Labyrinth: Raisins aren’t all that bad
by Andy Corrigan
‘Labyrinth: The Path Less Taken’ was brought to my attention by Kate Noble, my fellowship mentor. My curiosity sparked, the link between the concept of walking a labyrinth and the notions I’ve been exploring of walking and circularity are palpable. I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect or how truly relevant it might be, but it felt like something I should do - it was too coincidental. I wondered if it could lead to any insight and if there might be a meaningful way to incorporate something digital into such a process.
Not knowing exactly what to expect is a mindset that can make me anxious. But it’s important to remember that sometimes that is precisely the point, and the courage required to proceed is the domain of reward. However, even up until the point I began my walk along the path less taken, there was still a voice inside reminding me that I didn’t “have” to do it. Another gremlin also niggling at that part of you which anticipates that something like this could easily turn out to be quite cringey.
As the day encroached, I also had a lot of personal things on my mind and the impact of some of life’s little challenges and curve balls hung over me like a cloud. I nearly didn’t go, but in hindsight I wonder if that contributed a degree of receptiveness. Whether through a desire for clarity or distraction, my curiosity edged the debate, and I was drawn to the labyrinth with a refreshing acceptance and openness of mind.
A small group of people were herded into a room as the cogs of our allotted timeslot began to move into motion. As we were invited to sit in a circle before embarking on our respective paths, it felt very much like a group therapy session. Much like a group therapy session, everyone began tentatively engaging before settling and warming to the situation we were all in. This process, a liminal stage between the busy outside world and the labyrinth space, helped set the tone for our impending contemplations and settled my nerves somewhat.
As we made our way into the room in which the labyrinth had been set up, one thing that struck me was quite how basic the staging of the labyrinth was. A large airy space with calming music softly playing, the labyrinth laid out using masking tape on the floor, a sprinkling of people, lost in their own quests, caged by a halo of battery powered tea-lights.
Sitting at the labyrinth’s entrance, for what felt like a long time, to contemplate the beginning of our journey and reconnect with our youthful selves – No one seemed to know exactly “how” to start, to stand and walk. Perhaps the base human desire not to be the “first” kicked in, putting a barrier between our head and our leg’s ability to remember how to walk? Needless to say that once one of us took the first steps, everyone slowly followed, vaguely together yet unknowingly distant in mind.
The second point, a “room” marked out along the path, provided space for multiple people as they paused to step into a space of mindfulness. The task of the space was to focus on appreciating what we have rather than want. The collective contemplations of prior travellers, an amorphous form of written notes that grew with each participant, provided inspiration but also built confidence in the process. They act as a reminder that we can let out our internal thoughts in a safe and anonymous space, whilst simultaneously helping others reach that same achievement.
This is something I’ve noticed can be a challenge with digital things – conscious of being watched, it is hard to remain anonymous in the digital landscape. I found this quite hard to begin with, but in a sea of all the things I could feel grateful for, my mind settled on the support people give me, I take that for granted, but also the hurdles people place in my way, which ultimately give me strength – even the hurdles I haven’t been able to jump in life, I have found a way around. I am here after all.
The third room was one that caught attention out of the corner of the eye prior to getting there. Was this detrimental to the process, a distraction, or was it a good thing, drawing my curiosity on in my quest like a promising glimpse of what’s to come over the top of a hill? Initially, the act of comparing the weight of stones to feathers, and then dropping a pebble into a bucket of water, as a method of embodying the act of “letting go” felt like a bit of a cliché. But ignoring that, and committing to thinking about it, it actually felt surprisingly good – reassuring and empowering even.
After spending what felt like quite a long time at the fourth point, reflecting on what it is I’m fighting for and the priorities I’ve been giving my energy to, I began to realise I was very much entering into a deeper emotional state and entirely submitted to that. The sensation only increased in the fifth space, in which the analogy of a flower growing through a pavement provides the opportunity to contemplate moments of strength, aliveness, and individuation. Again, I found this process quite challenging, but found inspiration, and perhaps solace, from Martha Graham in the form of a laminated quote that began:
“There is a vitality, a life force, an energy, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and because there is only one of you in all of time, this expression is unique.”
It’s a good job I lost some weight at the third point, as my now quite heavy heart and soul was perhaps beginning to struggle. I was lightened again though by the thought that I definitely see myself more as “crazy-paving” than a neatly tiled path surface – a little chaotic, but full of character [of sorts] and plenty of gaps through which to shine, or for weeds to grow.
