Mandala 2020 - Six Months Later

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?

Within weeks of finishing I had patterns printed for the next effort - really? I was considering a new relationship when this old one was only just ended! Now I want to bury the Mandala, burn it in the fires of the Winter Solstice, drop this care into oblivion as I step forward into a new year of hope and transformation. I don't want people to see it, the grief and pain. It is mine. MINE. I want it hidden, as always, don't let anyone see.

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:

At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless;

Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is,

But neither arrest nor movement. And do not call it fixity,

Where past and future are gathered. Neither movement from nor towards,

Neither ascent nor decline. Except for the point, the still point,

There would be no dance, and there is only the dance.

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.

Mandala 2020 - Stages 17 & 18

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

Mandala 2020 - Stage 16

 

Blessèd sister, holy mother,
spirit of the fountain, spirit of the garden,
Suffer us not to mock ourselves with falsehood
Teach us to care and not to care
Teach us to sit still
Even among these rocks,
Our peace in (your) will
And even among these rocks
Sister, mother
And spirit of the river, spirit of the sea,
Suffer me not to be separated
And let my cry come unto Thee.

Ash Wednesday - T. S. Eliot - 1927

These words from Nobel Laureate T.S. Eliot (italics mine) are posted front and center on my desk. The dark midnight nibbling at my edges is relinquishing to a dawn in the truth that this is me. my. life. now. The burdens and griefs, the reaving of the last few years are mine me I, and are my present future past. Telling myself this truth, grasping it, even while among the hard rocks, is freeing, lifting, hopeful.

And around the Mandala this reflecting thinking breathing is stitched into the fabric. 

The redo work from previous stages was worth the effort as I seemed to breeze through Stage 16. Just eight rows left. The Mandala is large; it takes considerable effort to manage. During this wintertime, however, its lap warming welcome invites the effort, so I stitch and stitch and reflect around the round.

In this fresh new year of 2021 I am looking further ahead with hope and expectation. To do lists, want lists, one week at a time plans - the famed resolutions of a new year - have moved me from melted welded curled in my chair to planning working accomplishing projects. This feels good, "not mocking myself with falsehood", exposing the lie that my life will return to normal. This is normal, this sitting among the hard rocks, reuniting my broken parts, unseparated.

Mandala 2020 - Stage 15

 

This New Year completes 10 months of crocheting on the Mandala. Some stats to consider:

MANDALA:

Size:  77" in diameter
Weight:  6 pounds
Rows:  97 (of 111)
Stitches:  45,869 approx
Stage: 15 (of 18)

The last row in this 14th stage proved a challenge. Like previous stages I suspect I miscounted the row, or rows, below. After the third time ripping out 700 stitches, I devised a plan to compensate for the apparent mistakes, so I finished with the correct number of stitches. At this stage I know that mistakes are magnified exponentially so here's hoping that I won't meet my errors in the next few rows.

Two stages left; 14 rows. This effort has been a journey, and it is exciting to have a possible goal date. I started the project in March 2020; it would be nice to have it finished by March '21. With six weeks between now and then, at four hours per week, I might just make it. Of course, this depends on how many stitches/rows I have to pull out and redo to make the rounds work.

I have been thinking about the value of this project. The dollar value, if I were paid $10 per hour for my labor, would be astronomical. Someone would really really want to have it to make the hours pay. The inner work I've done while working the Mandala, that is priceless.

Mandala 2020 - Stage 14

 After a summer hiatus, the Mandala is back beside my chair. I had forgotten how large it is, how heavy, how challenging. I fought to master the hook and yarn, the pattern, the heft of the object. It seemed a different thing than when I last worked on it in August. 

In fact, however, I am the different thing, not it.

This year of death, grief and pandemic have left me simply attempting to get through the days of work, politics and daily news with my soul and wits intact. Dumping myself into a chair at night, not reflecting on my day nor eagerly looking for the next has left me at odds with the joie de vivre which has followed me through my life, always at my elbow. I recognize this missing joy now, as I pick up the Mandala.

