat and gloves. The smell of a wood-burning fire nearby reminded me that I could be inside doing the indoor labyrinth in comfort, but no. I had to change it up.
The first part of the path brought me right up against the center, and I thought, “Oh hey, maybe this design is different. Maybe I won’t freeze while doing this.” I was tempted to hop the design and go right to the center, but I resisted. I walked. My pace slowed. My toes slowly became numb. I recognized that, alas, this design wasn’t different, and it wouldn’t be easier or quicker. And still, I kept walking.
Walking the outdoor labyrinth.
The discomfort and annoyance didn’t last long. When I got to the center, I could hear the wind and feel it across my lips. I could still smell the wood-burning fire. I stood in the center and closed my eyes, allowing myself to take in the quiet wonder around me.
Like a walking an outdoor labyrinth in winter, the spiritual path isn’t always easy. It’s not always comfortable. A life of spiritual formation isn’t about quick fixes. It’s about getting to the center, releasing attachments that once served us and now hold us back, and being open to the delight, wonder, awe, and surprise that goes hand-in-hand with dark nights of the soul.
Spiritual practices, contemplative rituals, or mindful tools – whatever brings you to you – helps us make sense of life’s challenges. Like a labyrinth, you can’t really get lost as long as you trust the path with all its twists and turns.
