Hand Mandala

These hands
those slender fingers
that silver thread

This silver thread
those illumined notes
that chapel of light

This chapel of light
the intricate lines
define that hungry dark

This darkness
that thin line
this doorway

Those pilgrims
walking through
that doorway

This chapel
that high silver thread
these hands


Here you see the mandala I produced in the workshop I describe below. What was interesting about this process was getting my inner critic/analyst to shut the heck up. The critic was saying "You know, this is unbalanced. If you put an element here, you really should balance it with an element here." Just when I put the critic back in his appropriate corner, the analyst would chime in: "You know what this means, don't you? You got secrets. You want to hold your light inside. The teacher's coming over now! She's going to be able to tell how screwed up you are!"

I think we spent, maybe, around 30 minutes creating these mandalas. Of that time, I think I had between 5 to 10 minutes where I could silence those dueling voices. During those times, my hand seemed to flow along the paper. Then my heart seemed to be singing through the whiteness. Well, that's prayer, isn't it?

By the way — my handy dictionary says the word "mandala" comes from Sanscrit, and means "a design symbolizing the universe". This design, I suppose, represents the universe of my soul as well as the greater universe. Both are connected, y'know.

Class time was constrained, so we had to stop at the end of those 30 minutes. As we were reflecting on the process, Ms. Rugh suggested we keep our mandalas in a spot where we would see it on a regular basis. She suggested it might call us to add more to it, or to respond to it in another artistic form (e.g., poetry). Naturally, Elsie asked if I would be writing a poem for my mandala. Thanks to my sense of being blocked, I was non-committal.

I did put the mandala across from my bed, where I would see it every night & every morning.

Phrases started coming into my head as I was driving home. Over the past few days, I've been recording those phrases in my new Moleskin (Mol-eh-skeen-eh, according to Real Live Preacher) Journal®.

Shall I let you peek behind the curtain? I think I shall:

I.
These hands
this intimate intricate chapel of light
those quarter note fingers


This illuminated circle
describing the dark
These hands form
the illuminated circle
which describes the dark

II.
These hands
those slender fingers
that thin silver thread

This chapel of light
those illuminated notes
describing the dark

These fingers
follow the thread
through the dark

Pilgrims honoring
the line that marks
this thin doorway

Moon mountains bow
before earth valleys
as these hands illumine the circuit

As you see, the poem was further honed in the process of transferring it from my Moleskin Journal® to my (larger) bedroom journal.

At least for the moment, the Moleskin is encouraging scribbling for its own sake. Not sure why. Maybe because it is so handy. Maybe because I often carry it close to my heart. Anyway, the notorious inner critic has been mostly quiet as I've scribbled in this new journal.

Perhaps, even though it is a rectangle rather than a circle, this new journal can be a mandala in which I honor & discover my soul.