From inside the Labyrinth

Last summer, in the midst of pandemic paralysis, I drove outside DC to a 6 foot hedge labyrinth.

Because of the necessity of social distancing, walking through the labyrinth, there was no other person visible. While I trusted that I had been directed at the entry and that I would be rescued if I was so misdirected that I ended stuck in a “dead-end” — I also could only focus on the step I was taking — rather than the end result.

In the last few days, I have been revisiting the experience — what it means during Lent to be present — just to this moment and this day, rather than planning Easter dinner.

Of twists and turns upon this Lenten journey
the cleaning out of closets and resorting the chaos
Of letting go and making space
the ground that begins to thaw and my heart that opens again
Of recalling that I won’t be going back to how it was before
because some people aren’t here now that were then
Of just taking the path ahead of me
because there is something new to discover around the next turn

Of twists and turns upon this Lenten journey
the ashes made by things that need to be discarded
Of those things that no longer have a place in the “shoulds”
the fasting from what has no hint of new life and the scent of joy
Of remembering that there are seeds that are waiting to burst
but I won’t see them until I emerge from the winding desert of these days
Of letting the warm sun seep into my life
but there could be a rain storm before the Lenten Labyrinth is done with me.

Happy Tuesday.
See you around the next turn,
Bridget