Love Through a Labyrinth

28 Sep 2024 4 Comments

by Dr. Tricia Wolanin in Uncategorized Tags: , , , , , , , , , , ,

“The unicursal path of the labyrinth is what differentiates it and sets it apart as a spiritual tool. The labyrinth does not engage our thinking minds. It invites our intuitive, pattern-seeking, symbolic mind to come forth. It presents us with only one, but profound, choice. To enter a labyrinth is to choose to walk a spiritual path.” 
― Dr. Lauren Artress

            Labyrinths often are confused with mazes.  At a quick glance, they appear similar.  Oftentimes a circular journey that appears to trick us as we walk towards the center.  Yet there is one differences.  Mazes have multiple options one can talk, a small form of choose your own adventure, filled with false pathways and dead-ends.  But labyrinths do not trick us, there is only one way in and out. 

            Over the years, I’ve wandered through numerous labyrinths, but inside churches, buildings, and in gardens and retreat centers.  Yet, the experience at Chartres Cathedral was profound.  I had heard once that the labyrinths, particularly in France during the medieval times served as a metaphorical pilgrimage people could take if they did not have the time or physical strength to take the 500 plus mile walk via Camino de Santiago. This contemplative practice offered a piece of the reflection that could occur. 

            I was reminded that a pilgrimage begins with intention, often when one leaves the home. Last week, as we waited at Gare Montparnesse for our train track to be displayed to Chartres, we witnessed a staff member arguing with her boss.  He didn’t seem to be understanding her as her voice elevated, at one point she screamed and hit the floor.  Was it a panic attack, stress induced stress or a dramatic act?  We couldn’t tell as a handsome passenger who also was a doctor, offered his help.  As the fainting woman was sent away in a mini ambulance golf cart, I wondered had the pilgrimage begun. Each component played a part in the day: the heavy bags we carried, a miscommunication with the uber driver, the short but steep distance we walked from the train station to the hotel?  A line of police vans drove by and small tents were getting set up.  I couldn’t help but wonder what type of celebration was occurring or who was here.  We queried our receptionist, who stated simply that someone important was in town. Thoughts immediately went to political importance.  When I inquired if it was the president, she nodded her head, not wanting to verbally share who was here but not denying it either.

And so the pilgrimage really did begun. Each persona we met with during the day served as an archetype for the journey: the victim, the doctor, the police, the staff, and the president.   We were prompt to arrive at Chartres Cathedral, as we were aware the labyrinth is only open for several hours on Fridays during some parts of the year. But as we walked to the Cathedral, we noticed crowds of students gathered outside and inside.  Was it a massive field trip or something else?  I later learned it was a photo op with President Macron.  We were so in the zone of the moment that we didn’t seem to absorb he was in the Cathedral the same time as us.  The labyrinth appeared before us, uncovered from the chairs that usually sit on top of it. I was curious how this labyrinth experience would compare to others I have done in the world. 

One is to think of an intention as you enter a labyrinth. And so I did.  As I meandered from one side of it to the other I reflected on this intention.  Volunteers guarded the labyrinth, from tourists who stumbled unknowingly onto the labyrinth.  They ensured that all who would grace the space offered their respect to what lay underneath them.  If they were not going to walk it appropriately, they would have to leave the labyrinth and walk around the perimeter. The protector archetype was present, as was the fool, and the student.  And as I walked the labyrinth, I would repeat my mantra. Pause.  Repeat.  Many of us were spread out, but as we entered the final stretch of the labyrinth, there was a bit of a human traffic jam.  I wondered if I would feel frustrated with so many people there. Were people taking it seriously or was it just another quick tourist photo op?

But something shifted and changed.  I dropped into this sentimental place observing my fellow pilgrims. And then I couldn’t stop crying for the beauty of the moment.  This entire day was a metaphor of life.  All the characters and interactions, and in the symbolism of this walk we were each headed for a moment in the center.  The Chartres labyrinth is special in there are 6 petals in the center, for this particular walk, unspoken rules were created were our specific group.  We were all strangers from different parts of the world momentarily gathered to embark on this contemplative tradition.  As we walked into the entryway to the center, each of us would step to the left, as the person in the center stepped out.  Some people had their hands to their hearts, bellies, both, or even palms open, ready to receive.  As the person stood in the center, they faced the altar and infamous stained glass windows.  It was as if it was there moment to shine, receive our quiet intentions and prayers, before stepping out. I couldn’t help but compare this specific part to one’s death, offerings, acknowledgement and prayers are made for a moment in time in one’s honor before you step out of the labyrinth.

Each time you walk the labyrinth it’s different but this specific moment will be etched in my mind.  It served as a powerful reminder of meeting each part of ourselves on the journey of life. And having a moment of grace before one steps out of their path on earth. What are your stepping into? What are you leaving behind?

            And so I challenge you to find a local labyrinth, make one, engage in a finger labyrinth and notice what metaphors arise on the journey.

