Leslie, the owner of the Santosha on the Ridge B&B had a labyrinth built on the property.
I must confess that I knew nothing of labyrinths before I took this trip. When telling us about the Columcille Park, she mentioned walking the labyrinth there and like many people, I concluded that it was a type of maze.
One afternoon, I wandered out to the Santosha labyrinth. I stood at the entrance, looking down a gentle slope toward the river just out of sight below and cleared my mind of any notions I may have had.
I would follow the path and let it tell me its story.
But it told me my story. The story of all humans. Of life. It reminded me that the path is never straight. It is never direct. I was walking towards my goal - the bench in the center - but the path was taking me away from the center, then tantalizingly close, and back away again.
It was telling me no matter your plans - the earth, the universe, your god, whatever name you give to that which guides you has its own plans. You can peacefully walk the path laid before you, learning as you go or you can fight and rail against it, missing the entire journey.
I walked the path, feeling the bark of trees as I passed by, admiring stones set out along the way, noticing the many hues of yellows and reds of the leaves beneath my feet. At last I did reach the bench and sat quietly there, listening to the wind through the trees, the scrunch of leaves being shuffled by the chipmunks and the conversations of the crows. I watched the light and shadows ripple as the trees swayed. I breathed in the clear, crisp air, slightly tinged with wood smoke from a fireplace down the hill.
I felt the exhilarating paradox of being completely at peace and completely energized at once.
And I walked out the same way I walked in, open to what our Mother had to tell me.