Mandala Mama

I've had a special experience with eyes, my take on them, or their take on me, or when they take over my senses as they sense my engagement with any other. Or perhaps it's the shape of them, as with anything I see, you see?

I'm an asymmetric geometric gal living in a round world made of lines - dots and dashes of different sizes - contouring the visual landscapes I navigate, leaving a curvaceous trail of narrow steps until experiences become routines and lines grow thicker as I traipse back and forth, building my presence between buildings, if even just for a moment.

Why mandalas? I've never been much of a "Why" person; more "When," "Where," and "Who," though truth be told I don't have any answers to any of the above.

I spent time this summer with one my mother's best friends from college, a now lawyer, who inquired to anyone with supposed firm convictions  if they could answer "why?" seven layers deeps, and only then would she honor their opinion.

I neither hold strong opinions nor feel aloof enough not to search for a internal rational, but for now, apparently, some things never change.