The Places We’ve Loved: A Guided Reflection
The labyrinth at the Church of the Holy Spirit in Vashon, WA calls me home to the inner ground where I am always, already home.
Spacious Invitations to Explore in a Journal or in Spiritual Direction
“‘Environments inhabit us,’ Varda said. These places that we take into ourselves and make part of us, so that we’re made of all the places we’ve loved, or of all the places where we’ve changed. We pick up bits and pieces from each of them, and hold them all in ourselves.”
— Lauren Elkin
As You Read the Quote Above, Does a Place Come to Mind — A Place You’ve Loved, A Place You’ve Changed?
What are the qualities of that place?
As you reflect on this place, what does the memory evoke in you? (a sensation, a feeling, a specific story, a longing, etc.)
Does this place call forth something in you that is more difficult to access elsewhere?
What do you KNOW when you’re in this place?
Walking A Labyrinth With the Trees as Witnesses
The photo above is one of my places — a labyrinth on the Island where I live — a place I visit to invite my body into what’s stirring in my head and heart.
I was intimidated at first to enter the labyrinth; I had no experience with this spiritual practice. My soul knew I needed it, though, and it called me home to this ground with more heft than my will to resist.
This labyrinth is a path through the grass. It’s green, lush, and muddy in some seasons, yellow and dry in others. On my last visit, it was covered in snow.
The path is only a foot’s width wide. I step in and surrender. Here, prayer looks like being present for each step with full attention.
The inbound journey invites me to notice and name “what is” right now, usually in list format.
The family of trees that encircle this sacred space stand as witnesses to the bodies and souls who have walked this path over time.
Walking this winding path is a homecoming. The trees remember, and they whisper to me of seasons past. Their whispers bypass my head entirely. They land in my heart, sensations rippling out as aliveness that stirs me awake.
So many thresholds have been marked here on this small section of earth.
I’ll think I’m near the center and then, as I round the bend, I realize I am further from the center than I’ve ever been. This is how life is sometimes.
I don’t worry here. Past, present, and future meet on this ground — perspective and compassion overflow.
In the eye of the labyrinth, I stand on stones that invite me to pause. I let go of what lies behind and before me, look up to the trees and the sky, and spin around. I release today’s heaviness, and my body remembers that what’s released here makes space to get acquainted with another layer of my being.
Here, I know that all will be well.
Here, I’m reminded that courage will meet me step by step.
Here, words of blessing arise and sing over me as I make the outbound journey.
As I hold this place in my awareness, there is warmth in my heart. Recalling the felt sense of being held by this ground, I am more present, more connected now.
As I write this reflection, I’m reconsidering my plan for today. My first appointment is at 10:30 AM, and it’s only 7:16 AM now. The labyrinth is calling me home, and everything in me is saying YES.
About the Author
Kirsten Harrison is a spiritual director, writer, and collage artist who lives on a very small island in the Pacific Northwest. She holds deep space for the sacred within daily life. If you’d like some company as you attune to your inner life, Kirsten offers spacious presence and accompaniment online and in-person in Vashon, WA. You can read about her online and in-person offerings here.
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