Wednesday, March 11, 2015

Life is all about the small things.

I watched Tibetan Monks creating a remarkable sand painting. The actual act of using a file and carefully depositing the varied colors of sand to create an ornate madala is a long steady monotonous repetitive act. The glamour of the final art feels totally unrelated to the mundane actions used to create it. That chants are sung the entire time is where the beauty emerges. The sand, the patterns, the song, all of it moves as if through those who wield the files and then embodies the utmost refinement of human action. The monks themselves become invisible conduits of this beauty. Once this art is complete a ceremonial sweeping away of a months work is carried out with more chanting. The sand is then carried in a special vessel and slowly poured into the river, accompanied by more chanting.

Looking for meaning in life....of a life....seeking to assign value, worth....we arrive, we live, we die. Will I be a conduit for sweet chanting, a vessel to allow beauty to emerge....will I live with non attachment to the fact that when I die my art work, the art work of who I am, will be swept away and carried downstream and vanish in time?

Will I sing my heart out in love of this very precious gift of time....laying down patterns that please, singing in a voice that brings solace, joy, comfort and love to those who hear, who chance to pass by,  or know me the entire time I am here, as I busy myself with my small file and little piles of sand? To live with the utter nothingness of meaning in balance with the fact that I matter....I bow to this meditation....

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