Unlearning

Yesterday I started reading a novel about the spiritual journey that references the Chartres labyrinth. (If you’re not familiar with the labyrinth, be sure to Google it.) There is a replica of the labyrinth at a church near my home, so I decided to stop by there during my sunrise bike ride this morning.

I kept hearing a word during my bike ride.

Unlearning.

Unlearning is often the most diffcult part of learning. In order to develop new habits and ways of thinking, we must also unlearn the destructive and unhealthy aspects of our life we have already developed. This word was on my mind as I arrived at the labyrinth.

Entering the labyrinth, I thought about my life. Things that happened to me. Decisions I made. Actions I have taken. Big and small events that have shaped my life. Walking along the path, I reflected on the twists and turns of my journey.

Arriving at the center, I reflected on who I have been, who I am today, and who I would like to be, asking myself, how can I unlearn what needs to be elimated from my life?

Standing to walk the path back to the start of the labyrinth, it hit me. Maybe one of the ways to unlearn is by gaining a different perspective on the path that led you to this point. Stepping back onto the path, I noticed my view is different from when I walked in. Could it be I need to look back at my life with fresh eyes and look for opportunties to heal and grow rather than feel condemnation? Can I view moments of regret with new eyes and open a doorway to a second chance? Will I embrace moments of death and seek resurrection?

Two things happened on my walk back that I cannot explain. First, at the start of my journey out of the labyrinth, a gentle rain began to fall. It felt as though drops of grace, mercy, love, and Shalom were coming down to heal and calm my soul. In that moment, I was reminded that the Creator desires healing and wholeness, redemption and renewal.

As I continued walking, something else happened. A crow landed on a nearby tree and began crowing. Crows often represent death or bad luck in literature and myth. The foreboding sound of the crow continued for minutes, cutting through the thick morning air, a reminder that unknowing can be difficult and often requires something to die. A story we tell ourselves. A way of thinking. A relationship. A habit. Or something else holding us back from growth.

The crow also reminded me not to give up on the journey. As I took my final step out of the labyrinth, the crow left its perch and quietly flew away. Risk is always inherent in growth and change, but we must never give up.

One last reflection from my walk. Just like walking the Chartres labyrinth, where you find yourselt at any given moment can be deceiving. There were moments I appeared to be far from the end, but in reality I was getting closer with every step. We must learn to trust the journey and unlearn those things which mislead us.

Every day, I seek not only to learn, but to unlearn. To move on from some things in my life to create room for what is better. The journey will seldom be easy, but the struggle will bring healing and wholeness. I am thankful for that reminder early this morning.