Four Tibetan Buddhist monks create a sand mandala in a cafe in Encinitas. They do not take notice of the plethora of cute girls who watch them. I can’t help but notice. But perhaps I can. Perhaps I ought to ask them about that… and we’ll get into a discussion about attachment, aversion, beauty, death, all things that pass and things that pass all things… a bell is rung signifying a color perhaps… or a blessing…
Looking up from my work, a screen full of code, I watch them create their mandala, and think about how we are all creating our mandalas- whether they be the tedium of each grain of sand, or each spippet and tag of code, or each brush stroke on the canvas. each is as important as the last and they all add up to a whole that is greater than the sum of their parts.
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