I stood at the entrance to the labyrinth. I didn't feel completely ready to be at the doorstep. I felt even less deserving to step inside yet I took a deep breath-prayer and lifted my foot. I greeted Divinity as I stepped into the space. I was both bold and afraid.
I watched my feet as they slowly stepped forward. Small steps, careful steps, eyes focusing on my feet and what was immediately in front of my feet. This step, this next step, breathe into the next step and the next.
Those first few steps seemed to take hours as I realized I was at the first turning point of the labyrinth.
My thoughts turned to "Walk with Expectancy": the note I had written as my first stage of this new experience.
I remember having debates about "expectation" when involved in coaches training long ago. "Don't expect anything," was one version of what I believed my trainer was saying. "Expectations cause too much fear and worry. Instead, just let go of any expectations at all...."
I remember my gut churning a bit at that, "Isn't expectation like pregnancy? Doesn't it fill you with wonder and creativity?"
I smile back into the eyes of this so new to the personal development field me of more than ten years ago. So new, so green, so excited and so passionate about being of service to my coaching clients.
I moved "expectation" into the "don't do" portion of my life chart, not unlike when my then-future husband told me, "You look goofy" when I was clowning ecstatically on the dance floor at our college campus. I was so thrilled to be at my favorite place in the world, University of the Pacific, with some of my favorite friends in the world, Mel and Tom, and I had this new boyfriend who I was completely smitten with when he frowned at my goofyness.
For a long time I marked "goofy" with the "don't do" pen also.
As I picked one foot up and put one foot down in the labyrinth, all that thought and opinion and "do's" and "don'ts" exited from my mind.
I didn't notice how close I was to the busy street where the church lived. I didn't hear the birds that had just been singing me a welcoming song. I didn't feel the cool air on my skin. I did welcome the warmth of the sun as it felt a part of the fullness of expectancy.
Gone were my concerns with how any of this worked. I didn't concern myself with how the path wove itself into the different sections. Time disappeared. One foot up, one foot down. One foot up, one foot down. I would hear single words being sung in my head. "Love. Love. Love" and "Peace Peace Peace." There were moments when I would stop to cry and pray, not heaving gulps of tears but contemplative tears of expectation.
In these moments my face lifted to receive the sun's warmth so I could more fully feel the wetness upon my face, allowing the sun to dry the wetness and leave traces of salt upon my cheeks.
And then it happened. I sang-thought, "Gratitude" and received "Thank you" in return.
Sometimes people ask me about how I know I am hearing from Divinity. It is in those moments when a response comes in third person and is literally served simultaneously with my exhale, like my thought-sentence came from someplace other than my intellect.
Tears rose again as I bowed my head.
"Oh, how I have missed you," I prayed. I felt warmth cover me as I continued to step and step and step along the path set by the labyrinth.
In the busy, everyday arrow prayers and shoe-horning moments of quiet within other commitments, this body-meets-ancient-ritual-practice-meets-intention-meets- expectation was decidedly different. It wasn't walking the dog and spending time in sacred quiet. It wasn't writing in quiet to get close to Divinity. It wasn't mindful chore time or experiencing transcendence via my creative processes and practices.
This was purposefully stepping into intimacy with my beloved, as Teresa refers to God. Some might see this as goofy or out there or delusional.
I had created space against what some might say is common sense. I scraped aside my to-do list and filled myself with expectancy to step into the sacred unknown.
Later I prayed and wrote,
"God, you said thank you to me. It took me so by surprise. Why would you thank me?"
"You answered the call to be here now. You showed up exactly as you are, unreservedly, wholly and holy, unforgiven and forgiven. Walls up and walls down. Thank you."
I hadn't expected this conversation, but in showing up and lifting my foot, I became pregnant with hope. I became filled with wonder. I continued and am continuing to create space for the next step and the next and the next.
I was becoming intimate with the words Teresa of Avila wrote: "The tree that is beside the running water is fresher and gives more fruit."
Divine intimacy is the running water to my tree. The fruit of my tree includes these words here and you, reading them, there ~ as well as the actions you may take as a result of sitting here with me as I retell this tale.
The fruit of your action is delectable. I can smell it from here.
Thank you.
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