A Labyrinth for Greenbriar Park

I'm constructing a stone and brick labyrinth in a public park. (If you're not familiar with the idea, you can check out the Labyrinth Society link in the sidebar.) All my labyrinth buddies agree that this is very likely the first one on city property in the wonderful city of Austin. I've been working with labyrinths for nine years, now, and I've finally crested into getting paid to do what I love. It's very gratifying.

I'm also venturing into a major construction project with a solid deadline, and the pressure I put on myself is intense. I want this labyrinth to be perfect! I want it to showcase all the skill and attention to detail that I can muster, so that people will come along and say, "Wow, this is great!" I want them to look me up and ask me to build their labyrinth. I'm learning to let go of the small stuff so the big picture can fall into place. Fretting over a half centimeter gap doesn't move me toward my goal of being finished by the end of the month.

Building a labyrinth has so many parallels to walking one. You turn about, you make good progress toward your goal, you stop and go backwards, then progress again. Like anything in life, I guess. I bought sand to have a workable base for the stones and bricks. We spread it out and it looked beautiful. We started laying the bricks, and it soon became clear that the sand wasn't deep enough. So- out come the bricks, order more sand, wait for the delivery, spread and level for a second time- a week later we start laying bricks again. Now we can do that with ease, though. Before the second load of sand, it was very difficult.

Today will be the second day of placing bricks for the second time. I hope to add three or four photos to our collection of labyrinth documentation. Every thirty five bricks or so, we take a picture. So it should unfold in digital glory, as soon as I get my website up. Every photo will be a snapshot of four hours heavy labor, though the instantaneous nature of photography will appear like a magical summoning of brickwork, jumping into perfect patterns and concentric circles. If I could do it that way, just conjure the whole thing into being, I might be tempted to skip the heavy process of lifting and digging and tamping and adjusting. I'm glad I can't, though. The work is teaching me things, and I want to keep on learning.

Namaste,
Crow