Opening, one petal at a time
The Lotus Mandala is the one I trace when I want to slow all the way down.
The lotus carries an old idea in it: the flower rises out of muddy water and opens clean, untouched by what it grew from. As a symbol it's about that — clarity emerging from murk, not by escaping the mud but by rising through it. A mandala takes that single image and multiplies it into rings, petal within petal, until the whole thing becomes a map of opening.
Tracing it teaches the same lesson from the hand's side. You start at the outer edge and work in, one petal, then the next, and you can't rush it — the form won't let you. Somewhere along the way the pace stops feeling like patience you're spending and starts feeling like the point. The breath lengthens on its own. The noise thins out. What's left is the next line, and the next, moving quietly toward the center.
Nothing is added by doing this. You draw over what's already printed. And yet by the time you reach the middle, something has settled that wasn't settled when you began. Experiences vary, and I'd call this reflection rather than advice.
Available now — 30-round and 100-round editions.
30tracings https://amazon.com/dp/B0H6FWNHJC
100tracings https://amazon.com/dp/B0H67QHJZN














