France, June 19, 1994

Arriving after a pushing day in the unrelenting logic of the motorway, here we sit, Phyllie and 1, in the Serpente Cafe, at the feet of the enigma of Chartres Cathedral. A large group of Sri Lankans are moving around the cathedral, which has closed its huge wooden doors for the night. Some are sitting in small colorful groups on the steps, their skin as dark as the Black Madonna's, saris wrapped around their knees. Two men were standing in prayer before the door, visibly moved. The Indians are at home with the sacred, with the temple. They sit on its steps, lean against the grey stone. They are more directly in touch with its power. We circle it and study it academically, slightly uneasy.

Today, I seem to focus on the stones with which it has been built. I see each stone being lifted onto another by someone with warm flesh and ready hands. I am in awe of the human love and effort that has gone into it. I am very aware of our sitting here, a tableau vivant, one of the pilgrims passing in time, with our different languages, countries. Only the idea of pilgrimage has widened. And the cathedral stands in silent power above it all, embracing us in our differences and indifference.

The Indians drink its milk, as though it was their mother. We circle it with guidebooks as weapons against its ultimate mystery. There is no veil between them and the divine.

June 20st

A quiet receiving, not asking for anything, any dramatic experience, but allowing the light that is coiled here to come into me in its own Way.

I feel more a part of it this time, as though I were the cathedral, not looking on. I feel the stones and moving, changing light in my cells, as though I am becoming it. A sense that I am filling with the essence of it, the harmonious order and dimension of it. As though that skeleton is becoming my own and the space inside me created by the last few years is filling with a new order of being.

The light coming through the Notre Dame de la Belle Verriere was extraordinary today: a blue never seen except in the heart's palette.

June 21st, the Solstice

The day of the solstice Phyllie and I went to the cathedral and expected to spend a few hours as usual: the visit to Black Madonna, sitting here and there—but as we walked in, I saw a slow procession moving around the labyrinth. There were shoes piled up in front of the main door and the chairs had all been removed, leaving its mysterious coils open and inviting. Without really thinking, I removed my shoes as well and entered the labyrinth. Phyllie did too but later, realizing it would take ages, dropped out.

We moved very slowly, particularly as there was a couple before me who went at an extremely slow pace. The whole movement on the labyrinth was, seen from a distance, like a cosmic clock, measuring, registering another time than usual human time. Complete silence as one by one, each an individual pilgrim, alone in the circle of the universe, moved in slow measured step.

It was very profound for me, though, of course, like any pilgrim, I went through all the usual stages: excitement, distraction, boredom, anticipation, comparison, ecstasy—in and out of states, then back again into the slow movement forward on the path.

At times I would come close to the center, and then the path would turn abruptly and move away, and I would find myself on one of the outer coils and it seemed as though I'd never get to the center. At times, I thought: but this will take all day! And then, the deeper thought, but what else better to do in life? Here I am and I just move forward.

At times, someone went too slowly and I wondered if I shouldn't pass. It was bothering to adjust my natural pace, my own stopping and reflections and then sensing the natural time to continue, step by step felt with the heart, it was bothering to have to go at another's pace, especially a man and wife directly in front of me, who went at a snail's pace, slower than anyone on the labyrinth.

Suddenly a woman behind me went around them, (I think she was American) and I felt freed to do the same. How silly to have had to wait for another, but I did see one of my obstacles—feeling that I must passively resign myself to every kink of the way and that I don't have the spiritual right to change things.

When I too went around them I felt relieved in being able to go at my own pace, so that it became 'my' path again—and even that idea became absurd—but the distracting sense of irritation left me, though I had a few moments when I missed the three feet or so of the labyrinth that I hadn't actually set foot on. So does the mind make its own labyrinth.

The way the labyrinth turned and buckled back sharply meant that often you came to the end of a certain direction, where you could stand on a half-circle stone for a moment, contemplating that part of the cathedral, with its particular stained-glass windows, its angles of light, pillars and columns, before turning and going another direction.

It also meant that you often came alongside someone whose place on the labyrinth might be before you or behind you, but at that moment you were seemingly the same. And because the labyrinth looped back and forth from inner to outer, from left to right, you didn't know if they were really closer to the center or if it just seemed that way.

