Mandala

Deep there, in the middle of it all, there is stillness - unassuming, invisible, weightless. There is this force that holds it all together. It’s hidden, yet always palpable. It’s strong and powerful, yet delicate and gentle. That mandala within is what pulls me up when I feel like falling apart. It collects the pieces, if I refuse to fuse, and lovingly caresses me until I turn into stillness again. It gives me a fragrant flower to wake up my senses, touches my cheeks with an invisible feather, and sends a soft breeze with a scent of an ancient forest to keep me company until I am ready to belong once again. It guides my hand, no matter what I do - cooking, writing, drawing, digging in the garden, or taking a spider in the room outside to be free and wild again. 

Wild and free is who I am deep inside. So is the mandala within.

Today’s sitting in stillness brought out some tears. They are rolling down and dripping onto the ground - a salty drink for the thirsty earth. I don’t know their origin - they don’t tell me their story, but I am grateful to feel their fluid caress. They seem to know their way out, not lingering and heavy, but flowy, light, and somehow confident. Perhaps they are here to remind me how to be exactly that: flowy, light, and confident. “Who sent you?” I am not really asking, out of respect for their privacy. They touch me, that’s enough. They take with them the part of me that no longer belongs, and I am thankful. They know their way out and I feel more confident because of their confidence. The mandala pulsates inside, as if nodding in agreement. Om is the sound of my senses. My body is invisible at the moment - still there, but in a very non-intrusive quietness, holding my spirit in a soft embrace. The spirit is light and invisible, too, but also very present and firmly there. There, within the mandala, which is within me. We all hold invisible hands. The air is glistening white. The words are inconspicuous, subtle, and discreet. There is just Awareness wholly present.