I have never been particularly fascinated by Mandalas - at least as far as the spiritual significance of Mandalas goes. But I have to admit that when I see Monks working on a Mandala like this (which is made of colored sand and which will be destroyed shortly after it is completed, showing the impermanence of life, I think), I can't help but take a quick, sharp breath and hold it while I feast my eyes on the work. Oh, such beauty and such detail. As one who has absolutely no capacity for generating art of any kind, I just cannot imagine the soul and spirit of those people like these Monks who can work in minute detail on what I'd imagine is a labor of love. When I saw the photo of those men working away at their Mandala, I was reminded that when I was living for a couple of months in Amsterdam, the very cold weather in December and January made us stay inside a bit more than if we had been their during the summer. I found a nice embroidery shop and got acquainted with one of the owners there. This lady told me that the rage in Amsterdam at that time was doing a cross-stitch Mandala. She showed me several that she had done - and they were very large pieces and absolutely gorgeous. They were to be framed and hung on a wall. She said there were "rules" for doing them -- and as nearly as I can remember there could only be 8 colors used and all four quadrants had to be identical.
I was intrigued, so as our time in Amsterdam was drawing to a close, I picked out 8 colors, some material and decided to use that long plane ride home to work on MY Mandala. Before the plane's wheels hit American soil, it was obvious that my Mandala was not going to be anywhere near as fine as the Dutch ones I saw. I knew I had no talent for design or colors, but I guess I'd thought that as a mere "crafter" I could leave the conceptualizing to the artist and I'd just make crosses and let the design fall where it may.
Well, you can see that although the idea was very enticing, my execution of it was lacking in grace! I was so sorry that my skills just weren't good enough to make something as beautiful as what I'd seen in Amsterdam. Yet here it is, 18 years later and I'm still holding on to this scrap of Mandala, tucked away in a box. I really should just dump it! After I die and my kids come to clean out my things, I can hear it all now: "What on earth is this?" "It's horrible, whatever it is!" "Toss it in the trash!" "Yea, I don't want it." "Me neither!"
And that will be ok.
Now, while I was thinking about this I did a Google search on Dutch Mandalas. I found nothing, but I did find a whole area of cross-stitch Celtic Mandalas, and I must say I was as stunned by them as I was by the picture of the Monks doing their sand art. I would give my eye-teeth to be able to work on something like this one below. However, I may not be artistic but I AM smart enough to know that I have neither the eyesight nor the time to work on something like this. But oh, I can see it hanging on my wall, even if it is only in my imagination. 
I have always said that artists need appreciators, those of us who stand in front of their works and swoon or drool or sigh or study or have sharp intakes of breath! I am definitely an appreciator, which is the best I can do for all the Mandala designers and makers of the world. Wish I could join you!
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