“I have so much to do that I shall spend the first three hours in prayer.”
― Martin Luther
I don’t think it is possible to walk the slow, curving path of a labyrinth without being spiritually transformed. The experience of walking can be as slow as you desire, but the long lasting results are immeasurable. As I do with other contemplative practices, I wonder how I can adapt this one to my primary go-to, running. At first glance, running and contemplative walking do not seem compatible. But I believe I have found a solution.
A typical labyrinth is circular in shape, with a single line leading from the outer edge to the center of the structure. Over the centuries, labyrinths were seen as mythical or magical as in the Greek mythological home of the minotaur, the half man half bull who was confined to one. But starting in the year 1205, monks at the Chartres Cathedral in France started using the labyrinth as a contemplative tool. Walking a labyrinth in prayer or meditation is a widely practiced exercise still popular today. A labyrinth, unlike a maze, is not designed to get you lost but rather to help you find yourself, to gain clarity of thought or reveal insight. The classic Chartres design calls for a labyrinth that is nearly 40 feet in diameter, made up of 11 circuits or paths.
Similar to other contemplative practices, prayer-walking the labyrinth takes on a myriad of shapes and forms, with no one way being the only proper way to do it. With this creative thought in mind, I have found one of my favorite trail running routes to be a labyrinth for me. Unlike the tightly woven circuits of a typical labyrinth, my imagined trail labyrinth takes the form of a stretched spring with more elongated twists and turns. Whereas, the typical labyrinth is a third of a mile long, my stretched out labyrinth is nearly four miles long.
The first mile of the trail starts from the Tom Sloan Saddle and heads toward the Dawn Mile Trail below; this is fairly runnable. It’s all single track with plenty of loose, scrabbly rocks and hidden roots that are not conducive to a fast trail running experience, but ideal for preparing me for a labyrinth practice; I must slow down. The further I go, the slower I must go to negotiate water crossings and boulder climbs. These are perfect conditions for contemplation. Rather than ruminate about current mind stirrings, I’ve decided to empty my thoughts by focusing on one word, my “holding word” that I will return to whenever my thoughts try to wander away. When my mind starts to fixate on a thought thread, I repeat my holding word to gently return to thinking about nothing.
I have used familiar words such as peace, love, slow, relax, calm, or flow to anchor previous contemplations but today’s word surprised me. It’s not as virtuous as my usual words, but it’s the first word that came to mind:
“Slinky”
Not slinky as in ‘20s silent film star slinky, but Slinky as in one of my favorite toys as a kid.
What walks down stairs, alone or in pairs and makes a slinkity sound?
A spring, a spring, a marvelous thing!
Everyone knows it's Slinky.
Yes, that Slinky, the multi spiraled springy toy with that unmistakable sound that only a Slinky could make. As a first grader, I clearly remember holding my beloved Slinky in my palms, raising and lowering my hands rhythmically so that the helical spring would shift from one hand to the other. Mesmerized by the vision of the shifting spring and the iconic metallic rhythm, I could play with that thing for hours. I know that I was hypnotizing myself as a 6-year-old ASMR trainee. It seems unimaginable that 60 years later my beloved Slinky would return as an integral tool for contemplation, yet, here we are.
It’s a bright blue, unseasonably warm January day in the San Gabriel foothills. It’s the perfect day to be shaded by the canopied Dawn Mine Trail. The elongated twists and turns hold my attention with sharp loose rocks. I slip my body between tightly clustered boulders. Through it all, I fix my mind on the vision of the shifting helical spring.
“It’s supposed to rain tomorrow, I hope our deck repair holds up…Slinky…”
“The Lakers lost again last night…Slinky…”
“I need to get that drywall done…Slinky…”
Eventually the mind banter subsides and I hear only my breathing, the canyon wrens laughing, the stream gurgling down the arroyo. I’m focused only on the path, the rock formations I must get through, the stepping stones to cross the water. My thoughts are few and very quiet now. Finally, I’m in the flow of the labyrinth with almost no thoughts at all.
A couple of miles later, I smile broadly at the end of the trail as I return to running mode. I always enter a labyrinth carrying a load of thoughts and burdens. If I’ve been running meditatively, I leave lighter, leaving my cares softly behind. I look upward toward the expanse of sky, smiling with a lighter heart and smiling because of my unexpected contemplative companion, Slinky.
Slinky as spiritual practice! I love it. And that a child's toy can spark such meditation. I enjoy labyrinths too and have been writing a piece on them for next month. (I'm also trying to convince my husband to build us one on our farm!) When I get round to finishing that post and publishing it, would you be open to me linking to your writing here?
Currently in Cyprus where there is an amazing art installation of three labyrinth. Google pissouri labyrinth