The Mandala is done. And I am not certain how I feel about it, or whether I can write about it.
I finished it a couple of weeks ago and have been sitting with the finality of the project, reflecting on its impact on this life lived over the last year. I seem to be awaiting a thunderbolt from the goddesses claiming, "It is finished!" Or perhaps a sense of relief. Or maybe tears, or elation, or disappointment.
This I know: I miss it. When I sit in my chair at the end of the day, I miss its presence beside me, the space it consumed, the ways in which I lived for it and around it. Perhaps there is a lesson there, that the weight of the project, of grief, isolation, were a comfort to me, lived beside me, were companions this last year, and that throwing them off leaves me wondering what to do with this new freedom, new weightlessness. Were I a chrysalis turned butterfly I would spread my wings to the wind and seek out sustenance, companionship; I, however, don't know what to do.
My daughter said there must be a lesson about tragedy, perseverance, beauty and survival in it; this in fact, IS the Mandala, no?
Here are the stats:
Finished size: 88" in diameter
Weight: 7.6 pounds
Stitch count: 60,317 at a minimum
Start date: March 2, 2020
Finished date: February 15, 2021
