Entering the labyrinth

This is what I see when I look out the window at work.  Right now, it’s lush and green and ripe with animal and vegetable life.  In another month or so, the leaves will change and drop, and soon after the snow will come. 

I realized today that I mark a new year three times within each twelve months. There is of course, January 1, to which I give somewhat perfunctory attention. My next new year starts with the Vernal Equinox, the time of rebirth and awakening. This is the new year that resonates most deeply with me – the golden green of new growth, the lengthening of the days, the hints of warmth in the air, the animal kingdom rousing itself to get food and procreate  – I feel my own genius reawakening along with the Earth.  

Then there is the start of the academic year, the time when I must enter the labyrinth.  I enter with trepidation, wondering how I am going to navigate the paths that go around in circles and those that end up at a wall.  I wonder if getting through this twisting turning puzzle is really worth the trouble it takes.  Wouldn’t it make more sense to take a more direct route?  I don’t ask these questions out loud, but they are always on my mind.  Finally, I wonder how, when I get to the end of the maze, I will be able to find the way back to my own path.

How fortunate I am, then, to have a room with such a view. Looking at the always-changing scenery outside my window centers me at the start of the day and offers me brief  transcendental moments whenever I need them.  I am comforted by observing the seasonal cycles of the flora and fauna. This view is a gift from the Universe that knows how fettered my soul feels from its vantage point within the labyrinth.