It has been six months since finishing the Mandala. I have been sitting on this accomplishment, reflecting sifting thinking observing how I feel, how it affected my life, how it sits on me now. It is time to put it away, finish this project.
Today I boxed it up, a bunch of lavender from the garden included, with a Get Well card to the future. Taped. Stored. Done.
Here are a few things I think, bestirred by this project:
1. Resolution - This word has surfaced again and again. I make resolutions regularly, many of which do not pan out or get done. Why was I successful at this resolution? what about it brought me back to it again and again? Was it the creative process, one of the deep abiding strengths of mine which is often, mostly, suppressed? was it the grief work? was it a habit? I don't know.
Resolve as a word springs from undoing, untying, breaking down, similar to the modern word of dissolute. Resolutions are hard for me as the modern instance of the word demands some bootstrapping, tough as steel core inner strength, law loving, stay in the lines action. Not always my bailiwick. Resolution as breaking down, falling apart, undoing - this resonates in me: Break down the "resolution" into parts and pieces to be examined felt considered managed, then the construction success begins. This is a creative process, not a warrior princess action. This is more me.
Maybe this is why I like scrappy quilts and rug twining - the pieces are broken apart, gathered from the undone, and rebuilt into something that can be celebrated and loved. Resolution. Resolved. Re-solved.
2. Eight repeats in each round mimic the Buddhist Eightfold Path - Right Understanding, Right Intent, Right Speech, Right Action, Right Livelihood, Right Effort, Right Mindfulness, Right Concentration. It has been a long time since I studied Buddhism; however, this effort of the last year brought some of the thoughts back to mind and provided contemplative fodder as I worked the rounds, the Wheel of Life. Am I understanding why I am doing this work? What is my intent? Is it worth the effort? Am I well placed in my work and earning? Can I be more careful in my speech and actions?
3. I miss it, missed it terribly early on after it's completion. What do I miss? The grief? the outward expression that I'm grieving in the best Victorian sense of black crepe? The action? The obvious and singular "me" time? What do I miss? Can I say the words, can I stop mocking myself with falsehood as I sit among the rocks?
4. Creativity. I hide this part of me behind "socially acceptable". This effort, while utilitarian at the end, expressed some deeper need for making. Mesmerized by my Grandmothers and their crochet needles dipping in and out and in and out, string has always fascinated me, is a constant thread through my memories. My first crochet belt and pot holders, taught the basics by my Grandmothers, hiding my effort from my own mother as a surprise; my first weaving and cardboard card loom; embroidered flour sacks; gluing yarn to sheets of butcher paper with homemade flour paste; spinning with wool and a drop spindle with a potato as the weight; weaving baskets with yarn (my first ever exhibit in an art show!); macramé; knitting sweaters and coats and scarves; twining rugs.
What happens if I pull this thread of remembrance and yearning? Dare I? Is this a Right on my Wheel of Life?
5. Strangely, T.S. Eliot, again, in Burnt Norton expressed what I think is the most elemental process this Mandala provided me in breathtaking, heart stopping, eye-leaking, poetry:
The Mandala gave me a Still Point through the year as I turned the circle of its creating, a place to rest and work, to move through grief and joy, to be still while moving. The breathtaking stillness still point where the spinning vortex whirls, but I stop in its midst, suspended as in free fall, still, breath taking, quiet. Dance. Is.