Labyrinth Meditation - Barabara Wealthy
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
these many years, decided not to go
home after all; what if it could turn
left or right with no more ado
than a kite-tail? What if its tarry skin
were like a long, supple bolt of cloth,
that is shaken and rolled out, and takes
a new shape from the contours beneath?
And if it chose to lay itself down
in a new way; around a blind corner,
across hills you must climb without knowing
what's on the other side; who would not hanker
to be going, at all risks? Who wants to know
a story's end, or where a road will go?
This is for us my friend you and me
Sitting quietly together
Breathing in and breathing out.
This is for everyone
Ancestors and descendants
Breathing in and breathing out.
Now we are labyrinth makers
Labyrinth walkers.
We have come together my friend, you and me
Walking quietly together
Breathing in and breathing out to
Celebrate the Labyrinth
Labyrinth - by Helen Sands
We can see the shape of the labyrinth all around us in the spiralling and turnings of Nature: in the swirl of a thumbprint, in water rippling outwards, in spiders webs, in the uncoiling of a fern. From these images we can recognize the journey of growth and becoming, curling and circling, outwards and inwards like the labyrinth. For this reason we follow a familiar path on the labyrinth, as if we were returning to the source of life itselfMatsuo Basho
Every day is a journey:
And the journey itself is home.
Little Gidding - by T.S. Eliot
We shall not cease from explorationAnd the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
The Sacred Path - by Laura Artess
Discovering our connection to the sacred whole empowers our seeking. When we see our lives from the perspective of wholeness, we appreciate our actions have a greater impact on the world than we may have imagined.What if this road - by Sheenagh Pugh.
What if this road, that has held no surprisesthese many years, decided not to go
home after all; what if it could turn
left or right with no more ado
than a kite-tail? What if its tarry skin
were like a long, supple bolt of cloth,
that is shaken and rolled out, and takes
a new shape from the contours beneath?
And if it chose to lay itself down
in a new way; around a blind corner,
across hills you must climb without knowing
what's on the other side; who would not hanker
to be going, at all risks? Who wants to know
a story's end, or where a road will go?