There’s a Labyrinth near where I live. It is an ancient path design outlined by stones on the ground, meant to create a contemplative journey into a centre then back out again. The idea is to walk slowly and be quiet – two things I rarely do.

I have a busy mind, like a shark, it’s always moving. My friend calls it ‘Monkey Brain.’ Choosing to step on to that path amplifies rather than calms the chatter. The first few laps consist of attempting to bring order to the chaos of thought.

Most times I give in to the noise. It feels easier to simply keep going. However, to a person, anyone I know who has chosen to find time to meditate, pray, contemplate – even for ten minutes a day, reports game changing results. I have often resolved , even here in writing, to do the same. Hasn’t happened. The demand for attention, for activity, for movement has mostly overridden the intuitive need to simply stop.

There I was wandering between stones, being led into the middle – the thing itself encouraging me to take my time.

I don’t think I am avoiding the quiet so much as feeling there are other really important things that need to be done, thought, considered, figured out. I have an inflated sense of responsibility. I can’t imagine there is anything that demands my energy that couldn’t wait a few minutes.

The design provided just enough of a boundary from the ‘outside’. A permission to not, rather than have to. All that was required was one foot in front of the other.

I was surprised when it ended. I had stopped thinking about length or time. Nothing really happened. No revelations or resolutions. Just a walk, a slow, quiet walk.