It is 8 A.M., on November 12th. Today is a day of celebration; it’s the day when the Charter of Compassion will be released. That’s a document first dreamed of by religious writer Karen Armstrong, and now created by a collaborative group of religious leaders from around the world. I’ve been inspired both by a number of Armstrong’s books, and by the wonderful talk she gave on accepting the TED prize, where she first shared her vision of the Charter. The idea, which is based on the universality of the golden rule to all religions, is to first create a statement expanding on the role of compassion, and then call on all religious groups to endorse the goal of being more compassionate in the world. I decided to be part of this action, and have gotten Tikkun Toronto, the political-spiritual group with whom I work to publicize what I have chosen to do: meet at the labyrinth in the heart of High Park, read the Charter, and walk the labyrinth while meditating on how I can manifest more compassion in the world. There’s only one minor problem: the Charter isn’t out yet. The website has featured a countdown to the day of the release, and here we are on that day, and there’s nothing online. What’s plan B? I find an old poster that shows the different religions’ versions of the golden rule, reformat it so it will fill the blank space on the sign a friend has made, and decide the best thing to do is to relax and to wait. I manage to keep the second part of that decision.

At 9:30 I go back and check the website, and the Charter is up! Now I really can relax. I copy it, reformat it, print it out, and put together the large poster, with the Charter at the top, and instructions for our action at the bottom. We want people to read the charter, walk the labyrinth, (which takes about 30-40 minutes), while meditating on how they might reach the goals of the Charter, and then fill out a small card with their resolutions. They’ll take the cards away with them. We’ve publicized this through email, Facebook, Twitter, and even word of mouth. I’ve printed up 50 cards, so I print 50 copies of the Charter as well, but I really don’t have any sense of how many people will be able to take time off on a Thursday to come to a spot about 15 minutes walk from the nearest public transit. High Park is huge (400 acres) and a labyrinth in its own right; one third is wild, and it’s easy to get lost trying to find the inner labyrinth, despite the maps on the email invitations. But I’ve known from the moment I decided to do this that the only way to make it work was to let go of expectations: if I start defining success or failure, the only thing that will do is to guarantee it fails for me. The weather is certainly a success: a beautiful fall day, crisp and sunny, with autumnal leaves heavy on the ground. Whatever happens, I intend to have a successful meditation.

I get to the labyrinth at 11:30. I have brought a broom, as my wife suggested when she scouted the labyrinth this morning while walking our dog. High Park’s is a copy of the one at Chartres, a concrete circle thirty yards across, with the pattern one walks painted onto it. Unlike a maze, there are no choices: you follow the pattern till the centre, and then reverse and walk out. No minotaurs anywhere, I’m relieved to see. But the broom was a good idea; much of the labyrinth is covered with oak leaves from the large grove that surrounds us. I sweep the leaves away, pound a hole in the ground with a stake, and put the sign up. It wavers, but holds- fortunately there’s no wind. Now I can really relax. I actually read the Charter, which I’d only skimmed earlier, and find it deeply moving. I’d wondered why bother rewriting the golden rule? Would the product be some horrible committee-speak, aimed at offending no one by not having any real content? But this is quite wonderful, both powerful in its goals, and poetic in its phrasing. As I finish my reading of it, I see the second person appearing, a long time friend and collaborator. I smile, and wave my broom at him … in a compassionate manner, of course.

By 12:15 we have four people at the labyrinth, all of whom I’ve known and worked with for fifteen years. It’s a wonderful group, and a stunningly beautiful day. We start to walk, which has at least one complexity I hadn’t thought of: you always have to walk slower than the person in front of you, as the paths are about a foot wide, and a meditation on compassion doesn’t really work with overtaking on the curves. But after a tight start we spread out, and gradually I let go of all the planning and relax into the idea of compassion and the places where I most need to bring it in to my life. After a lifetime of teaching, I tend to focus too much on what’s wrong, on judging where the inadequacies are, rather than supporting what is good and making that central. Just as I reach the centre, a six-petalled flower shape, two more people appear, read the sign, and start the walk. One of them I know from Tikkun, the other is someone I don’t know. Our advertising has worked! I smile and let them pass as they move towards the centre, and I move away.

And now we have all finished our walk. We silently fill out our cards with the actions we have chosen to do, and then we talk. The stranger is someone whose proposed action for the Charter I had read about online, but neither he nor I could get permission to hold events downtown; there was no compassion we could invoke in the hearts of city regulations. But here we both are, in the warmth of slanting sunshine, in a collaborative action anyway. The moment and our action feel powerful and meaningful, despite the few people who came. Sometimes successful political action can be changing what is inside rather than what is outside. I place my card, (with its resolution to be less judgemental of people with whom I disagree) in my wallet, where it will be protected but visible. We hug one another, take down our signs and leave, as the leaves gently start to reoccupy the labyrinth.