Castles Made of Sand

I am interested in religious architecture, and especially in the concept of God's house, or the dwelling place of the divine, in various religious traditions. In my previous post, I explored the metaphor of the castle in St. Theresa of Avila's writing as representative of both the soul's journey to faith and God's dwelling place in the human soul.

As I was writing that post, I was reminded of the mandala in the Vajrayana Buddhist tradition -- itself a symbol of the cosmic dwelling place of God. Mandalas are intricate, colorful geometric creations made primarily of sand. Here's my favorite video (soundtrack by Radiohead) of a sand mandala being created and destroyed:

Unlike the Moorish castle in St. Theresa's writing, a bastion of strength and permanence, a mandala is intended to be an ephemeral creation and literally something that is blown away with the winds. As soon as it is created, it is destroyed, reminding those who create it of the impermanence of all things.

The intense focus and time required to create a mandala is supposed to be meditative for the monks performing the work, who are tasked with focusing on nothing but what they are doing in that very moment.

The mandala is a visualization of the dwelling place of Vajrayana Buddhist deities, which rather than being actual gods worshipped, are archetypes of buddhas, or awakened beings. Here is an excerpt from one of the Vajrayana sutras invoking those beings:

Inviting the Eight Vajra Spirits
We respectfully invite the Green Vajra Who Banishes Disasters.
We respectfully invite the Vajra Who Banishes Toxins
We respectfully invite the Yellow Vajra Who Grant Wishes
We respectfully invite the White Vajra Who Purifies Water
We respectfully invite the Red Vajra Whose Sound Brings Fire
We respectfully invite the Vajra Who Pacifies Disasters
We respectfully invite the Vajra Purple Worthy
We respectfully invite the Vajra Great Spirit.

Like the interior walls of the Moorish castle covered in arabesques, the mandala is characterized by interweaving geometric designs that evoke a sense of eternity. When you stand in front of one, your body and mind are drawn into the solemn and beautiful presence of the divine.

What I like most about mandalas is they attach a sense of impermanence to the divine. Creating mandalas means that the buddhas inhabiting them will be passing by for awhile, and then will leave. Both the preparation for their stay and the destruction of their abodes are blessings. I am reminded of this "passing by" quality of the presence of God in the Hebrew Bible, in 1 Kings 19:11-12 (NIV translation), when God appears in a whisper after Elisha has emerged from a cave:

The LORD said, "Go out and stand on the mountain in the presence of the LORD, for the LORD is about to pass by." Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the LORD, but the LORD was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the LORD was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake came a fire, but the LORD was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper.

Whispers and sand offer an interesting contrast to more enduring religious symbols, like the Kotel (Western Wall) in Jerusalem, or the Cathedral/Mezquita of Cordoba in Spain. That the divine is also depicted within these and other religious traditions as inhabiting ephemeral spaces (and potentially having ephemeral qualities of being) is a beautiful problem to consider that would likely make for a rich classroom discussion.