Holding Space

I've been spending even more time walking the labyrinth lately. Those of you who read my blog regularly will recognize this photo as my adopted labyrinth on the campus of Hendrix College, about a 10-minute walk from our house. It's a shared adoption with the community. But I rarely encounter others, until recently when I discovered messages they had left in the center. I'll get to that later.

Circling the labyrinth is a meditation for me. I trust that the single path will take me to the center and back, so my mind can rest from needling questions such as "Am I doing this right?" or "What if I get lost?" In fact the longer I walk, the more my mind and body typically begin to calm as I concentrate on one foot in front of the other. Yet recently, Worries follow me every step of the way, nipping at my heels no matter how vigorously I shoo them away. 

What's different about these worries is that they are not mine alone; they are shared. You have them, too. First, it was (and still is) the pandemic and now, the unconscionable murder of George Floyd and its unfolding – often violent – aftermath. Covid-19's nagging health anxieties have been compounded by fear, anger and outrage at injustices too long endured and rarely redressed.

As a labyrinth facilitator, I offer opportunities for people to learn about and walk labyrinths. However, I don't walk with them. I stand at the entrance and hold space as the walkers enter, circle, then exit. I am present for them. Wherever they are on their journeys, whatever emotions they may experience during the walk, they know I am there – not to intervene, fix or critique – but to provide a calm, caring environment. It's a unique opportunity for me to quieten my own swirling thoughts and be a compassionate presence to others.  

The more I try to be intentionally present to people in my daily life, which may simply mean talking less and listening more, I find myself gradually regaining a hopefulness that has faded over the last three months. Holding space for myself as well, with self-compassion, mindfulness, and acceptance of what I can and cannot control, gives me renewed energy to find meaningful ways to connect with others. 

And knowing that people with similar worries are holding space – being present for me and one another – is sustaining, which brings me back to the messages in the labyrinth.

​Painted rocks keep showing up in the center, with no clue who left them, and they often disappear by the next morning.

One day when I was feeling particularly discouraged, a rock greeted me with the word, Strong. Another day, Courage.. 
I placed the Gratitude rock in the center early one morning, and it had vanished by the afternoon. I like to think it's a word someone needed at just the right moment, and that it's now perched on her window sill.

We can be present to those we know, and don't know, in endless and creative ways. We are limited only when we forget to try. May we move forward with increased compassion, perhaps leaving painted rocks along the way. 
  

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