The Garden Walk

Two fat robins sip water from the gutters overlooking my open window. Warm air, buds on branches, fresh-cut grass, daffodils—everything about April gets me out the door and into the garden. I've already bought a big, red geranium plant, and I'm keeping it watered. My parsley usually winters over but gave out this winter, so I've replaced that. I've bought more Dahlia tubers; I can't ever have enough dahlias. This year, I'm trying red onions for the first time, and I will also try growing garlic. I like getting my hands into the dirt and getting my hopes up for what will follow. Along those lines, while paging through gardening books the other night, I came across a section on mazes and labyrinths—two classic garden walkways encouraging my tendency to muse.

The Smithsonian assures me that mazes have been part of the human experience for thousands of years. Not surprisingly, for ages, only the elite had access to mazes. PBS television shows have made it easy for me to picture young nobles romping around the hedges while courting their fair ladies. Corn mazes cut at harvest time have big followings, as do the fantastic ice mazes featured at Winter festivals. 

The only garden maze I ever walked was in the early 1950s at Prospect Hill in Waltham, Massachusetts. It was an evergreen type, and we kids didn't care that we could see over most of the scraggly bushes. We ran around, hit dead ends, puzzled our way through the confusion of paths, and shouted directions to friends waylaid by the false trails. By design, mazes are a party: multiple paths branch off, confuse, trap, and reward. They provide a unique quality of high-energy fun.

Labyrinths invite a more solitary experience. There's nothing to figure out; the only task is to walk the single continuous path to the center and out. It sounds uncomplicated, but it's an ostensibly passive experience. Before setting out on the walk, participants are encouraged to reflect on what the labyrinth's center might represent for them at the time. It might be an encounter with the sacred or a chance to reflect on a goal, challenge, hope, or question. 

A good labyrinth features multiple rounds that weave circuitously back and forth across the expanse of the design, with the center always in plain sight; the famed Chartres Cathedral in France boasts a whopping eleven rounds. The walker moves tantalizingly close to the central focal point, only to spiral off on another circumambulating round. That near yet very far away experience activates all sorts of internal activity. The slow pace along the way allows thoughts, feelings, and questions to surface. The traveler is encouraged to be mindful of anything that comes up along the journey. The pause at the center provides an open space for additional reflection and response, and the way out often evokes new insights and shifts related to the walker's original intention.

Art is life; life is art. Someone famous said that. Isn't it true that despite how carefully we plan, life sometimes feels like a garden rife with hard-scape realities? Who hasn't run into a brick wall at some point? Most of us know the misery of feeling stuck or lost, the dreadful nature of problems that evoke confusion and a sense that there's no way out. Life sometimes calls for actively figuring out life's questions; at other times, a slowed-down, introspective approach seems best. 

Whether life feels like a puzzle or a coil, living well requires being awake and present to the perennial nature of problems in our everyday lives. After I've worked through some issue, some snag or other, I breathe a sigh of relief and think Whew! That's it. I've moved through that blind spot and solved that problem. And yet, the rude irony is that many issues, situations, and relational conflicts work like a spiral. They are deep-seated. They come back. Freud was among the modern voices who highlighted this natural penchant for repetition. We get endless chances to begin again.

Wisdom traditions encourage practices like walking mazes and labyrinths to inform, inspire, and deepen my capacity to reflect on the raggedy, recurring stuff of life. When I find myself again running into the same ferocious problem, intentional habits of reflection increase my chances of increased understanding. The next time I run amuck, I might bring the fruits of experience to bear upon my problems.

Alas, many of us only know about the mazes we'd follow with crayons in our coloring books or comics. These two-dimensional paper versions are helpful as tools that promote neurological health benefits. Experts tell us they help prevent cognitive decline and improve brain health. In case I never write that post, I discovered many free printable versions of mazes online here. And, if you plan to travel to France later or need to learn about your local labyrinths, here is a link to one near you. There are loads of free downloadable labyrinths online and here. While writing this piece, I've benefited from trying them and discovered their power.

Ah, the wonders of growth in our gardens!