I still remember her. Barefoot, around eleven years old perhaps, wearing a simple dress. Her eyes half closed, her arms cast at her sides, palms out toward the world. Not forced, but open. Walking the Chartres Labyrinth as if in a trance. As if given over to the power of the prayer. As if feeling God in her very bones. Locked in with Spirit.

While making the journey toward the center, you find yourself on the labyrinth’s outermost edge right before you are summoned to the middle. This is the genius of the Chartres Labyrinth. Sometimes you wonder if you ever will get there. You know you can’t get lost in a labyrinth, but sometimes you feel you are.

I think a lot about this labyrinth of life. I wish I could always live in the inner chamber, taste the marrow of every moment, but that is not my human calling. It is about the whole winding path; though separated by no obstacles from the center, that sense of unity winds in and out of perception.

Thomas Morton’s beloved prayer reminds me, “I know you will lead me by the right road, though I may know nothing of it.”

It’s been harder for me to blog these past few years during and since Div School because my life hasn’t felt as wild and open to the Holy Spirit as it did when I was on silent retreats, pilgrimaging around the US, living in religious communities. With a quiet persistence, I’m reminded of the ongoing journey, the unity of the whole, and Merton’s words:

“Therefore will I trust you always, though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.”