Moonstone Mandala

I was out walking one wild and woolly afternoon having left the
house, a quiet candle-lit cocoon darkened by the shadows of a late afternoon summer storm.

Soaked by ocean-spray and stung by rain I stood out on The Point - a jutting chunk of land projecting into the ocean. Leaning into the blustery storm I gave myself up to the arms of the wind, to the currents of the cosmos, to the wild exhalation of the universe.

The storm passed through me, subsided into me, dissolved into my hara and was swallowed up. Silent stillness filled the atmosphere yet air and skin were tingling with the charged polar electrics of summer-heat and heaven’s rain.

I turned around to a double rainbow, its curved beams of impossible colour doubly awesome against a blackened sky. The sharp shock of stark beauty was the zen koan that cracked through bland consciousness, awakening a primal self. The earth was alive as it had never been alive before, charged with an electricity that connected the infinitesimal into a net of concentric circles.

I re-entered the softly-spoken silence of the house wide-eyed and bulging with exhilaration. It was then that I realised I was huge. Being careful not to bowl over the hushed table dialogue I slipped as inconspicuously as possible into a chair.

Nobody noticed that I was no longer contained within this body, that ‘I’ had been blown out of any preconceived sense of spatial self, that ‘I’ reached as far as I placed my attention.

I kept it to myself this new-found electric largeness. It was my secret that I had become the summer storm, that the zing of wilderness was alive within me.