I find myself flat on my back a lot lately. This morning, after my walk, I lay on top of my bed and tried to focus on centering prayer. When Eden came to cuddle next to me I felt like God had pulled a big fleece blanket over us both. In an uncustomary pique of placidness, Eden just curled up next to me, silent, and closed her eyes.

Later I went to walk the labyrinth for the first time in a long time. In spite of the tent city in the parking lot, St. Mark’s is very still, very muffled. Somehow the noise of the city does not penetrate her tall cold walls. Usually I walk the lab with a certain sort of attentiveness. I often get a lot of clarity there so I sort of expect a download of insight when I get to the center. But today–three days into a migraine and a couple of weeks into a period of cognitive continental drift –I felt so drained, so weak, that I actually lay down flat on the cold cement floor. It was peaceful there, and the muffled sounds of the outside world made me feel cocooned and safe. (Except for the enormous chandelier hanging over my head which made me think of earthquakes and their consequences. You can take the girl out of California but…)

Finally, a few more people drifted in to sit in the sanctuary and I felt very obvious in my bright, beaded Indian blouse, lying on the floor in the middle of the lab. So I got up, wound my way through the path, lit a candle for peace, said a prayer. When I reached the entrance to the nave, I noticed that the baptismal was full and I reached in to grip one of the smooth stones deep in the bowl. I held it, a white one, closed in my fist until finally I opened my hand, letting it sink back down to its resting place.

Stopping does not equal death. Sleeping is not the same as lying still.