The Spiral Labyrinth | Life as a Metaphor

When choosing to write about a labyrinth one necessarily hesitates to find out where they are in the structure before initiating a description. Perhaps starting at the beginning would be the most adequate if only one could recall the moment they entered.

Spiral Labyrinth

The closest I have come to that memory is a sensation of free flying exhilaration, a moment of choice that at times I think was induced, and then falling. The Fall was nothing I had expected it would be, my sense of adventure quickly evaporating in a trail behind me, like a comet, leaving behind pieces of myself.

After that all is dark, finite, hard … my Spirit immediately rebelled.

So here I am now, circling back once again, through feelings, thought patterns, and games that I thought were erased and faded, dissolved and assimilated only to find that there is a haunting of my soul. Enough of me is present now though, she watches this phenomena and then observes it in her closest friends as they too wrestle with phantoms of the past.

She ponders.

There is a discomfort lodged in my soul somewhere, like a spine in my side that I can’t seem to remove. I am out walking in an open field in this now moment, one foot in front of the other, my physical form is struggling from a lingering illness, from cold, from tiredness as I hear the “peals of thunder” in the distance and see the fast approaching leaden sky, a sudden gust of wind sends a chill through my jean jacket. I stop.

My beloved holds my hand and peers into my soul through my eyes. He asks; “Do you want to go back or should we continue?” Moments of struggle inside, the body wants comfort and warmth, I let my Spirit win as I answer: “Lets go on.” And like a ray of light or a sudden spark I feel myself enlighten, my feet a moment ago heavy walk just above the rocky soil now.

She ponders as she walks.

And she is illumined inside as she sees so clearly with the inner vision, how we are looping again and again through this spiral labyrinth, how long would be impossible to say. She now sees the walls and barriers around her as she weaves her way through, the testing never stopping, the choices she made in the past that took her to dead ends of ignorance and trauma are revealed. Today she acknowledges them and chooses differently. It seems the passage narrows as she winds her way closer to center.

Around the next corner something beckons, an old thought pattern that no longer serves her, so easy to pass it by now, allow it to exist without enjoining in any struggle. Fleeting phantasmal feelings arise, abandoned, betrayed … sorrow and deceptions of the past float around her. All the while she senses a discomfort with herself, what is this?

She ponders as the first drops of rain clash with her bare face.

Sudden thoughts come pouring through, what is all of this about? How many turns into blind alleys would she find herself face down, prostrated before a god she never found?

Bam! Lightening races horizontally across the sky as thunder shakes the ground.

It dawns, this thought, who is this god? Why do we believe in him? My soul rants now. God! the vengeful wrath filled one who claimed my children, who raped my daughters? Oh, that one! The one who seeks obedience above all else. God Almighty? Holy fuck! We were fucked.

She looks through the mist peeling away before her eyes.

She has contemplated this before of course, but in a flash of a moment it is so clear, so crystal clear that she must dismantle even the most invisible threads that continue to bind her if she is to go free. A sunder shakes her … splitting, rendering, dividing. She remains intact.

Focused on her inner guiding Star, radiant light.

Time slippage again, a loop is closed and she slides sideways toward an unknown vast space, one that the human mind has yet to contemplate. God as Spirit is all around, She is the center … there is no wrathful one, nothing to guide her but her own light. Most are not prepared yet, this birthing of Stars and Planets and Universes leaves most clamoring for comfort and secure footholds to rest upon.

She acknowledges this as so, wonders at her audacity and bubbles with some indescribable inner joy. Expansive.

Revelations 11:1 “And when the seven thunders spoke, I was about to write: and I heard a voice out of the heaven, saying, Seal up the things which the seven thunders spoke, and write them not.”

Spirit rebels and She shall write what has been prohibited by a jealous god. The days of thunder are near, may all hear.

Pouring forth in liquid light is the beauty of Truth as Source, that I have touched there even for moments that now weave a new pattern emerging from our collective soul, emergent realities that delight.

To reader and to writer, one and the same, she is in fields of perpetual gratitude for the All of the one and all … whatever lingers in the phantasmal space can come along for the ride.

Labyrinth Water Source