By Chelle A. Carter-WilsonMine have been praying people for generations. I began my prayer life as a child, blessing every meal, and offering thanks at the close of each day. Walking prayers were not something I was taught, but something that found me, and I did not discover labyrinths until later in my adult life.
Rooted in ancient traditions worldwide, Labyrinths combine walking prayers, movement-based meditation, and mindfulness. Traditional labyrinths contain one walking path into the center, and out again. While they have many turns, unlike mazes, there are no dead ends.
I continue walking through a heavy season. I recently made some new connections, and one of them shared an invitation to walk a local church’s labyrinth at the close of the day. Inside sacred spaces or calling to you from oases in nature, labyrinths are places of prayer, offering supplicants the freedom to walk while focusing on the Divine.
It had been many years since the last time I had prayed in a labyrinth. In the Christian tradition, labyrinths offer opportunities for spiritual transformation, where you may begin the journey towards the center with a plea for intention. While I had no plan for my walk, on that day, hosts at the church encouraged us to form a supplication or question before taking the first step, and upon reaching the center, consider pausing or even sitting as we laid that burden down. When we felt it had been released, it was recommended that we offer praises and thanksgiving as we made the journey out.
Inside a local centuries-old stone church, I removed my shoes and quieted my mind. What I experienced during this walk was different. Pausing mindfully before taking the first step, searing tears fell. I walked, and I wept. I moved slowly, occasionally pausing to breathe deeply, feeling the need to hold myself together, wrapping my arms tightly around my torso to steady my movement and calm my heart.
I was certain that I didn’t walk to continue the walk, as burning tears fell, but I did. With each step, I argued with God in my head, at first not clear why. I realized then that this moving meditation was the act of shedding some of the weight of my grief. It made those steps into the labyrinth heavier, even as they became more intentional. I kept moving. As I moved closer to the center, the heaviness built.
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