For thousands of years and in many cultures, humans have walked labyrinths as a form of meditation. Traveling a labyrinth symbolizes our spiritual journey inward. We start on the outer edge and walk slowly and mindfully on the single path toward the center, symbolically our center. We explore a question, pray or meditate during this quest. We reach the center and then, with purpose, continue on the path that will return us to the outer world. Unlike a maze, a labyrinth has only one path. If one is walking a labyrinth with others, the changing proximity with fellow travelers is symbolic of our interaction with others in our lives; people come and go. Sometimes we walk, for a time, near others before ultimately ending, as beginning, alone.

I enjoy the symbolism of the labyrinth. My friend Sally created one on her farm. I have walked it many times, my very favorite being Saturday night, just before midnight, under a full moon. I can’t imagine a more perfect scenario.

A small group of us gathered at the farm for our annual campout. As someone who lives and works alone, this community is important to me. The social isolation created by Covid makes these gatherings intensely important. Or maybe I am simply intense. I don’t ask about the kids but rather, “HI! Sorry about (insert traumatic event.) What is the opportunity? Where do you see yourself in 5 years?” Or “Which magical place will you choose to retire?”  Or “If a Dragon is the ultimate Yang creature, what balances him? What is the ultimate Yin creature?” Whether we have known each other for ten years or ten minutes, we go deep, fast. We talk about ideas, things that matter. I LOVE it. It feeds my soul.

After a full afternoon and night culminating in live music around a campfire, one by one, friends retired to their tents. I looked around at the moonlit pond and fields. Without human sounds, the night sounds were louder; a bullfrog, the eerie pterodactyl-like screech of a blue heron, cicadas that continue their song into the wee hours of the night, confused by the light of the full moon. I wasn’t confused by the full moon but energized. I wandered to the labyrinth. I didn’t even need a flashlight to find my way. I took pictures in the night without a flash. I wanted to yell to everyone to come share the beautiful full moon night, but I didn’t. I felt a little selfish, but part of the beauty was the solitude.

I walked the labyrinth more slowly and deliberately than I sometimes do, emerging with a sense of contentment. The day was fulfilling. I had “walked” with friends—or maybe it was more like a long hike filled with meaning, ups and downs, and beauty and pain as we discussed life. The solitude of the night was especially satisfying because of the meaningful interaction of the day. I looked around and considered exploring “Badger Hill.” Rumor is that badgers aren’t friendly. I don’t know if they are nocturnal. I am too tired to google and consider this option seriously. It’s after midnight and it might be a good idea to try to sleep. We will meet for sunrise yoga.