THE LABYRINTH AND THE MAZE

On this day before Thanksgiving 2022, I am thankful for being thankful, knowing that for one reason or another, this blessing is beyond the reach of some. And yet even those with blessings enough to count may be finding it takes a little more effort now, coming off nearly three years of a pandemic that may or may not be over, depending on whom you ask and where they are in this life.

For some reason these musings led me to harken back to a week not so long ago, which started when Ovide and I attended the dedication ceremony for the beautiful new stone labyrinth at the Historic Barns Botanic Garden in Traverse City. As soon as it ended, I knew we had to book-end that outing with a visit to another nearby attraction, the Jacob's Farm Corn Maze, which we did a few days later.

The terms "labyrinth" and "maze" are sometimes used interchangeably, and indeed they have overlapping histories. But in modern parlance labyrinths tend to be "unicursal" -- there is only one path from the entrance to the goal, which remains in clear view at all times; whereas mazes are "multicursal," with paths wending their way through, say, rows of withered cornstalks that completely obstruct your line of sight, full of dead ends, deliberately designed to confuse and challenge (and in some cases even to entrap).

I walked both and the two experiences could hardly have been more different. Walking a labyrinth requires you to maintain a minimal level of calm awareness of your surroundings but doesn't need to consume your entire consciousness. As long as you don't completely lose yourself in contemplation or allow your attention to be directed away from what you're doing, you cannot fail to wind your way from the entrance to the center and back. The labyrinth is its own map. You find the path by walking.

A maze is something else altogether. Although this was Ovide's first visit to the corn maze, it was actually my second. Shortly B.C. (Before Covid), I went with a group of friends who are as directionally challenged as I am, in which our goal quickly shifted from solving the puzzle to just finding our way out. (My niece recently took her family to a corn maze that provides a flag to raise in case you find yourself in need of rescue. No such amenities at Jacob's!) My visit this summer, on the other hand, was with someone who was able to read the map well enough to allow us to solve the puzzle comfortably within the predicted hour and a half.

Yet in some ways my second maze experience wasn't all that different from my first, since I succeeded in completing the circuit only because I tagged along with someone with superior navigational skills. In short, both experiences required relaxing some of my control needs and forcing myself to get comfortable with being, well, seriously lost.

On the other hand, I count myself fortunate the first time to have been with a posse of friends with whom I could share a lot of laughter at our ludicrous predicament; and the second time to have had a companion by my side who loves me enough to help me find my way when I am lost, knowing there will be other moments when I will be there to help him.

The labyrinth was a pilgrimage, the maze an adventure. I am thankful for both.