Meditation in Process

 

My mandala painting has become my meditation in process.

Every time I am working on it, a thought comes up that leads to a new little insight.

The last few days I had been looking at my mandala, not feeling very excited about it. There was something about the colours, that made me a little uncomfortable.

I first should share here that I am a person that does not mind change, but I really like balance and symmetry.

I’ve never liked a-symmetrical tops, or hairdos. One-sleeve tattoos are tough for me too. It doesn’t have to be two identical tattoos, but please, both arms, or none. I always start to feel top-heavy or lopsided myself, when I see someone heavily tattooed on just one side of their body.

I know, I should mind my own business.

Well, this mandala is my business. Mandalas are great for me, they are symmetrical in all directions! Peace for my mind, when it comes to the shapes. But then I also have s strong sense for colour, and my need for balance comes back in the way I get uneasy when colour distribution is out of balance.

One single colour, or all hues of the same colour, that’s fine.

But when more colours are used, for me the balance only comes when the whole colour spectrum is represented somehow.

The three base-colours are red, yellow and blue. So if there is red and blue, I have the urge to add some yellow to create the balance. This could also be a yellow mixed into the red or the blue, coming out as an orange or green, but there has to be a form of yellow.

So the last few days, I felt that the colours of the mandala were out of balance. Too much green and blue, compare to the reds, I now realise. I felt uncomfortable with the whole mandala. It didn’t feel balanced.

Today I was putting in a new colour. And all of a sudden the mandala felt right again. There was a balance in colours, and in light and dark as well. And in big and small-sized shapes. Thick and thin contours. Phew, I felt much better.

Of course, when I will be adding another colour, and new shapes, the whole thing might feel out of balance again for a while, until another colour or two will bring back the equilibrium.

It’s a process.

And there was my lesson of today: it’s a process. And in a process, there are highs and lows, there are moments things seem all to be in harmony and balance, and other moments when things are in upheaval, out of balance, uncomfortable. Or, things are great in one area (shapes) but not in another (colours). In other words, it can never be perfect all over and all the time. It’s a constant shifting, but with persistence and patience it does get better bit by bit.

Hmmmm, this sounds suspiciously similar to life, doesn’t it? It’s a constant meditation in process.

Happiness is an inside job

 

 

We all like to have a view from our window, our balcony, our porch. 

Spaciousness is good for the soul, I believe.

To grow mentally and emotionally, we need to open our mind. “Broaden your view, extend your horizon”, they say, when someone seems stuck in life.

This is much easier when you have a good view than when you’re staring into a dead-end alley or up to a blind wall.

It might be one of the reasons why people love watching sunsets or sunrises, since it always involves wider horizons, offering a broader perspective.

So when I was confronted with a newly constructed blank wall without a single window right in for of my little house, I felt my mind narrowing, my heart closing.

I had a hard time not feeling a little depressed and invaded.

There is something about walls without windows, that makes them extra imposing, almost unfriendly. Nothing inviting about a blank wall, right?

It was just a big empty wall. Lifeless.

Then a friend suggested painting a big mural on it, with lots of colour. Something fun to look at. Now there was a great plan. Even better: she’s an artist, and said she would love to paint that mural for me (I am not a painter, so I would need her to do the job for me, I thought then).

 

Slow down and enjoy life

Children always ask: “Are we there yet?” and we call them silly and tell them to have some patience. At a certain age we stop asking that question, but as adults we still want to get everything done as quickly as possible.

Why?

I asked myself this question when I started the huge task of painting a 10-foot wide mandala on an outdoor wall in front of my house and business. It is an oversized project, and I have never done such a thing before. I have no idea how fast I could finish the whole thing.

Once I started painting, I realised that I could not go fast, because every time I put in a bit of colour, I have to wait until it dries before I can put in the next round, to avoid staining everything.

This huge project will have to go slow by default. It was a confusing realisation that I was forced to allow myself to go slow, not to feel like I need to finish this as soon as possible. I had to shift my mind away from the familiar urge to rush, and reset it into a slow-but-steady mode. 

We always feel rushed, don’t we? We always want to do things fast, get it over with, because there is so much more that we shoulda coulda woulda.

So many chores to do, so many tasks to accomplish. So many needs to be met, and so many desires to fulfil.

We always want to get things over with. We’re forever rushing through things to get to the end. We seem to have an aversion to really experience the actual task. We tend to stay out of touch with the things we do all day.

We either rush through a task, plowing through it and getting it done, or we never start it, overwhelmed and intimidated by the sheer vastness of it. Both attitudes are coming from that aversion.

In our rush to get as much done as possible, we forget to savour the moment. Things only get done as a sequence of little steps. Each step is a moment, and experiencing that moment consciously is what makes life worth-wile.

“We come to life and our energy soars when we join that moment, rather than standing separate from it—when we rise to the occasion rather than sink into the pit of resistance.” ~ Donna Quesada

If I would have given in to my sense of overwhelm by the sheer size of that mandala, I would never have started, I would have sunk into that pit of resistance. But I have chosen to allow myself as much time as needed to finish this mandala. Actually, I have started to think of it as an intentionally never-ending project, where I can keep adding and altering little details into eternity.

By now, instead of feeling overwhelmed by its vastness, I am excited about the endless field of possibility that this wall-painting is offering me.

We tend get lost in busy-ness, and often use that as an excuse for not doing something, for not being able to meet someone, help them, do something for them.

Too often we also have that excuse ready for ourselves: we don’t have time to exercise, to meditate, to write, paint, garden, to take care of ourselves in a nourishing and nurturing way.

Basically, by letting ourselves get sucked into this false precept of busy-ness, we don’t have time to love ourselves and do what inspires us, what makes us feel alive, what keeps us healthy and thus energised.

Stop the rush, slow down! We can do each thing with attention, enjoying each little moment of the chore, of the challenging task, the tedious job. In every moment there is something to observe, to enjoy and to marvel about, to learn and to absorb, as an essential part of life.

Let’s try and not miss out on all those special moments!

I don’t have two or three months to paint that huge mandala in one go. But I have a little bit of time almost every day to work on it.

Every day a moment to decide on a new shape or another colour.

Every day an opportunity to tackle a little obstacle, meet a small challenge. Every day the opportunity to get into a short bout of high meditative focus.

For the next year or so, or maybe for as long as I live here.

It’s great practice for life!