Spiralling Through Space...

     Smooth, rounded river rocks, ranging in size from golf balls to softballs, are carefully lined up along the ground. The outlines of a large mandala emerge from the golden earth... a walking labyrinth. One enters on the south side and follows the stone-lined path round and round, sometimes back-tracking along an arch, as the path bends back on itself before circling round to the other side.

     Stopping momentarily at the entrance, I silently thank those who created and continue to maintain this gift to the community. I breathe slowly and deeply, three times, then step onto the path before me. Placing one foot in front of the other, I feel each step as it connects me to the strength and stability of the earth. I consciously follow the sense of solidity and support moving up my leg, from the pad of my foot, through my leg bones and joints to my hips and spine. Then I step again, and again, and again.
     Walking slowly, mindfully, I am greeted by the wide and spacious center in about ten minutes. A pause, in this circle within the circle, to savor the silent energy of the whole space, precedes my return walk. Half of the larger circle is shaded graciously by huge overhanging branches of the surrounding trees. The coolness of the air, a breeze perhaps, moves over my skin. My body whispers its gratitude and my steps slow subtly to savor the cool air I am moving through. The other half of the mandala's path sits under the brilliant summer sun. My skin warms under its influence, and I am grateful to my hat. As I follow the path's turning pattern, I move in and out of the sun, in and out of the shade, passing from one tactile sense of gratitude to another.
     A labyrinth is designed to be a walking prayer, a physical meditation. My steps are accompanied by my personal walking mantra, its eight-step chant perfected on the John Muir Trail a few years ago, "Love, life, truth, beauty, abundance, and peace." I find repeating those words over and over adds an additional calming and inspiring energy to that already provided by the path of the labyrinth. It's like a Maitri or Metta chant, a prayer for all beings to be happy, healthy, and at peace.

     Tucked away in the Sierra foothills, hidden in Alta Sierra, this simple, sweet walking labyrinth is a part of Alta Sierra Biblical Gardens, located just off Highway 49, between Auburn and Grass Valley, on Auburn Street. The lush gardens lie along a small, rushing creek on the west side of the highway. Painstakingly and lovingly created three decades ago, the gardens are on private property and beautifully maintained by the family who live there. If you take the path to the left, after leaving the parking area, it winds along and over the creek, looping back to the starting place. The cool, shady path is lined with statues of figures and signs with verses from the Bible, that many visitors find deeply inspiring.
     If you turn right on the path from the parking area, it takes you away from the creek and delivers you, instead, to the walking labyrinth... my favorite of the Garden's offerings. The labyrinth's design is a very traditional one, based on the medieval labyrinth at Chartres Cathedral in France. It was created here in 1998.
     At the parking area are several shaded picnic tables, a delightful place to enjoy a book and a snack. The Gardens are open most days until dusk or 7pm (which ever is earlier). The family that owns and maintains this hidden little paradise request only three things of visitors: behave with quiet respect, remove any trash, and leave a small donation for upkeep.
     I would encourage you to visit this treasure that sits hidden "in our own backyard." Use the link above to find a map and directions. The photo above is from the Biblical Gardens website. If you don't live "in the neighborhood," you can use this link to locate a labyrinth in your area.

Buddha Energy...

     I took myself on a delightful little "field trip" the other day to the AS IF Gallery (Artists Studio in the Foothills) in Grass Valley, a place I hate to admit I hadn't even known existed before this. On exhibit is an eclectic collection of works gathered together around a wonderfully creative idea.
     Twenty-one local artists were each given a blank white canvas on which to express their creativity and display their individual artistic style in preparation for the current showing. The unique canvases came in three sizes: quite large (about 4-foot), medium, and rather small (about 18-inches). It was the unique nature of the canvases that attracted my attention and drew me to the gallery. Each canvas is in the shape of a three-dimensional mask, a peacefully meditating Buddha face. The small airy gallery is spiritually transformed by the Twenty-One Buddhas show.

     One golden Buddha looks ancient, like he had been found in a newly discovered archeological dig. Another is painted like a deep-blue midnight sky filled with stars, giving the sense that the Buddha is peacefully dreaming. A garden Buddha is overgrown with masses of bold flowers in full bloom, another wears gleaming golden leaf prints. The branches and roots of a traditional Tree of Life spread across one tranquil face, while another has been transformed into a vibrant African ceremonial mask.
     The colors and textures, the styles and media, used by the individual artists vary widely, creating a myriad of moods. Many are calm and mindful, others wildly awake. Buddhas are painted, collaged, bejeweled, and appliqued. Masks in soft-textured pastel temperas hang in contrast with those made intense with shiny lacquers. All are beautiful and all appear to manifest an authentic human spirit.

     But it was Mosaic Buddha that touched me most deeply. Covered entirely in carefully arranged bits of blue and white tiles and beads and tiny silver mirrors, this face expresses so much depth. Distinct patterns appear to flow and move like water across the serene face, both accentuating the human shape of the face and hiding it. Mirrors reflected my own face back to me thousands of times. As I moved, the light and the pattern moved, too, changing the face of Buddha and bringing him mysteriously alive. His moving spirit directly connected to my own reflected movements.

     Adjoining the inspiring gallery are several artists' studios that display both completed pieces and works in progress. There are even classes available; it's a very "happenin' place!" The photo of the Buddhas above came to me via an email from the gallery's blog, and I share it with you in the hopes that it will fill you with enthusiasm to take yourself on a little field trip!

Om mani padme hum.

Close Encounters...

