Dear Friends,

The Spring sangha retreat at Sanctuary of Hope will be April 16-19, 2009.  The theme will be "Living in Two Worlds--how to experience both form and formless for more peace and happiness."

Retreat lead by ben Worth 816-210-3378. To register, contact Julie Tennenbaum.

ABC Message

the

Spring, 2009

the Spring article

Progress

by Dawn Downey

The labyrinth beckoned. Its circular lanes bloomed in the middle of an expansive church lawn, under a cobalt sky. But I hesitated. An initial glance did not reveal how the narrow corridors would take me to the center. Standing at the edge, I could not see how to get to where I was supposed to end up.

I awake on some mornings with nebulous anxiety. In the wordless twilight before memory defines me, a sense of unease insists that there’s something I’m supposed to accomplish. The murky responsibility feels overwheling, because the what, how and when elude me.

I studied the labyrinth with the same apprehension, before the task took me over. But I had started at the wrong spot and then headed in the wrong direction. The walk ended after thirty seconds, when I found myself at the entrance to the circle, instead of the center.

Not fair.  I haven’t gotten to where I planned to go.

I started over.

Once more, I obsessed about how those pathways would lead me to the center. The more I studied the labyrinth, the less I understood its logic.

Then a sidelong glance revealed the pattern. Oh this is so obvious. With the secret exposed, I circled and curved towards the middle, energized by the rightness of my analysis and smug in the vindication of my intellect.

But the labyrinth double-backed to its perimeter. It betrayed me. I’d made no progress.

I remember getting my first Real Job after college. Health insurance, vacation time and regular money. I was a proud Library Assistant I, with a clear path ahead to Library Assistant II, III and ultimately IV—each with a bigger salary and more vacation time. But I hated that job, typing bills for overdue university library books. The world had promised that college would take me on a straight-ahead journey to success. But there I was heading towards an excruciating future. I felt betrayed. I’d made no progress.

While I struggled at the library, my father asked me to research ancient Icelandic legends for a novel that he was writing. I snuck away from my desk for hours at a time to scour the dusty stacks for Dad’s information.

The day I brought him half a dozen books, he grabbed them as though they were bricks of gold, then leaped up from his desk and hugged me till I couldn’t breathe. For years afterwards, he bragged about my research skills to anyone who’d listen.

I’d thought that job had been taking me towards something called achievement, but it had circled around to a sweet connection with my father.

Analyzing the labyrinth was giving me a headache, so I stopped gazing in front of me and watched the ground instead. After I walked around several turns, I looked up towards the church.

But the building had disappeared. A power transformer stood in its place. A search of the landscape revealed the church in back of me. I felt queasy until the world lined up with memory. Then I continued plodding towards my destination. The next time I looked up, I expected to face the parking lot, but the lawn spread out before me. My stomach twittered again, until I recognized my position.

Two days after I had been hired as a university recruiter, it struck me that ninety percent of the position was public speaking, at which I had no experience. Terror disoriented me. I plotted to resign before the manager discovered my fraud. Then I remembered the church choirs of my childhood, my electrifying 10-minute performance as the daughter of Helen Keller’s cook in The Miracle Worker, and my favorite summer as a teenager in the chorus of the Pirates of Penzance.  When the job situation lined up with memory, fear diminished.

As I trudged on, the labyrinth eroded my resistance. It carved ruts in my expectations. I stopped fighting the unfamiliar and let the circular patterns carry me away. Staring at the ground, I strolled around and back and forward and around. At one point I stood still, with my eyes closed in meditation. Inhaled curiosity about the unknown and exhaled the responsibility for results. I opened my eyes and once again had no idea where I was. The queasiness returned, but along with it this time - a chuckle, which surprised me as much as the view did. As I continued along the crescent shaped pathways, dandelions, crickets and leaves appeared at my feet. I looked up twice more, to face unfamiliar vistas—and realize the joy of discovery.

When I reached the center, the need to get there had vanished. The midday sun warmed my face. A vulture circled overhead. A monarch zigzagged around a butterfly bush. The end was no more than another bend in the path.

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Read more articles by Dawn Downey at her website.

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