We live with hidden presences.
The village street, its air heavy under the hot sun, its surface baked hard beneath our feet, is lined with dwellings.
Before we enter any one of these home-steads we are confronted by a labyrinth painted in brightly coloured sand.
As the morning sun rose through the sky the Mistress of the House laid out this elaborate design and we cannot now enter her dwelling without passing through this pattern, the new focus, of those auspicious natural forces.
A protective screen now guards the home.
We cannot see that screen, we can only see the focus.
A reflection of the inner workings of cosmos has been externalised at the boundary: that line which divides inner and outer; the pure form from the purely chaotic or accidental.
The boundary is always fraught with danger.
It represents the primal division at the heart of all things.
A wholeness has been rent so that creation can occur.
This labyrinth is a symbol but it is also both greater-and-less-than any symbol. As the day progresses it will be worn away by many feet entering and exiting the house. The coloured sand will mingle with the dust of the street. The symbol will lose its true form like the stone temples and that illusory stability which sees them abandoned when their utility is spent. They are both constructed, despite the appearance, merely to capture the momentary, unpredictable reality of the unseen.
Labyrinth and temple express an untold reality as that which is hidden but held in external form.
Both are held open for the invisible yet still, in other ways, sensed powers.
Both then hold these powers in partial and temporary control.
Both mark a transition from inner to outer and suggest movement to come…
Like all vessels of divinity they are potential turning points.
They contain and obfuscate.
Imbued with powers of their own they yet point beyond themselves to the divine wholeness.
We overlook this at our peril.