This post is out of chronological order for reasons that will become quite obvious. But, during my travels, I took a little side trip to visit a friend for a few days. Unfortunately, my friend already had plans and being a good friend went out of their way to see if I could join in.
“I got you invited to a thing Saturday night. You just need to wear decent walking shoes and bring something to drink. Don’t sweat it, though, I’ve go the drink part taken care of.”
“OK,” I respond. “Sounds good, but where are we going?”
“Well, that’s kind of all I know. It’ll be fun.”
The first step was getting to the island. Not too tough. I hitched a “ride” with the people that invited me.
As we came onto the beach, the sun was beginning to set and our host was patiently waiting with an old Victorian suitcase. Within a few minutes, the group expanded to about eight people. With a quick flip of the wrist, our host opens the case and says “No cell phones, here. Really, it’s the cameras that can’t go any further.”
“Oh,” I thought. “This is legit.”
After the cell phones were collected, we made our way about a quarter of a mile down the beach.
We turned right into an opening in the brush and began to head up a sandy hill. There were logs placed into the side of the hill as makeshift stairs in places that got a bit steep.
The path climbed up to a clearing, which turned out to be a road.
A paved road? The group cut south down the road for maybe a half mile while the occasional car slowed to look at us and then kept going.
We cut back into the brush up the hill. This time, the path was quarried and fitted stone, though old and falling apart.
We crossed under the chained sign stating “No Path”.
The stairs in the stone became less and less recognizable as stairs and more piles of oddly shaped rock.
We came to another bit of a clearing, and headed West along a dirt road – wide enough for a car, but no clear tires tracks. Nothing appeared to have traveled through here, but feet recently.
Our host ducked off to the right, where there appeared to be no path, and hurried us all into a group.
“Alright. Two or three at a time. So, you guys stay here and come across in 5 minutes.”
Fifty feet or so further through the brush and we come out into a parking lot. An abandoned parking lot, for sure.
Here at the top of the island stood an old wooden building. It had to have been a light-house of some sort, but no visible “light room”. Some sort of lookup, for sure.
The sun set sharply as we moved swiftly across the lot and enter the tower through the basement. A precarious makeshift platform about four feet above the floor leads us to the first floor and on to stairs. The stairs wind their way through a few floors of varying degrees of disarray.
Finally, we make our way into…
the bar?
Here on the top floor of the Tower is a speak easy. Like, a legit, contemporary speak easy.
The briefcase is setup behind the bar, open – on the honor system. We each pull out the bottle – and assorted sundries – we’ve brought for the gathering. Music is provided by a cell phone loosely positioned by a mega-phone. Ambiance is set with candles that illuminate the décor of newspaper articles, old sheet music, and miscellaneous advertisements.
It’s mostly quiet as the group takes in our surroundings. Faint murmurs come across as we each begin making comments about the place and the trip there.
Carol is a thin woman with short dark hair, but a long an interesting history. She asks aloud – to no one in particular – “You know what a ziggurat is?”
She continues, “It’s like a temple, of sorts. But, they’re marked by having a labyrinth that priests must go through before making their way to the inner most shrine. The idea is that the labyrinth forces the priest to make his way within himself – to quiet and concentrate the mind – focusing on the sacred, as they enter the shrine. It’s like we did that coming here. You can feel the sacred.”
The mood continued with a sacred tone as we all mingled together, telling stories and learning about each other. Creating common bonds out of strangers.
Amazing
A labyrinth is different than a maze. For one, there’s that pesky Minotaur. But, more importantly, a maze is designed for people to get lost in.
A labyrinth is not.
A labyrinth is a spiritual space. They are designed with one path. The idea is that the path is simply followed. You wind your way through the path until it’s end. No thought or logic necessary. A true labyrinth is a concentration device.
Each step is specifically designed, by the labyrinth’s architect, to carry you through to the end.
As the evening went on, we bit by bit made our way to the roof of the tower. It was not safe by any means, but it was amazing.
From the vantage point, I could see a quite direct route back to the beach. I chuckled that we didn’t really have to take the route we did, though it was way more interesting – more like a labyrinth.
I took a look around and saw my friend a few steps away. I realized how completely random it is for me to be here. It wasn’t that long ago that I didn’t even know this person and now they’re one of my best friends.
Time seemed meaningless for a few moments as I basked in gratitude. A shuffle of the rock in my glass, a sip of rum, a friend, friends of a friend, an amazing view, a once-in-a-lifetime experience, amazing stories – including my own – standing in a place that very few people have ever been.
It was then that it hit: This is my life.
As if each step was specifically orchestrated by some unseen architect to carry me to this rooftop.
Ziggurat indeed.
What does it look like from your rooftop?
