Walking into the New Year
Over the years I have fallen in love with New Years. I love the reflection that starting a new year invites, and how it is such a natural time to look back over the year that has passed and think about what we might want to happen in the year ahead.
Granted, I have not always felt this way about New Years. Being somewhat of an introvert I could never get excited about the large parties and firework displays that accompanied the celebration. Instead of heading toward a loud and boisterous party, the holiday always seemed to ask me to get quiet, to step away from the crowds, and listen.
And, I am not a New Year’s resolutions kind of person either, not really interested in setting unattainable goals for myself - but I am all for taking stock, releasing what needs to go, and inviting in what’s ready to blossom. So instead, I use the coming of the New Year as a welcoming liminal space -an in between pause time to take stock of where I’ve been and where I want to be heading in the future.
When the kids were little we would always go to a movie and then often drive up to the mountains to watch the stars and share our hopes for the coming months. As the kids got older, we started a lovely mandala ritual that we have continued to this day.
On the evening of the New Year (or the following day) we sit down with a stack of magazines and a circle of cardboard. For about an hour we just page through the magazines, tearing out anything that catches our eye with the guiding intention of asking ourselves,
“what are our hopes for the New Year”.
And then in the process, we see what pops up. We don’t allow our thoughts to get to carried away with planning or wishing. We just let the images speak to us, tear them out of the magazine, and then put them together in some way on the circle of cardboard.
What always seems to rise to the surface are invitations that we didn’t see coming but somehow feel just like the right fit for the time.
For some reason though, his year’s reflection and intention setting seemed to get off to a slow start. First, we still had guests in the house when the 1st arrived and there had not been much time for quiet reflection and listening for the invitations of the New Year. We did our mandalas and some other rituals together, but I just didn’t feel like I had allowed the invitations for the New Year to really greet me. And then, well into the month of January, we headed out on an adventure that finally felt like it marked the passage from the old year into the new.
I had heard about a labyrinth that was in a somewhat remote location up in the high desert and had wanted to seek it out for some time. I have always loved walking labyrinths and try to walk them whenever I encounter one along my travels.
If you don’t know much about labyrinths check out this helpful information page. In the simplest of terms, it is a continuous walking meditation path. They conjure up all sorts of deeper metaphors for each individual, but for me, the twists and turns of the labyrinth path remind me that we are all on the same path, held together in a circle of light, and that no matter where we might find ourselves - on the outer edges, deep in the center or somewhere in the middle - we are still all connected and never far off from the center. And that even if we get to the very outer edge and feel disconnected or separated, we are still held within that all-encompassing circle of divinity and love.
So, with a free Saturday available to us, I researched the general location of the labyrinth, went to Google Maps and actually found it in the satellite pictures, and off we went. After a couple hours of driving, the last of which was on potholed, sandy roads we came to a large, open bowl-shaped space surrounded by mountains and a few remote houses up in the hills.
In the distance, we could see what looked like rocks, but we weren’t sure if it was the actual labyrinth or not. Not really thinking about it - we drove out toward the rocks only to find that the clay-like dirt was still very wet from the past week of rainy weather. We discovered that the pile of rocks was indeed the labyrinth but not before slipping and sliding in the car and nearly getting stuck in a puddle of mud. Not the best start to our sacred adventure.
Finally, safe and secure on the dry outer edge of the bowl, we parked and then proceeded to walk back to the labyrinth.
It was pretty much like walking on a slip and slide but with your feet getting stuck and mired down in the mud every few steps. We tried to jump from dry spot to dry spot but as we drew nearer to the labyrinth, the dry spots became few and far between, until finally we were faced with an entire moat surrounding the structure. We walked around until we found what looked like the shortest and shallowest section and then I started to cross. It was slow going and each footstep sucked down further and further into the mud until I found myself wondering if there could be quicksand hidden beneath the water.
Luckily, I made it across safe and sound - all be it with two very wet and muddy shoes. Jason followed, and we found ourselves marooned in the middle of a huge valley on the high ground of the labyrinth with the wind wiping around us and whistling through the valley floor. It was so amazingly peaceful and invigorating all at the same time. And it felt really, really sacred.