     Speaking of bears, I have a favorite spot in the high country of Yosemite, just off the road between Tuolomne Meadows and Tioga Pass. There's a gravel turnout just big enough to accommodate one or, in a pinch, two cars. I make a point of visiting that spot during every visit to the park, always in time for sunset.
     A few yards from the road is a small, still pond, surrounded on three sides by thick pine forest. To the east towers Mt. Dana, a reddish rocky peak that looms above the line of trees. Just as the sun settles below the horizon, unseen downhill to the west, its last warm rays skirt the treetops to illuminate Dana's naked crown, turning it crimson in an optical phenomenon known as Alpenglow. Viewed from the western edge of the pond, Mt. Dana's flame-colored peak is reflected in its every detail in the mirrored surface of the pond, a scene capable of creating awe in any observer. The intensity of color lasts only a few precious moments, so every year I arrive in plenty of time to set up my camera and tripod hoping to capture the three-dimensional beauty onto a two-dimensional print. Each year I attempt the feat; each year it eludes me. It has become a bit of a quest now, an ever elusive pursuit, to get the perfect photo.
     Several years ago, while I was intently focused on setting up my gear, I sensed a presence approaching from behind me. I turned to find that an older gentleman had squeezed his car in beside mine and was walking towards the pond. He paused near the water and stood silently watching the peak and its reflection. After some time, he spoke. He told me how he had come to that spot every year for decades, always on his last night in the high country, always alone. He described his ritual solitary hike around the perimeter of the pond, yet he made no move to begin that annual walk. After some silence, he told me that age had gotten the better of him. He didn't think he had the stamina, the strength, to make the walk that year, that perhaps, unknown to him at the time, the previous year's trek had been his last. I offered him my hiking poles and/or my company for his walk, but he declined. Then he bid farewell to the pond and returned to his car, heading east towards the park exit. His melancholy longing hung in the air long after he departed. It felt as though I were the recipient, the heir, to his pond and his ritual and his story. When I looked up, the Alpenglow was quickly fading. Without taking picture one, I packed up my gear and returned to camp.
     One year later, I returned to the exact same spot, set up my camera, and awaited the post-sunset light show. Again, I was totally absorbed in the process of composing and adjusting camera settings in anticipation of capturing the elusive perfect Alpenglow photo, when I felt, rather than heard, a presence behind me. Turning, I saw, emerging from the woods fifty feet away, a breathtakingly beautiful cinnamon-colored bear. Backlit by the last of the sun's now horizontal rays filtering through the tree trunks, the bear seemed to glow. A fiery halo emanated from his furry shape. He paused near a fallen log, and we observed one another for several moments.
     The bear and I spent ten or fifteen minutes together that evening. I was never frightened. I was aware and cautious, but not scared. I watched him intently, amazed at his natural beauty, his air of confidence, and his peaceful calm. He moved forward, walking very casually, then inspected the log closely, finding some tasty bites under its rotting bark that kept him busy scratching and eating for some time. Satisfied, he wandered past me to get closer to the pond's edge, where he paused to drink, before setting off to walk around the perimeter of the pond.
     Once again, I missed the peak of Alpenglow color and the perfect photo, but at one point, I did have the presence of mind to swing my tripod-mounted camera around to get a shot of the bear by the log. The camera was set for bright light, however, and I was shooting into the dark forest, so the resulting picture produced a smudge that looks more like the shadow of a ghost than a bear.
 
     Both Celtic and Native American traditions honor the bear symbolically as a powerful mystical force and a protective spirit. The bear is believed to be a shape-shifter who can move between the human and natural worlds, and as such, represents the merging of intuition and instinct that guides one to inner wisdom. It is quite an honor to receive a visit from the spirit of such an illustrious clan.

In The Beginning...

     There's an ancient apple tree outside my window. Gnarled and scarred, she sits, an elegant sentinel in my yard. Now, in the depths of winter, she is stripped of her leafy cover, so stands nearly naked, all her age-spots and wrinkles on full display. It doesn't seem to bother her. She doesn't even seem to be bothered by the fact that scores of bruised and battered apples still dangle from her upper branches. Days ago, snow lay balanced in narrow piles on even her smallest twigs. Today, her gray silhouette stands only slightly darker than the gray sky; rain pelts her outstretched branches and slides down her trunk, soaking into the already saturated earth. In this season, my apple tree shows her antiquity. She is a hag.
     "Sometimes our fate resembles a fruit tree in winter. Who would think that those branches would turn green again and blossom, but we hope it, we know it." (Johann Wolfgang von Goethe).
      When, eventually, spring arrives, I will know it by the millions of bright green leafbuds that appear on those ancient branches. Even before the weather has completely turned, even before the harbinger robins arrive, life will spring forth from what look like dead sticks. Within weeks, leaves and white flowers, growing and blooming in complete abandon, will engulf the wooden skeleton, turning her into a soft and plump picture of virginal youth.
     Summer will follow with the swelling of hundreds of green apples, that in turn beckon a menagerie of deer, birds, insects, and shy nocturnal creatures, gleaners all. Autumn will turn the lady brilliant yellow, the color of lemons and daisies, before she is once again denuded by the elements.
     "Beauty is truth, truth beauty. That is all ye know on Earth, and all ye need to know." (John Keats). In the course of one year of seasons, the lady is born, grows in beauty, swells with creativity, and dies. Each spring she is reborn; each winter she dies. 

     Grant your blessings that my mind may be one with the dharma.
     Grant your blessings that dharma may progress along the path.
     Grant your blessings that the path may clarify confusion.
     Grant your blessings that confusion may dawn as wisdom.

     Grant your blessings that I may be like the ancient apple tree:
     She absorbs the energies of earth, air, fire, water, and space.
     She uses them to nurture and nourish herself, to grow and develop.
     Then, she transforms the infinite energies in her own unique way,
     Providing food, shelter, stability, oxygen, and beauty to others.
     She does all that gracefully and peacefully, without worry or anxiety.