There are Tibetan monks who spend years making these sand paintings that are so intricate that each grain of sand is meticulously dyed and put in one by one. They work on this huge piece of art for 10 hours a day, stopping only to eat a bowl of rice and commune with fellow monks during mealtime. They construct this masterpiece in meditation and within the totality of fully integrated single-mindedness and awareness of- not only the grain of sand- each second, each movement, every thought.
This sounds excruciating to anyone who can't sit still for more than thirty minutes.
These monks are chosen among the entire monastery by the adepts who meditate for lengthy periods of time to choose the perfect monks to take part in this sacred tradition. They don't choose the people who are naturally gifted artists, they don't choose the most disciplined monks, they are guided to choose the monks who-unbeknownst to the monk chosen-are in the greatest need of letting go of attachments.
You may be thinking, "wouldn't a monk know if he had an issue with that?" No. The monks chosen often do not think they have any real issue with attachment. It is the wise old sage that can see past the conscious mind and read the heart of someone. This is why the wise adept meditates on this for as long as it takes to ensure they chose the perfect person.
These paintings are the most intricately beautiful pieces of art you have ever seen in your life. You can hardly believe it is made entirely of grains of sand. These pieces of art are typically very large and they also contain ancient wisdom and symbols that are thousands of years old that are embedded with the hidden knowledge of their most deeply guarded teachings. To the average person, it is just a breathtakingly spectacular piece of artistry. To the studied eye, it transcends merely being art for art's sake, and is deeply profound and almost supernatural in its ability to convey wisdom and mystery teachings.
After these pieces of art are completed, there is a celebration and people come from all over to view the painting.
Here's the kicker.
At the end of the celebration, the monks destroy the art.
In the history of this tradition, none of these incredible pieces of art have been preserved.
Think about this for a minute... You spend years painstakingly creating this thing and now it's destroyed as though it never existed in the first place. What exists from that experience? What was gained from that experience that transcends the physical result of the artwork?
The memory exists. The ability to focus and the finely tuned attention to each moment has been cultivated within. The memory of the joy and awe this painting gave people who got to see the final result of all that hard work. Maybe the other monks who watched and marveled at the intense dedication to such a project also created something transcendent within them as well? The experience of making it exists. The knowledge of how to make it also exists.
The wise old adept who chose these monks for this sacred tradition, allows these monks to sit with these questions for as long as they feel necessary before they will be questioned. Nobody really knows what the correct answers are to the questions that the old sage will be asking. Nobody knows if they answered correctly or if they didn't. All they know is that some of these monks are tasked with starting one of these sand paintings all over again. Some are not. Nobody knows if this is a punishment or a reward and it is neither, or both.
The sand painting tradition is sacred because it is a mirror of the beautiful tapestry created by each individual moment in a person's life only to leave the body and the body rots and decays and is no longer present in life. What remains?
The same questions that are asked to the artists of these sand paintings are existential questions we ask about life itself.
Some of these monks have to do the activity over again because they missed some key element of the exercise or they are tasked with repeating it because they serve as a mentor to new monks who are chosen for this sacred exercise. The monk never knows why they were chosen to repeat the ancient tradition of this sand painting thing, but they must repeat it regardless of the "why." The "why" is discovered in the process.
My 2 cents:
We live each day trying to live each day to see some result of our living each day. Repeat that a few times and you'll understand what I'm saying. Don't worry, I'll wait.
The tapestry we are creating is just as painstakingly hard as that Tibetan sand painting. At any moment all of the material gain we have worked so hard to build can be destroyed in minutes. What remains? The material result of hard work isn't what matters. It is the full understanding of the process within you that took place as you built it.
These are the questions you must meditate on while you still have a chance to understand without having to start the process all over again.
Our Creator knows if we need to restart "the sand painting" again and we get very upset over this process of fulfillment, destruction, completion, devastation, and so on, so forth. It isn't the completion of that perfectly framed up life art. It is the attention to each individual grain of sand that forms the bigger picture.
Live in the moments between the grains of sand and you'll know there isn't one that is placed there in vain.
