Sacred Ground

As a kid growing up in Georgia, there was one place you knew you didn't want to go:  Milledgeville.  That's where the "funny farm" was.  When someone was acting "crazy" or out of the ordinary we would jokingly say that they needed to go to Milledgeville.  I think it was probably around jr. high school that the joking started.  Or at least that's about when I remember it.  "He needs to take a trip down to Milledgeville," we might say, or, "We need to send her to the funny farm."  I wince now to think of the things that we said.  Jr. high is such a compassionate time.  Not.

Central State Hospital is the name of the institution we mocked.  I don't know about my peers, but I, for one, knew nothing about mental illness, and if I had, I probably wouldn't have laughed when the jokes were told.  Until today I never really knew anything about Central State Hospital, including its name, which I googled so I could be accurate here.  I now think of Milledgeville as the place where Georgia College is, the place where a dear friend of mine used to live and teach. 

Today my therapist told me that, growing up on the Eastern Shore, he thought of Williamsburg in much the same way as Georgians once thought of Milledgeville.  The place where the insane people go.  Eastern State Hospital is located in Williamsburg.  Walking distance from my house.

Life is funny, isn't it?  The outdoor labyrinth at Eastern State Hospital is the one I walk most frequently, and for the past month or so, I have been taking regular walks on the ESH campus.  It's fairly quiet, not much traffic, and there's a good portion of land that is no longer used much.  The newer buildings are all located near the front of the campus.  In the middle is the labyrinth and a good bit of green space, some of which is used as a cross-country course in the fall. Toward the back of the property are the older, abandoned buildings.  And there are lots of trees everywhere.  And deer.  The labyrinth is at the top of a slope, so it is a good place for catching the sunset.  It's wide enough to accommodate wheelchairs.

Recently I have been reading Brené Brown's books and taking an online course of hers.  In it she talks about having mantras to remind ourselves to be authentic.  One of hers is, "Don't shrink.  Don't puff up.  Stand on your sacred ground."  It's probably not a coincidence that while I've been reading Brené, I have made a commitment to walking the Eastern State labyrinth at least once a week.  The center of the labyrinth is my sacred ground.  Well, not mine of course, but a place where I feel grounded and connected to God and the earth.  Whenever I am there I turn to each of the four directions and gaze out at whatever I see.  Sometimes I sing.  Right in the center, the concrete comes together in a cross, and if you stand at center of the cross there is this really strange, cool, echo effect that I can only guess comes from the way the concrete is broken there.  If you tap your foot in each of the quadrants, a sound reverberates out, and singing is really fun because there is an amplification of the voice.  I don't know how to describe it, but it's fun to play with sound there. I hang out in the center, communing with God and nature.  It is definitely sacred ground for me.  And so, when I think of Brené's mantra, I imagine myself standing my sacred ground in the center of the labyrinth. 

It is not lost on me that I am finding peace and calm and centeredness in the middle of the campus of a mental hospital.  Some of the folks who reside in Eastern State come to SpiritWorks as part of their program, so I have friends there.  There is a stillness there that I treasure.  Sometimes as I walk the labyrinth, especially as I make my way back out from the center, I try to imagine God's healing love emanating from the labyrinth and spreading across the campus, not unlike the way I pray at the prayer station at CNU.  Like addiction, mental illness is a terrible disease.  I am embarrassed and ashamed of the way I thought about Milledgeville and Central State Hospital as a kid.  I don't think we intended harm, at least not for the most part; we really were ignorant.  And we were in jr. high.  But I don't think we were the only ones doing it.  Hopefully attitudes are changing, though not nearly quickly enough.  What I am grateful for is that sacred ground is found everywhere, and that I have found some at Eastern State.  May those who encounter it find it to be a blessing.

Walkin' in a Wintry Labyrinth

About a month ago I decided to take on the practice of walking the labyrinth at least once a week.  So far I have been faithful and have even managed to do it twice on most weeks.  It helps that there is a labyrinth about 5 minutes from my house over on the campus of Eastern State Mental Hospital.  A couple of weeks ago on a day that was particularly sad for me, my therapist strongly encouraged me to get outside and walk.  Though rain was expected he told me that the worst thing that could happen was that I would get wet.  He sad it was good if it was cold and windy because it would help me remember that I am robust and will not melt with a little rain or disappear with a little wind.  His encouragement led me to start walking from my house to the labyrinth.  On the way over and back, I get good exercise, and while I'm there I get to walk the labyrinth.  I have grown particularly fond of doing this at sunset.  And I have not let wind or rain or cold stop me.

Yesterday it occurred to me that it might be cool to see the labyrinth in the snow, though I was afraid that the snow might have obscured the path.  So I drove over and found that the snow was raised just enough over the brick outline that the path was visible.  I didn't have time to stop and walk, but I decided that I would come back tonight at sunset.  It was 18 degrees, dropping tonight to 9.  I tried to park my car in my usual spot right next to the labyrinth, but I realized the snow was deeper than I had thought and that I would probably get stuck.  So I drove a little distance and found a parking space that had been plowed.  I was bundled in many layers, and I pulled the hood of my down coat up over my head and put on my gloves as I got out of the car.

My therapist's challenge has led me to taking walks in 20 degrees, trying to befriend winter instead of huddling miserably inside waiting for spring.  Most of the time I have found that walking briskly warms me up and under my layers I even start sweating.  Not tonight.  Even with my hiking boots and two pairs of socks, my feet got cold quickly. There was a layer of snow over ice, so with each step the ground felt like it was cracking under my weight.  I was not the first person who had been there, but the previous tracks were old and had been covered by fresh snow.  Crunch, crack, crunch, I went around and around.  Sometimes it was hard to see the path, but mostly I could find it.  I kept thinking about how I always find it difficult to feel close to God in the winter.  It's so easy in the spring with new life bursting out all over, but in the winter I just feel depressed.  I asked God to be with me in the cold, but mostly I concentrated on the sound of the crunching under my feet.

As I made a turn I noticed that the sinking sun had begun to illuminate portions of the labyrinth.  It was magical.  I laughed out loud with delight and immediately grabbed my phone to try to capture the moment.  Such beauty.  The snow sparkled and glittered, and the setting sun cast a glow that started out golden and then turned rosy.  I kept walking until I got to the center where I turned to face the setting sun.  I sang the first verse of "In the Bleak Midwinter" but couldn't remember all the words.  It was so very cold; my breath steamed through the purple fleece scarf that covered my mouth.  It was so very lovely, snow and path and light.  By the time I left the center, after having turned to each of the four directions, the sun's glow had left the labyrinth.  No more magic light.  My feet were really starting to hurt with the cold.  I thought about the people who have to stay outside tonight and said a prayer that they might find warmth.  It took me over an hour to warm up once I got back home.  I can't imagine having to stay out in that all night.

I am so grateful for the walk tonight.  I have walked labyrinths all over the country, but I've never walked one in the snow.  It was a gift of winter.  Seems like I've had a few of those this year as I try to embrace this season that has for so long been my nemesis.  Normally this time of year I just feel small and huddled, but the picture I took below shows a very tall me.  Brené Brown has a mantra, "Show up and let myself be seen."  I'm trying to learn to do just that.