I am a different person today than when I put away the Mandala in August. I have learned despair at the continual death toll from Covid-19 (315,000 in the US and 1.7 million world wide); disbelief in my countrymen who deny community care for their own personal freedom; disgust at the plotting and politicking of our national leader in this 2020 election cycle; despondence that I cannot see, hug, touch my far flung family and even my co-workers in the next office.

I am uncertain if this is now my new normal. I don't want to be this; I want my light and happiness, my joy and jolly back. I don't know how to move through this morass of darkness with the grace that I once claimed as mine.

The Mandala helped in the early part of the year by giving me a focus; I am sure it will help again. The time spent, the rhythm of the hook and yarn, the repetition of the pattern, all these will bring clarity to my mind and soul as mandalas have done through the millennia. In the beginning I had hoped the Mandala would restore order, lead me back to my previous self; now I am reminded that it is leading me to whatever I am becoming, accompanied by a new and present darkness, as I wend through this life time. 

Mandala 2020 - Stage 13

This summertime has slowed the Mandala project down. There are garden crops to tend, harvest and process; perennial borders to maintain, water and prune; searing midday sun to shelter from inside the window-shaded darkened house in attempts at staying cool. 

All that and 13 of 18 stages of the Mandala are now complete with 36,706 official stitches. I note "official" because I am not keeping count of all my reworked, undone, redone stitches and rows. The project has officially become too large to photograph in the one big circle it has become. While there is floor space enough to support it, there isn't height to manage a picture. Still, the partial picture provides sufficient reference to understand the whole.

In a mad dash of get 'er done before the zucchinis take over my existence I finished this beautiful section. I love the green and brown previous stage, moving into purple and lavender of this stage; it reminds me of this stunning prairie vista with earth curving arcs of tilled earth and green fields melding into the blue purple mountains, sunrises and sunsets. This harvest season of heavy hanging orange moons and burning orange suns of rises and sets are stitched into the memories of the Mandala.

We are at the end of August and Covid-19 is still running wild among us. Idaho's confirmed cases topped 31,000 this week with more than 350 dead. Globally we are counting 25 million cases with nearly 1 million deaths; the US accounts for a quarter of both of those statistics. Summer festivals, rodeos, reunions and fairs went on as if we there were no cause for concern. 

At my most pessimistic I wonder if the best way to manage this weight of death is to embrace the nihilistic approach that this pandemic is doing what all pandemics do: Successfully reducing the meaningless human population of Earth.

Mandala 2020 - Stage 12.5

The Mandala sits in its basket, next to my chair, waiting, waiting for me to give it some attention. Each time I sit down at the beginning or end of a day, I see it there waiting waiting - it is a presence in our house now. The project is paused while time and attention are focused elsewhere. And, to be frank, it is too warm to drape the heavy blanket it has become over myself. Perhaps it is for a later different season where meditation and reflection are the natural companions of the darkness and silence of winter.

These days of summer have been full of busyness and business. Covid-19 is on the rise with its concomitant stress and concern at home and work. A flurry of mask-making to protect daughters and their co-workers and friends has been a creative focus the last few weeks. I sewed the hope of good health into each, along with the prayer that the people who wear them commit to protecting their community. Let's take care of one another instead of fighting against the fear of "socialism" when the government requires mask wearing. Don't we all wear seat belts? pay car insurance? have driving licenses? These are also edicts intended to protect us. Please realize this is more important than personal freedom, this is a daring, revolutionary act of We the People. The pervasive us vs. them mentality is likely to kill us all. 

Our state reports over 100 deaths by Covid-19. At the end of June I wondered when we would hit the 5,000 positive cases milestone, and here we are, mid-July at 11,000. Will we be at 20,000 by August? Everyone wants schools to open in the fall - President is pushing it, Governor has a plan. There still isn't enough PPE for medical staff for caring for sick patients; how will we protect our teachers and children? I pray pray it isn't a foolish gamble with our children, with their lives and futures. 

The garden is producing food at a rapid clip which we are putting away for the quietness of winter. As I harvest the greens and roots and fruits I am amazed at these plants, this earth, whose only job is to produce, produce. I remind myself to be mindful, to be grateful, for this miracle, this gift of food that the tiny seeds sown early this year, this land and weather, are providing.