Walking for HP and me

This morning I walked the labyrinth for HP and for me, but mainly for me. I have done this at the deaths of other friends, and at crisis times in their lives, too, and this time it was purely for me that I did it.

Since this is the case, I will depart from my usual rule which is never to tell what question I went into the labyrinth with, nor the answer I came out with unless it's valuable to the person I'm walking for. The answers come to mind as if another person is talking, simple declarative sentences.

This time my question to the labyrinth, which is really like the pathways inside your own brain, was: how can I remember the good parts of HP without conferring sainthood on him, and how can I remember the very difficult parts without anger?

Halfway through to the middle, the answer came: let whatever feelings come, just come, let them pass, don't dwell. Okay, good enough for now.

Then I left a single red rose, which I took from the bouquet his oldest friend brought to the house yesterday, in the center of the labyrinth, where walkers put small significant objects.



I thought it was okay to leave that token of love from all of us, including blogistas.




Then as I began to walk out of the center, the thought came: your work with HP is now done. I looked down and saw what I thought was a piece of tortoiseshell, or at least a mottled rock, picked it up and found it was a leaf eaten out by insects, and that what I thought was solid was merely dark shadow. Then when I put it down again, it looked like a shell once more.



A reminder that optical illusions are what we put a lot of faith in, better to keep an open mind and not decide what is until we take a second look. What seems to be perhaps isn't after all. And I realized that this image relates to my entering questions: what looks like one emotion or impulse might really be its opposite.

And that,in either case, it's just fine.