A Labyrinth Pattern for Tranquility
At low tide along Folly Beach,
With the help of a circle of courageous friends,
I built 25 labyrinths in 16 days in March, 2024.
Each walking meditation represents one of the 87 emotions and experiences covered in Brené Brown's book Atlas of the Heart…
This one is for Tranquility.
I fouled up my original sketch for this labyrinth so badly that it’s one of the few where I wound up completely doing it over and taping a fresh paper into my journal book.
You see, the man sitting next to me on my flight died.
After a long cloud technology conference in Las Vegas, my plane was full of other attendees, all exhausted and anxious to get home. We sat on the tarmac for an extended period of time before taking off, and I pulled out my notes to lose myself in a creative flow for a bit.
My notes for the emotion of tranquility invited me to take a traditional 11-circuit Medieval pattern and stretch it around a fountain shape, so that the paths would cascade from the top into a squared-off base. I wanted to evoke the sounds of gently plashing water, and I believed the meditative meanders of this beloved pattern would wrap me in a powerful reminder of natural peace and beauty. I wanted to get lost in the present.
Waiting for my plane to take off, however, I couldn’t focus. The other passengers were restless, and something heavy hung in the air. Despite adding my 0s and 1s shorthand to the margins of the page, which should have helped me remember when a pathway was open versus creating a labrys—or switchback—in the design, I just kept messing it up.* To the point where even whiteout couldn’t help me untangle the threads.
Once we were in the air, the man sitting across from me got up to use the restroom, and I decided to abandon my sketching for a movie to help pass the time back to Atlanta. I’d zoned out until the man in front of me flagged a flight attendant down because my seat mate had been in the restroom for over a half-hour.
And then things got really scary.
I remember grounding my feet as best I could in the chaos that followed, questing with my spirit to hope that this person I never really knew was able to find some measure of tranquility in his last moments.
Weeks later, curled up with a couple of cats in my writing nook, their water fountain plashing gently nearby, I got out a fresh page to start this design over. I began with the teardrop-shaped center, elongating it into a double-tiered series of basins, taking my time with my Medieval pattern notations to square the base and cascade from the top. I listened to the birds while I worked, then put on a jacket to build a small bonfire in my backyard.
When I planned which labyrinths I wanted to make in the sand of Folly Beach, I knew this one would be for my last morning there at dawn. It would be Easter Sunday, and low tide was well-timed to coincide with sunrise.
I awoke with a start after missing my 3:30 AM alarm, and this pattern only came together with the dedicated assistance of Jenifer, Evelyn, Theresa, and many others who began arriving in the wee hours with sticks and blankets, and rose petals. Steve brought a giant gong to offer sound healing, and many people I met across my 16-day sojourn showed up in solidarity.
Creating labyrinths transports me to a place of tranquility.
Tranquility expresses what I feel when slipping into the creative flow of drawing a beach labyrinth: the ocean waves, the scritch of stick in sand, the salt breeze, the wheeling moon and stars overhead, the fading taste of coffee on my tongue.
I sat in the sound bath, watching dozens of people walk this labyrinth, at peace.
How do I hold onto this emotion? It’s not one I access and can dwell within easily. There always seems to be some catastrophe or to-do tugging on my consciousness. Here’s what I would like to remember:
How is doing nothing its own reward?
How can I allow someone else’s tranquility to inspire me instead of triggering my resentment?
What, specifically, prevents me from feeling tranquility?
What are my senses conveying to me in this moment?
How can I become more conscious of the four essential elements of a restorative environment: a sense of getting away, a feeling of immersion, the ability to hold attention without effort, and existing in an environment compatible with my own preferences?
*For example, if you think about this design like a clock with a teardrop-shaped center, moving from the 9 o’clock line on the far left to the 3 o’clock line on the far right, the pattern is open, labrys, open, labrys, open, labrys, open, open, center, open, labrys, open, labrys, open, labrys, open, open. I note this for myself as: 0, 1, 0, 1, 0, 1, 0, 0, center, 0, 1, 0, 1, 0, 1, 0, 0.