Wednesday night the high school youth took their turn on the labyrinth. I'll have to admit, I was reticent. They are, after all, teenagers whose very job description is to be unpredictable -- emotionally mercurial, intermittently mature, fiercely compassionate while simultaneously cloyingly narcissistic. We can be having the deepest, most insightful conversations one minute, and then effortlessly slip sideways into petty trivialities and gossip the next without so much as a comma, let alone a period and a new paragraph. They are, I suppose when I put it that way, only louder, slightly more hormonal versions of the rest of us.
So, I had some questions about how the labyrinth would go. It is a silent walk, and our group isn't known for being quiet. It requires personal space, and our group is incessantly sitting on, picking at, playing with and throwing things at each other. It demands persistence, and we don't stick very long with very much -- except, I'll have to say, with each other, and that last fact gave me some hope. The labyrinth was either going to be just intriguing enough to hold our attention, or a total bust.
I began with a little history, then transitioned to a few instructions -- primarily involving leaving each other alone -- asked everyone to remove their shoes and then to mentally, spiritually prepare. I suggested they simply sit quietly before beginning the walk, and when finished, to consider sitting back down to reflect for a moment before leaving, since this was to be the last activity of our time together this week. I invited them to have no preconceptions or expectations of the experience, but to simply take the walk and allow it to be whatever it might be. It isn't magic, I said. Some people, I told them, find it a waste of time; others find it to be a very powerful, enlightening, even emotional experience of insight, clarity and holy presence. It is, I suggested, not for everyone, and while I hoped they would try it, it was not a requirement. Do it if you want, or don't. And then I stopped.
It was quiet as I walked to the back of the room where another adult was trying to get my attention. After conferring there and clarifying a few logistical questions, I turned to rejoin the group. I was aware that the gentle music was the only sound I could hear, and the labyrinth was alive with footsteps. It really was something beautiful and awe-filling. Slipping off my own shoes, I joined the group among the circuits, and when later I finally reached the center, I found the space quite crowded. All of the kids were there, still utterly silent; none yet ready or willing to begin the path back out. Everyone graciously made room for the next to arrive, and as I had suggested, gradually stood in a different place in the center to take in its unique view. After several minutes, one simply sat down at the edge of the center and bowed his head.
Eventually the circuits were animated by exiting steps, slowly, patiently, reverently working their way back out. From there, each moved to the chairs and sat quietly. Still, the one remained seated at the center, head down, unmoving. No one spoke; no one moved -- even the one who had opted to sit this one out remained silent and still. A moment later, the last walker rose and made his way back out and into a chair. A palpable spirit held us in suspension. It was time to leave, but no one was really willing to break the moment. Finally I asked if anyone wanted to comment about the experience.
"I told someone at school what we were going to be doing tonight, and how dumb it sounded, and how I was going to just laugh my way through it. But I loved it. I have never felt that peaceful. You are wrong -- there is something magic about it."
And the one who had lingered so long in the center said, in a voice calmer than I have ever heard from him, said, "for the first time in my life I felt at peace with myself. And it's strange; I was aware of walking in to the center, but I don't remember walking back out. I never knew when I left. This was an amazing experience -- the closest I think we can come to Nirvana."
A few other comments were shared, underscores of the others, and then gently, almost reluctantly, we filed out the aisles to go home. Just before exiting the door, one turned back for one last look...
...one last breath...
...one last savor...
...of the peace.
And locking the door and driving home, I somehow felt it, too. Every once in awhile -- ever so rarely -- you have a good idea.
So, I had some questions about how the labyrinth would go. It is a silent walk, and our group isn't known for being quiet. It requires personal space, and our group is incessantly sitting on, picking at, playing with and throwing things at each other. It demands persistence, and we don't stick very long with very much -- except, I'll have to say, with each other, and that last fact gave me some hope. The labyrinth was either going to be just intriguing enough to hold our attention, or a total bust.
I began with a little history, then transitioned to a few instructions -- primarily involving leaving each other alone -- asked everyone to remove their shoes and then to mentally, spiritually prepare. I suggested they simply sit quietly before beginning the walk, and when finished, to consider sitting back down to reflect for a moment before leaving, since this was to be the last activity of our time together this week. I invited them to have no preconceptions or expectations of the experience, but to simply take the walk and allow it to be whatever it might be. It isn't magic, I said. Some people, I told them, find it a waste of time; others find it to be a very powerful, enlightening, even emotional experience of insight, clarity and holy presence. It is, I suggested, not for everyone, and while I hoped they would try it, it was not a requirement. Do it if you want, or don't. And then I stopped.
It was quiet as I walked to the back of the room where another adult was trying to get my attention. After conferring there and clarifying a few logistical questions, I turned to rejoin the group. I was aware that the gentle music was the only sound I could hear, and the labyrinth was alive with footsteps. It really was something beautiful and awe-filling. Slipping off my own shoes, I joined the group among the circuits, and when later I finally reached the center, I found the space quite crowded. All of the kids were there, still utterly silent; none yet ready or willing to begin the path back out. Everyone graciously made room for the next to arrive, and as I had suggested, gradually stood in a different place in the center to take in its unique view. After several minutes, one simply sat down at the edge of the center and bowed his head.
Eventually the circuits were animated by exiting steps, slowly, patiently, reverently working their way back out. From there, each moved to the chairs and sat quietly. Still, the one remained seated at the center, head down, unmoving. No one spoke; no one moved -- even the one who had opted to sit this one out remained silent and still. A moment later, the last walker rose and made his way back out and into a chair. A palpable spirit held us in suspension. It was time to leave, but no one was really willing to break the moment. Finally I asked if anyone wanted to comment about the experience.
"I told someone at school what we were going to be doing tonight, and how dumb it sounded, and how I was going to just laugh my way through it. But I loved it. I have never felt that peaceful. You are wrong -- there is something magic about it."
And the one who had lingered so long in the center said, in a voice calmer than I have ever heard from him, said, "for the first time in my life I felt at peace with myself. And it's strange; I was aware of walking in to the center, but I don't remember walking back out. I never knew when I left. This was an amazing experience -- the closest I think we can come to Nirvana."
A few other comments were shared, underscores of the others, and then gently, almost reluctantly, we filed out the aisles to go home. Just before exiting the door, one turned back for one last look...
...one last breath...
...one last savor...
...of the peace.
And locking the door and driving home, I somehow felt it, too. Every once in awhile -- ever so rarely -- you have a good idea.
4 comments:
Beautiful!
You're right--the constant is their desire to be together. The adult leaders' abilities to allow them to be themselves @ LOGOS while gently guiding them set the stage for a "magical" experience on Wednesday night. Thanks for making that happen for our youth.
Wow!
That's really powerful. I needed my hanky for this one.
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