Mandala

Now the ripening:
Cultivating and rehearsing death,
Becoming the right sacrifice,
Finding the light that shines
At the moment of death;
Germinating and growing in the womb,
Developing into infant, child and adult
With conscious care.
Forms, feelings, perceptions, volition and consciousness
Whirl me about in this world.
Everything begins and ends at Mt Meru;
Climbing phantasmal slopes into the sky’s circle,
Through winds and rainbows and lightning,
The cravings and agonies of the overmighty self.
Can I use the inner and outer wheels of time,
Matching my mind and body to their spin?
Winds from all quarters course through me
About the zodiac, the riding planets,
And all is waking, dreaming, deep sleep or bliss –
Cleanse the winds and know emptiness,
Creating your mandala, taking control…
Purify with incense and saffron water
The crystal vase of pacification
And the gold vase of submission
And the silver vase of increase.
The offering fire melts and boils
All the old impurities in the skull-cup
Until they turn the colour of the moon.
Closer and closer to the centre,
Approaching, ever more clearly you behold
The void, most excellent and sublime;
When this mandala is done,
When we are Buddhas of the world,
We shall annihilate the image,
And pour it into the river,
Watching the concentric circles vanish.