Wabi-Sabi and Sand Mandalas

Here’s the thing about being a human and being a writer: honesty in a moment is not always what is true for a lifetime. Lately, I have been posting some pretty bold pieces about sharing my truth, but the reality is, truth is totally fluid. One minute, it is bright and sunny, the next, the sky opens up and it is pouring. This is the way of life– what is true is constantly shape-shifting from one moment to the next. Truth cannot be held. It is observed inside of a moment. Now it’s raining, now it’s not.

For me, the more I am aware of this, the more willing I am to live my life on life’s terms. I have begun to accept that what is true today may be lightyears away from the truth of tomorrow. I understand it may be unwise to put all my faith in today’s truth. It isn’t promised. Life has a way of sneaking up on us. Nevertheless, if I’m prepared for that reality, I can flow with the truth that is forever changing in my life.

I was talking with a friend about this idea and she said it reminded her of the Japanese concept, “wabi-sabi.” Wabi-sabi is a cultural philosophy framed on the acceptance that nothing is permanent, nothing is perfect, and nothing is ever complete. “No one can tell you what you should do,” my friend said, “We are allowed to change our minds. As often as we want.”

Oh my God, I thought, I am ALLOWED to change my mind. For so long, I thought my problem was that I was indecisive. I could not make a decision because I was trying to imagine what everyone else might want instead of considering what I want. Or I needed to know my decision would be approved by others. Now, I am being told that I do not even have to make a decision if I don’t want to. I am being told I can change the decision I have made if I decided to make one at all.

I have spent the last few years in a perpetual state of decision and indecision. I was consumed by one specific decision I did not know how to make. Finally, at long last, I thought I had settled on what to do and how I would do it. Never had I been so confident with regard to this conflict in my life– I was CERTAIN. Then, life happened, and the truth I thought I knew transformed, and in a moment, I changed. my. mind.

While I like the “wabi-sabi” philosophy of imperfection, impermanence, and incompletion, I am personally reminded of the Tibetan sand mandala I saw created when I was in college. A Tibetan monk spent over a week (though these monks have been known to spend several weeks) creating an intricate mandala using colored sand and special tubes. The monk I witnessed barely ate or slept while he constructed his work of art. Students and professors could come by throughout the week and watch as the monk poured tiny grains of color through skinny tubes to make detailed lines in a giant sketched mandala.

When the monk had completed his work, a ceremony was held. The monk systematically dismantled the entire mandala, scooping all the sand into a jar wrapped in silk. He said a prayer, left the building, then dumped the entire jar of sand into the river. As the water swirled with every imaginable shade, it was hard not to be humbled. All that work, just gone. I understood why, but I felt the grief of letting go of something you’ve worked hard to create. To me, it feels like letting go of a part of you. Maybe that is the point.

Writing the way I do and never sharing it, to me, would be like creating that mandala in an empty room and never letting anyone see it. However, once the work is done and I have released it into the nethersphere, it is like letting go. It is like being ok with the truth that was and preparing myself for a truth to come.

Unfortunately, those who read my work may think they are being granted tiny snippets of what is happening in my life. To some extent, they are. Sometimes though, those readers may be tempted to assume things about me and my entire life based on a few key words mentioned in one passionate piece. It is like Glennon Doyle quoting herself at the beginning of a chapter in her third memoir and labeling it, “some horeshit I wrote about myself in my first memoir.”

Those of us who live creative lives understand the “wabi-sabi” of it all. We know, all too well, that although the work may be finished, it is not complete, it is not perfect, it is not even permanent.

I’m beginning to think I’ve done an injustice by posting my ideas the way I have. I want people to read my words, but I do not want anyone to assume those words are absolute. I suppose, as the artist, that is not my choice to make. Once it is out there, it is no longer mine. You may hold on to any assumptions you’ve made in reading my work. Just know, the work is a time capsule. It is not the present moment. It is not the artist herself.

In my opinion, life is best lived one day at a time. When it comes to my husband and I, we are working at it one moment at a time. That is the best we can do. For ourselves, for each other. No one ever really knows the intricacies of a marriage except the people who are in it. No matter where you are looking from, it is never the whole work of art. It is like only seeing all the little lines of sand individually without ever seeing the entire mandala.

If my life is a sand mandala, if my marriage is, if my writing is, then I am at the river bank, pouring it all in. It swirls and flows with the movement of the water. It is all washing away, blending back into nature, back into the earth. It is dissipating before my eyes, so I might turn around, walk back to my life, to my marriage, to my family, to my writer’s chair, and begin all over again.

To my husband, Matt,

You are my Wabi-Sabi, my Sand Mandala, my favorite work of art. Our life together may never be permanent, perfect, or complete, but it will always and forever be beautiful. I love you.