The Labyrinth at Lekker Plekkie
Some dreams come to us in whispers – soft, persistent, and unwavering. Mine was like that. I didn’t write it down, didn’t place it on a vision board, and didn’t follow a structured goal-setting system. Yet, deep within me, I knew: one day, I would build a labyrinth.
When we bought the land in Hekpoort – about 65 km northwest of Johannesburg, South Africa, in the Cradle of Humankind – it was nothing more than an open field, filled with red chilies ready for harvest. But I saw more. I saw our home rising from the soil, and I saw my labyrinth.
We broke ground in January 2015. Brick by brick, beam by beam, our house took shape. By October, we moved in. It wasn’t much more than a shell – no ceilings, no cupboards, just raw cement primer on the walls. But it was ours, and that was enough.
In the first week of living there, I walked the land. It was still uneven, covered in weeds and thorns. Walking barefoot was impossible, but it was ours. The wind whispered through the few trees that stood like sentinels on the upper part of the property. And in that moment, I made a promise to myself: On my birthday, the 28th of December, I would walk my labyrinth.
There was just one problem – we had no money left. Everything had gone into the house. But what I did have was determination, a labyrinth plan from Stuart Jensen at Boondock Mountain Lodge (a place where I had spent many silent retreats, my happy place), and an abundance of building rubble and broken bricks.
One scorching Saturday in late November, with nothing but string, a long piece of scrap metal, and the vision in my mind, I began. My dogs trotted beside me as I paced the upper part of the land, searching for the perfect spot. Doubt crept in. Should it be more to the left? More to the right? But I pushed forward, marking out the centre – a four-meter-wide circle – and then the eleven winding rings around it.
Stone by stone, piece by piece, my worker and I laid the labyrinth’s path. We used half bricks, chunks of concrete, whatever we could find. The work was slow and backbreaking, but every brick was carefully placed. Slowly, the labyrinth emerged from the land. With a chair in the centre, it was done.
On the morning of my birthday, as the first light touched the land, I stepped into the labyrinth. It wasn’t perfect – but it was mine. I promised myself that one day, I would make it perfect.
And then, as I walked, a clear message came to me:
“Your labyrinth is perfect. It represents life. Life isn’t perfect. Sometimes the road is wide, sometimes a little narrower. Sometimes there are sticks and thorns, and sometimes it’s smooth. Your labyrinth is perfect.”
I walked in silence, the labyrinth guiding me inward, toward stillness, toward gratitude. I wasn’t just standing in the middle on the bare soil – I was standing in the middle of a dream fulfilled.
Later, we added lavender and placed an old tree trunk in the centre for a seat. A few years later, I replaced the building rubble with bricks and planted trees. The Lekker Plekkie labyrinth is always evolving—every season brings new flowers, then we added roses.
Walking the labyrinth brings me joy and wisdom. It calms my stress, embraces me every time I step into it – early mornings, late afternoons, under the full moon, and the new moon. It is my sanctuary, my happy place. And every time, it feels just as amazing as that first walk.
Now, we share the labyrinth with others, hosting talks and walks for those seeking their own moments of peace and reflection.
How blessed am I.
