As we transition from the season of autumn to the season of winter,
Here in the Northern Hemisphere,
An opportunity opens to explore the time in between seasons.
This guided meditation is an invitation to consider this junction in the seasons,
Through the imagery of a labyrinth,
A space to not only experience the time in between but also a chance to let go of the outside world by quieting the mind and body and laying the groundwork for the quiet stillness of winter.
Have a journal nearby for any thoughts or reflections that might arise once this guided meditation is over.
And so,
Preparing yourself in the ways you know best,
Settling any restless parts as you find comfort in whatever posture works best for you to do a guided meditation,
Perhaps taking a few deep breaths to help you shift from the external world to your inner one.
And now,
Hear the call of the labyrinth,
An ancient meditation practice of walking in a spiral pattern to a center resting place and then returning to the place you began.
This is not the labyrinth of high hedges from fantasy stories or mazes of mythology,
But a labyrinth that allows you to meander and wander along a set path in the rhythmic movement of walking in a spiral,
A chance to lose track of the outside world by quieting the mind and body of distracting thoughts and chatter so deeper reflections can emerge.
And now,
I invite you to imagine in your mind's eye that you are in your favorite natural setting where you feel safe and always welcomed.
Take a moment to create this image.
And now,
Imagine in this setting an archway appears before you with a labyrinth beyond its threshold,
An invitation to begin a quiet,
Solitary walking journey.
The path before you gradually circles in a long spiral pattern like a coil of rope.
This circular path offers a safe place to walk,
Inviting you to gradually let go of anything that burdens you with each step you take.
And so,
Crossing under the archway,
You begin the slow and thoughtful process of walking on this sacred and ancient path.
Becoming aware of the landscape,
You notice soft green moss cradling granite stepping stones that outline a thin,
Narrow path for you to follow.
The landscape in this in-between time more and more barren,
Long gone the vibrant colors of autumn.
The flowers have all changed to a dry,
Rusty brown.
Perhaps a few dried out seeds linger.
The trees stand naked in their bare bone beauty with a few leaves clinging to branches here and there.
Leaves curled and crunch underfoot when you happen to step on a windblown pile.
The odor of fallen leaves,
Tree bark,
And dampened dirt.
The earth's decay,
Potent material for compost.
The crispness of the air,
Hints of the next season to come.
The sun is setting in the west,
A daily reminder of how to surrender while the moon rises in the east,
Round and full.
A reminder of new beginnings every evening.
The moon briefly disappears as fast,
Massive clouds rush across the changing sky but offers enough light on the narrow path you travel.
A cool breeze whispers soft words of encouragement.
As you walk in this silent and naked landscape,
You notice how your body feels.
Perhaps tension is expressed in sore muscles,
Tight shoulders and jaw,
Inflexible and noisy joints,
Limbs that are restless at times,
While your heart might feel weary and heavy.
Perhaps your mind is often filled with endless negative circular thoughts,
Your day-to-day energy depleted,
An overall awareness of the burdens you carry,
Encumbered by stressors,
Worries,
Anxieties,
Or fears.
Your feet seem to drag as you almost feel too heavy to keep going,
But you continue walking.
And now,
Can you imagine dropping some of these burdens?
These stressors,
Worries,
Fears,
Or negative thoughts?
Just as the flowers surrender seeds and the trees leaves,
Gradually releasing each burden,
Each worry,
Each fear,
Each negative thought,
Step by rhythmic step,
So that like the earth,
You surrender more and more the things that you no longer need.
Each footstep,
Another chance to give way more and more deeply.
The repetition of walking round and round,
Clearing your mind,
Soothing your body,
Letting go more and more deeply.
Do you notice parts of your body loosening and softening?
Perhaps your thoughts have quieted.
Maybe your heart feels lighter,
More opened as well.
What other changes do you notice as you walk along?
And now you find yourself in the heart of the labyrinth.
Here you find a cozy place to rest a while.
And so gratefully,
You do.
Settling into this snug and warm spot,
With a quieter mind and a stiller body,
You find room for wondering and questioning.
And so you ask,
What truly crowds out my joy?
What truly smothers my love?
What truly takes away my peace?
Is it the burden of negativity?
Of fear?
Of anxiety?
Is it worry?
Perhaps sadness?
Whatever it may be,
Can you lay it down right here in the heart of the labyrinth?
Placing it,
Letting it go,
Releasing it.
And then rest here a while,
Noticing anything that emerges.
Take the time you need and more and more.
When you are ready,
Beginning the journey back,
There is no hurry as you follow the spiral path back into the labyrinth once again.
Take your time and enjoy how your body,
Your mind,
And your heart feel without carrying whatever you left in the center of the labyrinth.
On the way home,
You notice acorns that now litter the path,
Crunching against the stepping stones underfoot.
You find yourself drawn to pick up a few,
Knowing that they are nature's reminders of new life held within.
The mighty oak tree releases these treasures once a year in the fall.
Cupped within this tiny acorn is just one seed that takes 6 to 18 months to mature,
Perhaps a reminder of the new seeds that now have space to grow within you.
Take the time to bend down and pick up one or two.
Name the seed within before you squirrel it away.
Take leave when you are ready,
Gathering to you the gifts of the labyrinth with blessings and gratitude.
Crossing back under the archway,
Journey back to the landscape where you began,
To the place of your departure,
And then back to the present.
With blessings and gratitude,
Barbara.