A larger space, with the luxury of a rug and cushions to sit on, welcomed each traveller in the labyrinth’s centre – hard to say if the promise of soft furnishings is a lure, visible from everywhere, or simply intended to facilitate a longer pause. The reminder that every journey has its moments of discomfort is a slower realisation to arrive at. The first task here, considering “fitting-in” vs “belonging”, took me back in time, perhaps to when I was a teenager, when I felt more compelled to try and “fit-in”. That was a past challenge I had largely dealt with, for better or worse by stubbornly [obtusely even] being very self-aware of, and attached to, a strong sense of belonging to myself. Reflecting on this though, did put me strangely at ease, a buoy for my spirits to anchor to.
Feeling as though I had already taken steps in my life to be more comfortable with my sense of belonging reminded me that I am quite capable of finding strength within myself, which was extremely reassuring at a point where I was feeling quite emotionally vulnerable. The action of taking a drink of water embodied this, there was a harmony to my thoughts and actions. The water a timely reminder of my ability to adapt, remain fluid and carve my own path, something I have much experience of.
Departing the labyrinth’s centre with a renewed, perhaps slightly strange, calming sense of positivity (something I’d usually associate more with frenetic-ness?), I had to remind myself to take my time. Both my body and mind wanted to speed up as I approached the final phases of my quest – much like when you walk down from a mountain having reached the top…
The seventh reflective space is conveniently one of orientation, embodied through the use of a compass. I don’t know if it was that my body and mind had become more attuned, but I had long shed any fears that such a small act of contemplation could be “cheesy”, and fully embraced what this act of orientation might mean for me. This was consolidated by ending this stage by reading a poem, ‘The Road Not Taken’ by Robert Frost.
My newly found positivity recoiled slightly upon reaching the eighth “room”. The first contemplative task here involved cultivating presence through the act of slowly sensing and consuming a raisin. I should explain my sudden angst – I’m quite a picky eater, and texture is a very prominent factor for me. In short, I’m not keen on raisins! But after a few deep breaths and considering that I’ve gotten this far, in for a penny, in for a pound, it really is only a raisin after all.
The fact I anxiously took the plunge is something that might sound inane, but it perhaps provided a heightened sense of achievement in obtaining “presence”. It also taught me that, actually, raisins aren’t all that bad. Over the shock of that little task, the next action of presence was to use my non-dominant hand to draw the two battery-powered pillar candles that “flickered” warmly over the bowl of raisins. At first, this seemed an odd exercise – of all the others? – but the intention was to demonstrate that being more present sometimes involved moments of weakness.
With an undue pride at having eaten a raisin, calmness ebbed back in as I made my way to the ninth pause on my journey – a point at which to compare my approach to small tasks to a bigger picture. The point, which could equally increase corporate productivity or build self confidence in the answers discovered in the centre of the labyrinth, seemingly well-conceived. The task: To conceive a six-word inspirational “memoir” of how I wanted to proceed in my life as I neared the end of my journey.
A saying I could carry with me but also leave behind as part of another amorphous growth of leaf-like notes. This again facilitated both a sense of individuation and one that hinted toward how that might benefit the collective who had passed before me and would come after. My mind, beginning to run out of steam by this point, arrived at: “Create the path at life’s brim.” I’m hardly likely to set the world ablaze in inspiration, but it felt good enough, solid enough, meaningful enough.
The last few steps and my feet are free from their masking-tape boundaries. One final task and my mind will be given back to the world in its new state of being. Inspired by ‘The Question’, a poem by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer, I’m reminded not to think about where or what next, but rather to contemplate the path of love. Again, something that perhaps sounds a bit naff out of context, but there, in that moment, it genuinely felt like a warm comforting way to begin the end of what had been a surprisingly emotional and personal rollercoaster.
As I wrote myself a letter to act as a reminder, in some future point, of what I achieved on my quest into the labyrinth, along the path less taken, I indeed felt I loved myself a bit more than I did when I entered.
Did I achieve what I set out to? I’m still not entirely sure what it was I set out to achieve, but I certainly feel like I’ve achieved something. I’ve reached a point of focus, and I’m not sure it matters what I’m focused on, but to feel focused feels important, meaningful, and useful. It feels good. You can “create” the right space with minimal resources, because most of what matters is what you’re doing, what you’re thinking, not always where you’re doing it or what surrounds you.
The ‘Labyrinth’, is a concept developed by Brian Draper and delivered in collaboration with Artesian.
This post has been funded by the AHRC-RLUK Professional Practice Fellowship Scheme for research and academic libraries.
Knotwork borders in the Book of Deer (MS Ii.6.32) perhaps share an affinity with labyrinth concepts (Pennick, 1990, p.46).1
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Pennick, Nigel (1990) Mazes and Labyrinths. London: Robert Hale. ↩