I’ve gone about it all backwards. Backwards in time, in pursuit of mandalas. It all started when I heard that a sand mandala was going to be made at Namgyal Monastery in Dharamsala, India, in 2010. So I went there, and found out that it was a Yamantaka mandala, part of a ten-day-long highest yoga tantra ritual which occurs annually at the Dalai Lama‘s personal monastery. My previous post here describes what little I knew then as I observed and documented the creation and dissolution of it. The resultant film and photographs can be seen here.

When I came back to the U.S., it was as if a floodgate had opened. I needed to learn more. No, not just more, but all I could about Tibetan mandalas–about their variety, their purpose, their history, the meditation practices they engendered, and so forth. What did it all really mean? What modern significance did it have?

My bookshelves began to fill up with writings about tantra and Buddhist philosophy, written by the first Tibetan teachers to venture into the Western world, post-1959 exodus from Tibet. Titles by the Dalai Lama, Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche, Lama Thubten Yeshe, Dilgo Khentse Rinpoche, as a few examples, abounded. I also read works by contemporary lamas like Dzogchen Ponlop Rinpoche, Pema Choedron, Tsoknyi Rinpoche, Tenzin Palmo. Tibetan scholars and historians David Snellgrove, Robert Thurman, Deborah Klimburg-Salter, Martin Brauen, and others figured in there, too.

All this, in addition to my previous discoveries of well-respected meditation teachers from other Buddhist traditions–Sharon Salzberg, Joseph Goldstein, Jack Kornfeld, B. Allan Wallace. I followed the writing of neuroscientists and clinicians, too, who studied or used meditation in their work. They were also involved with fascinating Mind & Life Institute research or conferences–Richard Davidson, Jon Kabat-Zinn, Paul Ekman, Daniel Goleman.

It was a mindfulness-neuro-tantric-philoso-fest that poured forth!

Meanwhile, in 2011, the ritual experiences continued. I attended the Dalai Lama’s Kalachakra event for World Peace in Washington D.C., and witnessed the Kalachakra Mandala.

In 2012, I was at the Dalai Lama’s talk at Western Connecticut State University at which time I encountered a Compassion Mandala.

At both events, I had the wonderful opportunity of befriending and working with monks, nuns, plus other Buddhist practitioners and followers.

It was a steady flow. The waters at the floodgates just did not tire out. Answers came, and new questions arose.

Thus, on the heels of this, last year in 2013 I arrived back to India to experience and research rare Indo-Tibetan mandalas in Himalayan monasteries of Spiti, Lahaul, and Ladakh. How might they have evolved into Tibetan forms that we know today? What was this Indo-Tibetan 10th to 12th century period called the Second Great Transmission of Buddhism from India to Tibet? What did the sacred art look like? What did it mean?

 

At the end of my travels through the Himalayan high altitudes, I then thought, let’s reel back in time some more. What came before the Indo-Tibetan era?

The answer was, Indian Buddhism, which could be seen at Ajanta and Ellora Caves where there are remains of elaborate 2nd to 8th century C.E. wall paintings, sculptures, and architecture. Such purely Indian Buddhist art is still preserved at these South Indian sites in the state of Maharashtra.

 

Finally, what might have come even before this in India? I mean in B.C.E. times. When I searched further, it seems that the Buddhist art historical record stops here. According to historians, not much still exists before the 1st century C.E. Little is known in India archeologically prior to this time.

So what’s it all about? Why would an artist go for all this? New artwork from my Fulbright experience does beckon me in the studio.

I guess I’m just driven by the big questions about mind and reality, which Buddhist philosophy seems to address best. And moreover, that largely works within a Western scientific paradigm. It doesn’t hurt, either, that an affable spiritual leader like the Dalai Lama continues to inspire and exemplify how one can be intellectually sharp, existentially awake, and compassionately engaged in the world. Despite being a keeper of complex Tibetan rituals and esoteric tantric teachings, he can still keep it simple and distill wisdom down to these words: “There is no need for temples, no need for complicated philosophies. My brain and my heart are my temples. My philosophy is kindness.”