I’ve always hated mandalas. Almost intuitively, right from the very beginning.
Not the mandalas themselves so much, those seemed like 12-dimension maps imagined by Garret Lisey. Not mandalas themselves, but the meditation associated with them. The act of needing to destroy them immediately on completion. That seemed like the highest crime of all. Destruction of the beautiful before it could fully exist.
When in Tibet a few years ago, witnessing the completion of one such mandala just killed me. And in that moment I knew, knew in my soul that doesn’t exist, that I’d achieved A True Enlightenment. And what was that Enlightenment? That I loved money, infrastructure, everything that Russia (where’d I’d visited just prior) was in the face of what Tibet lacked.
And of course that wasn’t the case at all. That wasn’t the true, True Enlightenment.