#14 ~ Living The Labyrinth Way

A reflection of life’s rhythm. Never a straight line but a series of spirals, detours, and returns.

Apr 02, 2025

What does it mean to live the labyrinth way?

I’ve made it a practice after particularly chaotic times or challenging setbacks to turn to Mother Earth and ask: how can I give back to you? How can I show my gratitude? Perhaps a gesture of love signaling that yes, I’m here co-creating with you and a conscious witness to all the gifts arriving. Even in the so called “hard times” I find that this practice really aids in the surrendering to the unfolding of my life and trusting that everything is happening for me… not to me.

In November, I finally started settling into the barn apartment my dad built outside of Austin. We call this part of Texas the Hill Country - it’s the jewel of our state in my humble opinion. A special stretch of land nestled among hills and water holes, I feel lucky to call it home. Though my relationship with belonging here has been... complicated.

Living in a small town as a thirty-something can feel both isolating and expansive. There’s space to think. To listen. To feel. No distractions. But also, a kind of quiet that can make you feel like you’re unimportant, forgotten, and losing your edge — far from friends and far from rhythms that would make sense at this age.

Living here may not have been in the “plans” I had for this decade of life. If you just asked me a year ago, my vision board collected images of creative meet ups, city views, buzzing weekends, and lots of people.

But the plans changed. Everything I clung to fell away. And in the rawness of that loss… the confusion and the untethering… I asked Mother Earth:

How can I honor this land for welcoming me back home?

And so there I was, walking a stone path with no idea where it was leading. Each turn brought me closer to the center or so I thought. Sometimes I felt near. Sometimes I felt impossibly far. As I approached the center, I could see her.

A very old woman sat at the center of the circle. She was sitting directly on the Earth her hands in her lap and head bowed towards the dirt. I finally reached the last bend on the path and now was standing directly above her. She looked up and met my gaze.

It was me.

The older me. Sixty years from now. At least ninety.

I was stunned. I was looking into my own eyes. They were mine yet wiser, gentler, deeper. Her gaze held a knowing.

“You are walking the labyrinth you will build here,” she said. “An ancient practice to honor the sacred nature of life’s winding way. To honor the land and all the caretakers before you. It’s a path built for reflection, meditation, and transformation. For you, your family, your descendants and anyone who may come into your life.”

And then I woke up.

With the help of my dad, we got to work ideating, designing, and building the labyrinth I saw in my dream. The process unfolded over several months sometimes so slowly we wondered if we were a little crazy for taking it on. Our initial design (below) is based off the most ancient known labyrinth from Greece - the Classical Seven-Circuit. This design dates back to around 1200 BCE making it one of the oldest depictions of a labyrinth in the Western world. What I love about this design is that it’s unicursal. There’s only one way in and one way out. It’s not a puzzle to solve but a path to be felt. Unlike a maze, which is meant to confuse, a labyrinth has no dead ends. No tricks. Just a winding journey to the center… and back again.

The symbolism is abundant. A journey inward, where each curve draws you deeper into the self. A reflection of life’s rhythm. Never a straight line but a series of spirals, detours, and returns. Reaching the center can feel like a death. A release. A letting go. The walk back out feels like a rebirth. A return. A remembering. Trusting the path is all you’re asked to do. The labyrinth teaches you to keep walking.

It was important to us to use natural stone. To make it feel as if the labyrinth had emerged from the land itself, not been imposed upon. We honored the trees, even altering our original design to accommodate several whose roots we couldn’t bear to disturb. Every stone was placed by hand. Slowly. Intentionally.

It was arduous work (bending, lifting, listening!) but by the time we completed the labyrinth on March 1, 2025… 4+ months later.. I realized something:

The process of building it was the pilgrimage. Each stone mirrored a step inward. Each turn of the design reflected the turns I’ve taken within myself.

Since completing it, I’ve walked the labyrinth nearly every day.

Sometimes in silence. Sometimes in prayer. Sometimes in tears. Sometimes in song.

There’s something about the rhythm of the path… trying to take it fast just doesn’t work. You can’t rush a labyrinth. It really only allows a slow and deliberate circling. I walk it with bare feet so I can feel the stones.

Some days, I enter the labyrinth with a question.
Other days, I carry my grief, a longing, or a prayer I haven’t found words for.

When I miss someone or feel the ache of a past life, I walk the labyrinth.
When I want to forgive myself, I walk the labyrinth.
And sometimes, I enter with nothing at all. Just the desire to remember myself.
To come back to center. Both literally and metaphorically.

There’s no pressure to “figure anything out” in the labyrinth. The labyrinth doesn't always give answers. But it does offer questions. It invites presence. It offers space.

And with every step, trust reveals itself.

While walking the labyrinth these are some questions that have found me… may they guide you on your own winding road of life.