Labyrinth of Trees

Labyrinths hold unique meditative power. Walking one is a journey in which the path forward is too complex to envision, yet there are no wrong steps. That provides a perfect metaphor for living a creative, nonlinear life. Indeed, that’s the only kind of life there is.

As a result, labyrinth meditations bring unique insights into how to navigate our wider, wilder world. They’ve guided me for the past quarter century, helping illuminate my daily way forward through complex and turbulent times. I’ve walked them wherever I’ve found them, whether painted on pavement, printed on cloth, grown in lavender fields, or temporarily scratched into seaside sands.

I’ve wanted to create a labyrinth on the forest land where I live, so that its meditative, metaphorical journeys would be available by simply stepping out the door. But that has seemed beyond my capabilities. On this rugged land, there are no flat open spaces in which to outline a traditional labyrinth. Even if there were, keeping a labyrinth clear would be prohibitively intensive work, given the persistence of Oregon’s green growth. I’ve wistfully surrendered the thought, over and over again.

There are no wrong steps, though, no matter how impossible it is to see the grace of the longer journey. That lesson has returned again, as I’ve watched a labyrinth appear out of my wildfire defense work. I didn’t even notice the labyrinth’s existence until it was almost done.

Maintaining defensible space is essential for survival here. Four wildfires have come within three miles of the log home my mother built. One came within a few hundred yards. As a result of the danger, I was able to obtain grant money to bring in a crew with heavy equipment, to clear underbrush and limb up trees. At last, the grove west of the log house was now spacious, after being an inaccessible tangle of undergrowth during my mother’s forty-two years here.

However, the terms of the grant required me to maintain that defensible space myself. At first, that also felt beyond my perceived capabilities. I don’t own forestry equipment that can compete with relentless growth.

Yet step by step, year by year, I’ve succeeded. It’s been a few years since that last fire now. In order to thin the encroaching blackberry tangles and small stressed firs, I carved little paths to reach them, according to need. I cut them all by hand, one sweaty day at a time. I’ve watched as the ferns have thrived under the larger conifers, maples and oaks. The grove’s openness has allowed wildlife to newly thrive, too, including me.

One day, I realized I could extend my paths deeper into the grove, simply because it was beautiful and possible. I went back to work clearing paths, until the grove became a welcoming sanctuary. I started to walk it as well as work it. I began to meditate there. Next, I placed chairs and tables along the paths to create sanctuary for stillness.

The last path I created finally made it clear: the grove can now be walked as a labyrinth. Its paths aren’t in a formal form, such as the labyrinth in the Chartres Cathedral. They meander according to the contours of the forest, and all that grows within it. But they can be walked with the same intention. The point is not to get somewhere, but to be where we already are. Personally, I focus on releasing what I need to let go of, on the walk in. I open myself to receiving whatever insights stillness at the center reveals. I renew my clarity of direction on the path back out. There are no wrong steps. There is no way to get lost. There’s nowhere else to be but here.

I’ve now begun to place small totems for meditative inspiration, within the patterns of the paths. A small glass Buddha sits on a weathered, mossy tree stump. It reflects the forest light from within, much as we reflect the world. A round shop mirror placed on the ground reflects the entire grove, reminding me to look up when I only look down. A Chinese warrior figure peacefully guards one of the most ancient trees, reminding me to also diligently care for the land. A six-inch skeleton figurine in prayer position inspires me to aim for a peaceful eternity. A few of my mother’s ashes similarly rest in the grove, beside her favorite weathervane. A small stone sign rests near two of my favorite chairs: In search of my mother’s garden, I found my own. Another small stone sign is at a crossing of paths: Wherever you go, go with all your heart. This I have done, in creating this path of grateful living and inviting others to join. The center keeps moving. Whatever walk we take is never the same twice.

This forest labyrinth’s emergence has all affirmed my trust in the larger processes of our lives, in which our paths and purposes are often only clear in retrospect. It has gently reminded me to just trust in our next step, individually and together. This labyrinth of trees affirms that life thrives anew, in unimaginable ways. It reminds me that there is birth beyond every death. New nature beyond every extinction. That is the beautiful truth of every labyrinth we’re walking together, whether we notice or not. It is a beautiful celebration to just pause, breathe in the forest air, and take another step where we can’t get lost.