City Full Of Grace

When the work day is done a little too late, when there’s nobody waiting for you anywhere, and your body aches with the imprint of the chair and a day’s worth of moving only your fingers, when the doors of your office finally open, San Francisco is there, waiting for you. It doesn’t ask questions, it doesn’t need directions; it simply welcomes your feet as they find their natural intention on its stones.

It doesn’t need you to listen how it spent the whole day bearing the weight of cable cars on tracks carved into its spine, the weight of taxis going back and fourth, out of town drivers lost in its one way streets, the sharp ladies’ heels digging in deeper and deeper. It is ready to bear it all in attentive silence and unobtrusive curiosity, offering the support of its sturdy structures and public spaces when needed most.

The city stretches out its bent spine to support your weary feet as they walk out the day. Streetlights gently brighten the way, shining only where you are ready to let the light in, hiding, if needed. Your feet move slow and steadily, with the effort of each step up hill. The burden of the day growing lighter. The muscles relax, unclenching, letting go of their fear of uselessness. The limbs move rhythmically and methodically, the grace of movement rising as the body ascends to Grace.

The top of the hill happens quite quickly, and there, the crowning achievement of the evening strikes the eye with its dignified form, imposing yet unobtrusive, welcoming presence.

The Grace Cathedral in its evening gown of illumination shines and sparkles.

The night shadows and lighting give the building even more grandeur than it commands in daylight, making the building sparkle with timelessness. Thoughts of the hurry and worry of the day shrink and cower into your heels, realizing their impermanence in the wake of the magnificence before them. The stability and permanence before you put perspective on the everyday minutia that has taken over your being only an hour ago.

Up the stars and to the right of the main doors, tucked securely on the floor of the stone terrace surrounded by bushes and flowers, lies a hidden treasure of contemplative movement. The silver and pink web of the labyrinth, spread out by small stone mosaic opens before you on the light gray of the terrace. You walk up to the entrance of the maze, the last of the day’s troubles circling the labyrinth of your thoughts. Keeping the weight even in your feet, the pressure of your feet steady on the rock underneath, and the steps measured and equal, you begin to press the concerns of the day into the cool rock. The labyrinth winds with twists and turns, at every turn a new thought surfaces and passes, unraveling the web of stress from your head down to your heels, and leaving it behind the next bend.

The center of the maze is illusive, the path to it not clear because in order to continue moving forward you have to keep your gaze securely in front of you, watching for your next step. Since the path constantly twists and turns, sometimes you feel you’re going backwards, away from the goal. Your path winds closer to the prize and then, the next step takes you to the very outskirts. You stop thinking of the goal, the center becomes just another part of the path, and the focus shifts to the experience of the present, as your foot firmly and evenly pushes itself into the gray cold stone.

Suddenly, you find yourself taking the last step. The movement crushes the remains of the useless thoughts underneath your feet.

Center.

There is no room for worry, only the grace of life, sparkling in the night, reflected in every twinkling light.