Once a Reader of Mandalas

Mandala’s can tell your story
I know
I was once a reader of mandala’s

At my retreats
I would have women color mandalas
To pass the time
Calm the body-mind
Sit together in quiet conversation
I would lay out books filled with mandalas
And ask them to choose a design
One that called to them
Then take colors and fill in the blank spaces.

One day someone asked me
To read her mandala
She handed it to me and in the taking
I suddenly saw her life laid out
In the design she chose
The colors she used
Dark and light, hard and soft
I read her story as the other women listened
The images rose up in my mind as I spoke words
I had not planned to say.

The woman looked at me and smiled
And to the other women told her story
It was as I had seen a dark past, terrible struggle
But now a time of light, love, and redemption.

Another mandala pressed into my hands
I glanced down and knew there was trouble
I hesitated to speak, but the words rose in my throat
“Have you been to see a doctor recently?”
The women gasped in surprise
Her mother and sister sat across the room
Stunned and afraid of what she might say
Then after a long moment of contemplation
She answered, ” Yes, the doctor thinks I may
have ovarian cancer.”
It was there in the design she had chosen
In the colors, she used to tell her story.

Year after year the women returned
They colored their mandalas knowing enough
To attempt to disguise their secrets
But still, it was all there to be deciphered
I had to look longer, listen deeper for the knowing
But the truth always reveals itself
In the design you choose and the colors you
Use to paint the story of your life.

Today I create mandalas
From images, I take of people and their art
Of aboriginal paintings blended together
Or natures many offerings to my creative eye
The photos are first blended together and then
Take on a life of their own swirling into patterns,
Blocks, merging colors, words, time, eternity
They speak a new language, and all I do is listen.