Maze puzzles were popular when I was a kid. They might be found near the crossword puzzle in a newspaper, or you could buy a book of them printed on tablet-style paper. You pressed your pencil point where it read 'Start!', then tried to forge a path to 'Finish!' without crossing a line. Most were brief and simple, but some were large and intricate. You wanted to avoid a dead end, but you also didn't want to get to the finish too soon because then, what was the point of the puzzle?

If you think mazes are not much of a challenge, try designing a maze or two. I watched my kids and their friends do this with chalk on concrete when they were young, and so thought it must be simple. When I first tried it a couple of years ago I discovered it wasn't so easy, but it was fascinating. When I try to sketch a maze, it feels like my brain is stretching in unfamiliar ways. (Well, where does the word 'amaze' come from? Sketching a maze is indeed amazing.)

The brain loves games like Tetris and jigsaw puzzles. I've become intrigued during the last decade by wordless learning. After many years of schooling dominated by learning via verbal teaching and the language in books, I recognize that sketching mazes, painting, yoga, knitting, and playing an instrument all are a kind of learning too. I don't mean the process of learning to play a song or knit a scarf as much as that the activity itself is an experience of enlightenment.

I think of bats and whales and their awareness of location through sound wave feedback. No one gives them written directions or tells them where to go. The language of words is not always the most effective way to learn. I think of how much brighter I feel after dancing, or gazing at the network of the night sky.