The Labryinth

                                     The Labyrinth

“Hey God, its me, Suni”

“I was told I might find you here. Some say, this spot, this place is filled with you. At least more so than

most other geographical locations.”

“Is that true?” ……”I mean, are you really more in some places than you are in others? Some folks sure

seem to think so. Enough to fight and kill or die for certain parts of land in different parts of the world.”

I stand silent for a moment to breath in the forest air. Before me is a rather elaborate labyrinth. A path

of bricks with eight distinct circles that lead to a concrete bird bath in its center.

 I can attest to the fact that there is a difference, sometimes magical energy in the very air and ground

that can be felt quite strongly in certain places. This is one of them. As I take in the birds chirping in the

trees overhead, and the intoxicating aroma of fall, I have no doubts, this place is special. The beautiful

smokey mountains surrounding me seem to stand in reverence and nod in agreement. The bright rays of

the sun peak through the leaves highlighting the path before me.

“Why?” I ask to the open space. “Has it always been so? That we need to travel at times to find a special

spot, or place of consecration that enables us to reach you more clearly?”

Perhaps, a voice in my head seems to say. My mind immediately wonders through the Bible of stories

of special places consecrated for one reason or another. It occurs to me they were always marked with

stones. Just as this place is now.

Until this moment, I had thought a labyrinth to be nothing more than a mystical globe in a David Bowie fantasy movie.

Now, here I stand, alone in a forest, ready to lay my souls burdens into a bird bath in the center of one.

Rumor has it, all you need to do is choose an item as you walk the trail leading to the structure. It can be

a leaf, a stick, a stone or flower. Any natural thing that you hold in your hand and lay your burdens on.

Then when you arrive at the entrance, you must remove your shoes. Then ask permission from the

guardian at the entrance. In this case, it is a small oak tree.

After removing my shoes, and clinging tightly to the small pebble I had chosen in my left hand, I silently

 lay my palm on the tree. Nothing is said, just simply understood. Although, I appear to anyone that may

 be watching through the trees, to be calm and silent. What they would not see is the turmoil going on inside.

I am struggling to write a novel about my parents. My dad’s stories are easy. He was a WWII veteran

that survived horrific events that are enough to capture the minds and hearts of any reader. His sweet,

 kind and stubborn demeanor, would be impossible for anyone not fall in love with.

My mother, on the other hand, although her life was intriguing, it was also filled with something else.

Something I have a hard time figuring out. She was lively, opinionated, loveable and very controlling.

Also, she was a die-hard bona fide member of a notorious cult. As was I from the young age of 6 until

age 25 when I finally broke free. Or, as fate would have it got excommunicated.

She and I were at odds to say the least over my departure from the only church I had ever known. Did I

mention, I had been raised to believe that it  was the only church God loved. If you were not in this

church, he would not listen to your prayers and horrible, awful things were bound to happen to you at

any moment. The main thing you always had to do was eat, drink, think as you were told by the leaders

of the church. Never question, never doubt. Whatever they said was law. If for any reason you dared to

question something, you were ‘spewed out’ from their mouth and of course, God’s as well.

I walked away from that church very wobbly. I practically had to relearn everything I ever thought I

knew. I can only relate it to how an average Russian citizen must have felt when suddenly they were

 given the ability, responsibility even, to start thinking on their own.

Its scary. A rug upon which you have relied and stood suddenly has been yanked out from under you.

Its exciting! Now you have no one telling you how to think, or what you can and cannot do with your life.

So, where the heck do you start? The world is now wide open. I have to admit, rules and restrictions

make you feel safe. Even if you don’t like them. We are in fact, very much like puppies. If our kennel gets

too big, its overwhelming and we can become frozen in fear. Or not. Even that is a choice.

So, I step out. My mother is angry. She truly feels God has turned his back on me and I on him. That my

future is bleak and hopeless. That my destiny is to end up in a lake of fire to be consumed and forever

gone. Her fear is strong. Did I mention she is  controlling? I can only imagine how horrible it is for

her to believe her child is lost to such a fate. I love her. She acts like she hates me. I understand though. I

know it is only fear. She wants to force me back. She tries and this is painful for us both.

It did not take me long to figure out my footing. My wobbling ceased. Slowly but surely, I found a path

along my own spiritual journey. I visited different denominations. Became quite close to several. I

basically ‘interviewed’ pastors of all beliefs. I studied. I interviewed members of other church

organizations. I studied some more. One thing I had never been allowed to do was read books or attend

services of other denominations before. We were absolutely not allowed to do such things as that. We

read what our cult printed and put out for us to read. We lived a very sheltered life. As separate as

possible from others. We were advised not to be friends with people outside the church but due to our

rural lifestyle and the fact that my Dad, brothers and many family members did not attend the Church,

that was near impossible.

One of the most wonderful life experiences I had was to visit Israel. I had many questions. Some I felt,

even though I am not sure I can tell you what those questions were exactly, could only be answered with

a trip to Israel. I had a very low income so there was no way I could afford such a trip. So, I asked God for

it. Yes, that’s right. I got down on my knees and asked God to make a way for me to go to Israel and that

it be within my budget. I had no clue what that budget would be. I was in debt over my ears just trying

to survive and raise four children. The house payment and insurance and gas and electric took more

than I made.

Want to know what happened? I received an invitation from the Israeli Tourism Board to tour their

country. All I had to do was pay a $50 tax. How did they get my name? I have no idea. But I went to

Israel for $50.00. It included my air fare, all ground transportation, hotels, tours and entrance fees, full

breakfast every morning and some guy carried my bags for me like I was the queen of England.

I’m sure they noticed I scarfed apples and such off the breakfast buffet for lunch. They did not seem to mind.

I tried so hard to explain to my mother that God did indeed hear my prayers. She softened somewhat.

I also tried to share my findings along the way. Such as scriptures in the Bible that completely refuted

many beliefs the cult had. She would turn her head and scoff, for the most part. One time, she raised

her hand back to slap me. I know the shocked look on my face is what stopped her hand midair. The

conversations ended. The pain and emotional separation remained.

Then she got dementia. I watched as her mind deteriorated to the point that she no longer remembered

the cult. When she did not send them her hard earned money, they no longer had a use for her.

Not one member ever called or came to check on her. Her children, well we stayed by her side. We

cared for her until she left her earthly home. Her ‘pagan’ children, that is. At that point none of us were

members of the cult anymore.

What I struggled with was the resentment. Resentment that the cult stole my mother. Resentment that

 she let them. Resentment that after they continued to treat her and her children terribly, she stood by

 them. Not us. Not me, more specifically. My dad NEVER went. It’s odd, my brothers never went either

yet, she loved them most of all.  My sisters had been out of it for years and they managed to have a

good relationship with her.

Can this little pebble in my hand really hold all that?

I feel the crunch of leaves and slightly wet dirt beneath them. I try to concentrate on that. I touch

my toes down slowly, mindfully and feel the earth. My other mother. I love you Mom.

I lay my pebble, full as it may be, into the birdbath. I take a deep breath. Release. Then turn and retrace

my steps the opposite direction. I follow the path carefully.  I take in every inch, dirt, stone. I mull it, I

feel it. I breath it.

I come to the end.

Tears that had been held for so long began to pour. I sat on the bench and pulled out my tablet and pen

and began to write. Words poured much like the tears.

Suddenly, I could write her stories too.

“Thank you, God. Thank you, Labyrinth. I love you Mom”