I enjoy walking labyrinths. Labyrinths are maze-like structures that have been used as spiritual tools for centuries. There are many of them around, and I am in the habit of trying to visit a lot of them. For more information about labyrinths, check out The Labyrinth Society. Find where labyrinths are in your area at the Worldwide Labyrinth Locator.

I went to this labyrinth, at Peter Becker Community in Harleysville, straight from the previous one. You’ll want to read that post first for context.

This is a very unique labyrinth. It’s a three-circuit contemporary design, based somewhat on both classical and Chartres designs. The path is inlaid pavers, and the walls are landscaped bushes and walls. The one big difference between this and typical labyrinths is that there’s a lot of “negative space” between sections of the path. While in most labyrinths, the path is tight and fills up most of the space, this is more like a pleasant amble through a landscaped garden.

When I arrived here, there were three people already there. But they weren’t there to walk the labyrinth. They were workers, pulling out a bush and preparing to replace it. I exchanged pleasantries with them, and then I sat on a bench at the edge of the labyrinth. I didn’t tell them I was here to walk it, and I ended up in fact not walking it. But there was something intriguing about sitting on the edge there, amid other people as they did their work, work which was keeping the labyrinth in good condition, but which was at that moment preventing me from “doing my thing.” It made me wonder if I could accomplish the same thing sitting there as I would if I were walking.

My question was intended to be this: “How can I discover or create more edge places in my life?” This thought had come to me when I considered that many of the people who live at Peter Becker Community cannot get out and drive to labyrinths as I can, so this one here was built so they could do it here. And I considered that I also cannot get out to labyrinths at the frequency I would like to. So what is there for me in those moments, those days, those weeks, when I cannot take the time or make the trip? I felt I needed to find a way to find the edges every day.

It occurred to me that I could certainly ask the men to give me a few minutes to walk the labyrinth. They probably would have given me ten minutes if I’d asked. But I felt like the lesson I needed to learn at that moment was not to ask for help. Certainly that’s a lesson I’ve needed to learn many times, but it wasn’t the lesson of now. The lesson for now was how to find myself at the edge when I can’t get out to the river or the labyrinth.

I made a quick sketch of the path this labyrinth followed. I traced over it, back and forth, a few times, and found that there was something special about doing that. I do have my stylus labyrinth at home, and I certainly used to find it helpful when I couldn’t get out to walk. So there’s one option.

And what about going to the water’s edge at the lake just a mile from my house? Another option.

And what about getting outside to observe more sunrises and sunsets? When I was a teenager, I used to walk down to the cemetery a quarter mile from my house, and watch the sun set from there. I had forgotten about that. Could I find such a place near my current home? Could I mark out my days with times like that? Sunrise – high noon – sunset? Would that be meaningful? Could I somehow do this like I was doing right then, sitting in the presence of others, without feeling awkward or self-conscious?

I found it interesting that all these thoughts and ideas flowed without even walking this labyrinth. Perhaps it was the conscious decisions to get myself here at the edge that was helpful, even more helpful than the walk itself. Perhaps that’s what I can look for daily – a conscious choice to arrive at the edge.