monsters of the labyrinth
The roars of the labyrinth may be deafening, but we cannot avoid them forever.
In Greek mythology, the labyrinth was the home of the Minotaur. When you entered, it was almost certain that you would not come out. The minotaur was fierce, and no doubt tired of being cooped up himself, looking for satisfaction through the sacrifice of unfortunate souls relegated to his lair.
This story is reminiscent of the lion’s den of scripture. This place is often discussed as if it existed for the torture of opponents, an outsourcing of punishment. The powerful one did not have to exert the punishment himself. The beasts in his possession would do so for him.
I remember watching Pan’s Labyrinth as a teenager with a friend. I didn’t like scary movies, but the only thing I feared more than the film was admitting my trepidation to my friends. So I went along with it, squinting and jumping and feigning sleep through the whole thing. But still I remember one monster in the labyrinth, the Pale Man, who had no eyes on his face but rather on his palms, holding them out to examine the hallways and young prey in front of him.
These images are so starkly contrasted with the labyrinth as an image of spiritual contemplation. The labyrinth through which we walk and pray does not contain looming beasts with large horns or eyeballs on their palms. They are not mazes but rather unicursal, meaning there is only one path in and out of the labyrinth. In fact, a participant can see the whole path in front of them from their vantage point at the entrance. So it couldn’t be more different, could it?
Alas, I think we’d be remiss to claim that there is no menacing presence inside those paths of stone or brick.
The monsters, indeed, appear to us all the same.
I’m not speaking of anything external. I’m not talking about the concepts of Satan or demons or spiritual adversaries. I am, however, referring to the twists and turns our own mind takes seemingly on its own, casting menacing shadows on the dimly lit walls, chasing the spirit from the path of centered calm.
Namely: Impatience. Lofty expectations. Disenchantment. Self-castigation.
If you’re walking through the echoey halls of an ancient labyrinth, it would be unwise to ignore the monsters pursuing you.
So why do we try so hard to ignore these monsters when they present themselves to us in our very tidy, very peaceful spiritual practices?
Eek!—Ignoring them does not bode well.
So what then?
Every spiritual practice is perhaps a labyrinth of sorts. And if yours doesn’t have any monsters, I wonder (gently and with love) if you’re looking hard enough.
We can try to cover our ears and eyes; we can try to continue on the path that is set out for us, breathing in and out and shoving away whatever “negative” thoughts enter our minds.
“Not now!” we tell them. “Can’t you see I’m being spiritual right now?! Come back when my meditation gong timer goes off.”
The roars of the labyrinth may be deafening, but we cannot avoid them forever.
There is a reason that more and more storybook monsters appear as the heroine ventures deeper and deeper under the surface.
The labyrinth calls to us in the same way that sleep does—inevitable; always forthcoming. If we put off sleep, we become exhausted, irritable, and altogether unpleasant, often most especially to ourselves.
In our spiritual practices, we can choose to explore only the brightly lit, wide awake, spacious entry halls of our inner labyrinth. Some monsters may lurk there, but they’re generally pretty easy to deal with. But sooner or later, we will notice the roars from the deep. And then sooner or later after that, these roars will implant themselves within our consciousness such that we can no longer ignore them.
So, with bravery and determination, we venture forth.
It takes that bravery and determination to seek out and face those monsters.And when we come across these monsters, we will need that bravery again, but perhaps not in the way you’d think.
We may be surprised, upon seeing them, that their faces are blurry. Their bodies are imposing yet intriguingly familiar. We may find that the fur and fangs were nothing but shadowy illusions. And perhaps we will discover down in those depths of our spirits that the monsters aren’t really monsters after all.
The further we get in our labyrinthine spirit walks, we may jump and start as we notice movement on the walls and around the corners. When we turn to face this movement, we begin to see ourselves on those walls, our reflections cast large as if in a carnival fun house. The small, tasteful mirrors on our walls become floor-to-ceiling. Looking away is futile. The reflections are all-surrounding and infinite.
We realize slowly that the roars are the echoes of our own voices—our own fears and self-flagellation bouncing off the reflective glass surfaces of the mirror portals, beckoning us deeper, deeper still.
Venturing deeper into a labyrinth is not a journey into the unknown; it is a journey into the intimately known yet intimately feared.
Fear not.
The monsters are mirrors.
May we face the mirrors, gently buffing off the smudges and fingerprints.
May we look deeply.
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