I was timid, because although the whole thing was transparent, I couldn't see which way, or when, to turn. (Forehead-shaped smudges on the walls announced where some who'd entered earlier had misjudged the design.) What lay just ahead? Would the path angle off to the left or right? Or would my next footfall smack me into the glass?
A queasiness in my stomach intensified with every step, as a familiar hunger for safety gnawed at my gut.
The partitions opened at unpredictable moments, in unexpected directions, but I recognized a rhythm in my body––a slow build of anxiety, followed by relief. Lungs tightened around the breath and then set it free. I began to trust that rhythm. Fear marked a turning point; relief marked another. Rewarding my faith, the glass passageway guided me to the center and eventually spilled me back out onto the lawn.
I'm still waiting to learn such faith in life. To trust that fear evaporates and openings appear.
Read about another contemplative walk.