In the past, I have always walked labyrinths in silence, but this time it just didn’t feel like a labyrinth that invited silence. Maybe because of the openness of the vista and the location? Maybe because of the loud wind? I am not really sure, but we found ourselves talking to each other as we walked the path, stopping every now and then to take pictures or look around and listen.
Spread throughout the labyrinth were painted rocks with little messages - lovingly placed there by others that had come before us. Reminding us that we may be walking in that sacred space alone on that particular day, but it belonged to a much larger community. Many others had come before us, and many more would follow after we left.
In the center of the labyrinth were a couple of crushed beer cans. I asked Jason if we should pick them up, assuming they were litter, and he shook his head saying, “we don’t know why those are there, they could be trash but they could be something else that someone intended to leave, let’s leave them be”, so we did. Hoping that maybe they held some message for someone that had been there before us - whether it has been a wild night of partying or letting go of some long-held demons. We treated them like the painted rocks – a reminder that this path was shared by a much larger community than just the two of us.
As we approached the center, we realized it was also full of water and would be impossible to stand in, so we worked ourselves around the edges and started to head back out. Just at that time another car pulled up on the edge of the valley, parked and rolled down their windows. The wind carried their laughter and voices all the way to where we were standing. They politely waited until we were almost finished before getting out and heading across the mud. When they got closer, I saw that they were two young friends, maybe in their early twenties and completely full of joy and laughter. They asked how we had gotten through the moat and we showed them the best place to cross. The girl took off her shoes and socks and decided to go barefoot across the mud - which seemed, for some unexplainable reason, very poignant to me and joyful, all at the same time. As they entered the labyrinth, we left and made our way back to the car.
It took a while to get the mud off our clothes and shoes, but we finally got back in the car and started the long bumpy drive back to the main road, stopping one last time to take a picture of the two young friends, off in the distance walking the labyrinth.
We drove for some time and talked about the experience. What invitations came up for us, what we thought about as we walked. How much we loved adventures and finding new discoveries together. It was a sweet time and finally it felt like an official kick-off to the New Year - despite the fact that nothing really concrete had come up about intentions or goals or hopes for the coming months. It just felt open and inviting, and somehow deeply connective.
I am still unpacking the gifts from that day and what invitation it offers for this coming year. The labyrinth seems to be my message – which seems fitting in a way, as ironically (or maybe not), I had decided last December to get a labyrinth tattoo on my inner arm to mark my birthday. It sits there today, greeting me, and reminding me of the connection and joy that I felt that day; first searching out, and then walking the wind-swept labyrinth path, while also reminding me of all the other labyrinths I have walked over the years and the gifts that they have shared through my meditative walking.
Some of the stirrings from that day include imagining a future labyrinth retreat here in the desert as we have so many wonderful labyrinths to choose from. A special labyrinth writing project that I have been thinking about for some time now. And many other crazy, big ideas I can’t wait to possibly try out.
Somehow, the year ahead feels spacious - full of possibility and new imaginings. I also hope that it holds more of the joy that I felt that day - joy radiating from the young friends, joy from a new adventure and discovery. And also, the connection that I felt that day - to all that had walked the labyrinth before us and all who would come later, the connection so present in the laughter that we shared with our fellow walkers as we made our way through the mud. Connection as we talked our way through the labyrinth path and read the little messages left there for us by other walkers in the past.
As this New Year gets underway, I am being reminded that somehow, in some magical way, we are all walking this path together. You may be all the way over there and I may be somewhere far from the center. Or maybe we are passing each other on a tight bend where the path folds back on itself and ever so briefly we connect before heading our separate ways. And as we all make our way along our own paths this New Year, we are all still held in one infinitely large circle of light and love - of possibility and joy. And for me, I guess that is the invitation for this New Year. It is all about possibility – yours and mine.
I am so happy to be on this path with you and I cannot wait to see and hear what invitations arise as we walk into the New Year together. Peaceful walking to you all.