My first brush with a labyrinth…
…came when I saw Jim Henson’s 1986 movie starring David Bowie and his magical balls.
But I digress.
After facing off a few fire-breathing dragons so far this year, I figured it was time for an emotional reset. So I decided to walk the labyrinth in Centennial Park.
Little did I know the ensuing magic would rival anything Bowie, Henson and his muppets could ever conjure up.
Unlike a maze, a labyrinth only has one path. There are no dead ends. No traps. It’s an ancient meditation tool for contemplation and spiritual transformation. So, it ain’t just a walk in the park.
Armed with a notepad, pen and water, I set off on my journey – sans phone. But five minutes in and my monkey mind had swung into action.
I’m going to be late. Distance too great. Too many dogs, toddlers, prams, power-walking gossips, joggers, scooters – blocking my path. Turn back. Don’t bother. No point. Too hot.
Five minds full of crap later and I found myself on (Charles) Dickens Avenue – the writer’s path, 50m from the Labyrinth.
Going barefoot, my toes sank gratefully into the dew-drenched grass. Up ahead a couple helped their little girl, Page, balance on a log.
Staying focused on my path, I looked down and spotted a small black wallet. I flicked it open and saw the words, End of life directives scrawled on thick brown card.
I pulled out the driver’s license – her birthdate, mine.
To be continued…
© Phyllis Foundis 2025