Perpetual Decluttering

09 Oct 2022 Leave a comment

by Dr. Tricia Wolanin in Uncategorized Tags: , , , ,

“Clutter is nothing more than postponed decisions.” ― Barbara Hemphill

Over the past several years I have gone through a constant process of decluttering.  Last year it culminated in me getting rid of 1000 items in one year.  That was everything from pens to a wedding dress.  I was moving from a four floor house in the UK to an apartment in Paris that was less than 300 square feet.  This year I stopped calculating.  I knew I could not keep excessive items, because there literally was no space for them.  But today I gave away several items, and I felt a tiny sting.

One of these items was a backpack, which I have worn the past two years on the Camino de Santiago.  These were walking pilgrimages that lasted for days.  It held significance for me, and I would have kept that backpack for longer, but it began to fall apart.  I also gave away a tank top, which I wore on many first dates this past year.  It was a flattering color, but I admit it has seen better days.  I parted with a light sweater which brought warmth on numerous trips. 

I realize for me decluttering is an ongoing cleansing I must do.  Certain items are easy for me to get rid of, but others I have been putting off.  I want to keep these items until they must be disposed of.  But I can’t help but wonder why.  Why am I waiting till these items are in torn conditions?  Don’t I deserve more than this?  I am not struggling.  I have more items to utilize.  These items do not have to last forever, so why do I wait until they are totally worn to release them?  I wonder “What does that say about me and how I value myself?” 

How am I trying to show my value and worth to the world if I continue to wear these clothes to the ground?  If I keep everything, there is no space to let in new experiences.  Having these thoughts, I wanted to make a different choice. And with that I let them go.  

“Clutter is anything that does not support your better self.” ― Eleanor Brownn

me, my bookbag, and my friend Isabella on the camino

The End is Our Beginning

04 Sep 2022 Leave a comment

by Dr. Tricia Wolanin in Uncategorized Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

            We had arrived in Santiago de Compostella, which is the endpoint for many people who choose to do the pilgrimage of Camino de Santiago.  The film The Way popularized this bucket list journey.  The most traditional path is to take the Camino Frances route, which begins in St-Jean-Pied-de-Port France, and then transitions into Spain through the Pyrenes mountains and traverses for 500 miles.  Generally, one needs to do at least 100 kilometers to receive a certificate of completion.  Regardless of how many miles one walks, generally the destination was our starting point.  

            It was our initial day in Spain, and we were beginning our journey at everyone’s end.  On our first night, we went into the Cathedral, that houses the remains of the apostle St. James.  For hundreds of years people have walked to this location for this specific purpose, to see where St. James lies.  It seemed taboo.  Had we earned the right to visit without yet putting on our walking shoes?  Our walking journey was to begin the next day, but we could take in the evening’s festivities of this celebrated town. 

            I am not new to the Spanish culture.  This was my 21st trip to Spain, and my second time embarking on this pilgrimage in Santiago.  Yet this time our route was to end in Finistere, also known as the end of the world.  It’s been said that this Celtic path predates the Catholic pilgrimage.  We were hopeful the exploration of the city that evening would massage out the kinks that occurred at the airport hours before.  We were lucky it did.  

            After securing a walking stick, a delicious meal of tapas and patatas bravas, a tasty pastry, and rations for the next day’s journey, we strolled the streets to see what the night would reveal.  The tourist shops had now closed, and it was solely bars that were open at this hour.  Then we stumbled onto an archway by the church.  It served more as a portal.  Generally during the day, a musician plays his bagpipe, demonstrating the Celtic traditions that still exude in this land of Galicia.  But at this hour, the bagpipes were packed away, and were replaced with an opera singer.  

I love most street performers.  They move an audience to stop the busy-ness of their lives and slow down, and simply take in the gift of music they are sharing.  The opera singer sang several popular opera songs, the crowd slowly started to build.  Then the tunes changed, and he began singing “My Way,” which generally isn’t my favorite song, as it reminds me of an American middle aged drunk man’s go to karaoke song, as a bar closes.  But there were other people in the audience that seemed to enjoy it.  A tiny group of three older people who looked as if they were tourists and friends had their arms around each other.  They swayed and sang.   The opera singer appreciated their immersive experience.  When it was time for the chorus, the opera singer pointed to the trio and allowed them to take the stage.  “I did it my way.”  People had stopped to sit on the steps, and observe this magical moment.  For a brief passing period of time, we were all connected.  I couldn’t help but cry witnessing this beautiful example of collective gratitude and mindfulness.  These were not tears of sadness or worry for my future.  These were tears of joy I was able to experience this moment of collective bliss.  

            Perhaps starting at the end wasn’t a bad decision.  It was how this journey was to begin.  We could harvest the beauty and love shared from the evening onto the next day’s 23 kilometer trek.  I couldn’t wait to see what was next in store.