Sometimes you came quite close to the center but in fact you still had many turns to go, and you might find yourself quite soon on an outer loop. And then the realization, after all, that it really was all the labyrinth—every step in matter.

The sun began to sparkle through the south windows and light up various stones. And all the while you felt the smoothed, pale stones beneath your bare feet.

During the three hours it took everything came up: boredom, ecstasy, impatience, judgments, but mostly a deepening quiet, a feeling of sympathy, even love for these fellow pilgrims, all of whom seemed serious, yet light and prayerful. And also an uplifted sense, deep gratitude and receptivity.

I began to go through the seven deadly sins in my mind, not in rote, but genuinely trying to feel each one in turn, seeing how I had each one as a human being and also as an individual and then I meditated on how that could or would be transformed and into what? Anger became the sharp sword of discrimination, focused and ready to cut away whatever doesn't benefit myself or others.

Sloth (it took a long time to get out of sloth!) became a steady faithfulness that was able to stay with something until its completion. Lust became the fire of passion that went beyond the me of grasping, a passion that was for the world and not just the body. Gluttony became the desire for transformation, for taking in truth and letting it be digested and transformative. Also a sense that there would be enough, not having to gobble life up. Envy became a recognition of the sacred variety, that we are all different in just the right ways. Avarice, like gluttony, became the trust that life would always give me enough and provide me with what I needed. And pride, the last, became a sense of gratitude for being given what I have, and a deep recognition that it comes from beyond myself.

Then I began to meditate on the numbers, as I moved around the labyrinth, pondering on each number and listening for what came up in me. One became the wand of the Magician, the spine, the means through which the All, the One, becomes the Many. The one, undivided. Also the symbol for the Self, the vertical path.

Two became the polarity out of which all creation flows: the dark and the light, male and female. I saw the card of the High Priestess, with the two pillars, black and white, also the form, the curving openness and the sturdy base of the 2.

Three became the child of the two, the many beginning to come out of the opposites.

Four the table of the universe on which life can exist and manifest, the material base, the four directions and elements.

Five, the image of man. The flower, the elements plus the quintessence.

Six was more of a mystery. I waited for quite a while, and then saw six smaller circles dancing in a circle form and then it became alive for me. It was only in motion and relationship.

The rest were more obvious. I had thought of concentrating on colors too but the numbers took me up to the last path heading for the center. In fact, it was at nine, the number of completion, that I began to ready myself to go toward the center.

Right before nearing the center, on one of the interminable outer loops, I had wondered if I'd ever get there. And then there I was. I felt tears come and was very moved, as though my body was electrified. But as I came nearer to the outer petals of the center, at a certain point, there was an unexpected self-conscious moment again: what would I do in the center? I hadn't thought of that at all. Everyone seemed to enter in some dramatic way—some kneeled down, some stood in prayer. But as I moved around petal by petal I became quiet again and when I stepped at last into the circle I was supremely alone. My hands lifted up automatically, palms upward, in an attitude of receptivity. As I did so, I felt instantly that a rainbow was arched between the two hands, coursing back and forth from palm to palm. With a deep joy I knew that was my gift, and I in turn tipped my palms outward, saying, I will share this with the world, what I am being given now. It was totally surprising and profoundly right. I knew that I would never see and experience life in the same way again.

Later, after leaving for a bit and having coffee, we re-entered the cathedral and moved around the aisles, watching for a while the continuing winding and unwinding of the labyrinth in silent prayer. It was moving to see it from outside. When you're in it, you only see one step ahead. From outside you see it as a cosmic procession. Phyllie kept hearing the roar of a vortex as we came closer to the labyrinth.

We sat by the Virgin, saw the hundreds of flickering candles in the dark, the ruby red votive holders glowing. And then as we stood before the Notre-Dame de la Belle Verrerie window, we heard the intake of breath of dozens of people and then a cry and exclamation. The sun had pierced through the opening in the south rose window and was shining on the slanted paving stone placed just so in the 12th century to receive it on this day, the summer solstice. I felt electric shocks run up and down my neck and over my head. We managed, through the crowds, to see the soft circle of light visit the waiting stone. It seemed the most wondrous thing! It was only there briefly. Within a minute it was gone.