I’ve already walked the labyrinth this morning, three trips around, it was lovely. Now I’m walking again, this time with the express intention of finishing homework set for the Mastership circle focusing on Surrender.

I’ve been struggling with this homework. The assignment is to identify attachments I have and then rate them with a fear factor of how upset I would be if I lost the item I was attached to. The second half of the assignment is to look at how I define myself and then assign a fear factor for these as well. How do I want others to see me? What would I not want people to think about myself?

I started yesterday, and worked at it half-heartedly, really not wanting to look at the attachments I have, because I know that the goal is to surrender to those attachments. When I’m in a state of detachment, these things seem incredibly simple, but while in a state of attachment, I feel completely hooked by them.

So here I am, sitting in the center of my labyrinth. Yes, it’s an attachment, with a fear factor of 0 and of 10 – when I’m in the labyrinth, centered and grounded, I understand, feel to my core, that the labyrinth is always here, a part of me, whether it’s here physically or not, whether I’m here physically or not, so it’s a 0. When I’m not centered and grounded, my fear factor for losing the labyrinth is a 10. This is my main tool for coming back home to myself.

I’m writing things down as they come to me. I’m distracted by my daughter’s cat, who has just come trotting up to me, calling and purring and rubbing herself all over me. Head butting me. “Please get up and come feed me, Mom!” Back to the homework. Here comes the cat again. I’ve just written down that part of how I define myself is as a Two on the Enneagram. That’s the Nurturer or the Helper. The cat is helping me to see just how strongly I identify with that, because I’m still petting her while trying to write even though I’m annoyed.

“Stop!” I speak loudly. She shakes her tail and heads off to stand a few feet away from me on the heart stone that is at the entrance to the labyrinth. Her back is to me, tail twitching wildly. Above there is the squawk of a squirrel who is trying to tell Sugar to leave. I’m distracted by the squirrel, so my attention wanders from the homework paper. Now the cat has come back and the dog is nudging me and licking my face. “Come feed us, Mom!”

Laughing, I start to stand up. This is slightly hampered by the fact that the center of the labyrinth slopes, so I’m working against gravity, putting my hands in the plants that are growing up through the rocks here. What is that incredible smell? I have no idea what this plant is, but there is a fabulous aroma emitting from it. Smelling eucalyptus-y and minty. Lovely, medicinal smell. I put my fingers to my nose to sniff deeply and the smell is gone. I rub my fingers once again against the plant, then quickly to my nose. Ahhhhhh. There’s the smell. A few seconds later it’s gone. Talk about having to be completely in the moment!

I am attached to many things and nothing. I have a fear factor of Zero and of Ten, seemingly simultaneously.