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Stepping into a walking labyrinth becomes a sacred experience when we connect it to our own personal journey, our walk in the desert, our meanderings through an unknown and sometimes bewildering wilderness. I recently walked the outdoor labyrinth at the Kanuga Conference and Retreat Center, in Hendersonville North Carolina, while attending Spiritual Direction training offered by the Haden Institute.  The weather had been unusually cold. Snow and ice had taken its toll on the surface of the labyrinth, it was gritty, and stained, and not very warm and inviting. 

I live on the California coast within a few blocks from the beach. One of my favorite pastimes to do after a storm blows through is to go beachcombing for sea glass. I tend to lose myself in this activity of slow walking on the wet sand when the tide is low. I look with intention along the shore for what shimmers in the sunlight. This afternoon there was a minus tide and the ocean’s waves have done all the work, churning up the rocks, so they lay like carefully placed pebbles tossed in a formation upon the shore.

I wake early so I can light a candle and place it in my window. 

Its light illuminates my darkness and, perhaps, the darkness of the world. The reverent glow flickering from quiet candlelight serves as a beacon for the birds who visit the feeder outside my sill.  As they find morning nourishment, they feather simple joy upon my heart.

I wake early because when I do, I recall the miracle of my breath. I feel the beating of my heart. And my dog’s snoring at my feet becomes a choir.

Editor's note: Here's a truth to ponder - not all spiritual companionship happens face-to-face or even by Skype or telephone. Sometimes our listening makes a difference, but the seeker being heard never even knows we are attending. Read this lovely story from a spiritual director who discovered the human frailty and grace that lies beneath political conflict.

Last year, just after the US presidential election, my husband and I drove down to the World Alliance of Interfaith Clergy conference in Marriottsville, MD. On the way, we found ourselves listening to a talk show which was inviting callers to share their feelings regarding the election of Donald Trump. I was struck at the level of anger on both sides. One caller, a strong Trump supporter, was particularly angry leveling venom at those who were now protesting his election. After a follow-up question, she suddenly launched into what could only be called a full-blown tirade.

I found myself becoming more and more irritated. I felt quite sure that had she been in my physical view I would have leveled back in defense. And then, somewhere, tucked in the middle of the tirade, I heard a short phrase (they usually are) that stopped me cold. She said, “My daughter died…” and a little later, “from a drug overdose.” Suddenly, I could hear all of her complaints about the lack of border control, illegal immigrants, health care challenges, financial strain, in a whole new light. And, most of all, I remembered: behind every anger is a hurt.

Editor's note: Shivali Bhammer is one of the workshop presenters at Seeking Connections 2018, SDI's annual conference. She will present "Mindfulness: An Exploration of Karma & Devotional Yoga in the Yogic Tradition."   She approaches spiritual companionship from the Hindu tradition. This is her first post on the SDI blog. We welcome her perspective.)

A young girl recently wrote to me with a dilemma. Her father insisted that she should marry someone from her community, rather than the Sri Lankan she was in love with (she was Indian).

(Editor's note: Ashley Davis Bush does a beautiful job in this post describing the delights of a silent retreat in the Catholic tradition. It's worth noting that retreats are integral to Hindu, Sufi and Buddhist traditions as well - with meditation and yoga sometimes being themes in modern day silent retreats. Regardless of tradition or focus, retreants who stay silent over a period of days say it deepens awareness and refreshes the spirit.) 

I recently told an acquaintance that I was headed for a silent retreat weekend.  “I go to this monastery in Cambridge several times a year,” I beamed. She looked at me with a blank stare and asked increduously, ‘Why?’  The implication was that it must be dreadfully boring, even a waste of time.  

Why do I go?  Upon reflection, I would say that I go as an act of self-care -- to carve out space for personal contemplation, to be amidst a monastic community, to nurture my spirit, to rest; and to spend quality time with God.

Prison metes out segregation, isolation and punishment for ill deeds. Out of public sight, prison often becomes a place of brutality, mistreatment and unimagined human suffering for those incarcerated.

However, given the proper guidance, prison also has the potential to become a place of transformation and healing. An incarcerated person can also develop as a highly spiritual individual.

Once awakened to the inherent spiritual impulse, a person in longtime incarceration, with a little creativity and help from the outside, has the time and opportunity to turn his or her prison time into a “monastic” experience.

Australia is primarily a very dry and barren country on the surface. Much of the continent’s landscape is covered with semi-arid vegetation that comes and goes with the various seasons. However, hidden deep under 23 percent of the continent is what is known as the Great Artesian Basin, which is the largest and deepest artesian basin in the world, according to Wikipedia. This basin provides fresh water to many of the dry inland areas of Australia spanning four states and territories. The basin lies in some places more than a kilometre below the surface.

For the better part of my life, I was a tried and true skeptic. I inherited my astute atheism on my father’s side of the family and my difficult childhood turned me into a full-blown cynical nihilist. For me, the world was a bland and robotic exchange of pleasantries. By the time I turned 18, I saw human interaction as an endless string of small talk that I had to put up with until the day I died.

Dealing with My Mental Illness

Simply put, I was lost. Oddly enough, my revelation came to me at a very strange and unexpected time in my life. I was 25 years old and dealing with the acute stage of schizophrenia. I didn’t even realize there was something this deeply wrong with me up to this point. Mental illness is funny like that.

It was a day like any other, not particularly memorable but not too glum either. I was at home watching the news, when all of a sudden, the world felt off. I can’t begin to explain that dreaded feeling, but if you went through it, you will know exactly what I mean.

And then the hallucinations started, and I experienced my first major psychotic break.