Mandalas teach living from response, trusting life. When creating them, you must surrender entirely to the passing flow; only then can you be certain that the finished piece will be whole, harmonious, and energizing. Even when, at first, it makes no sense why these particular colors and shapes emerge. Often, the full meaning and message of a mandala become clear only after you lay down the final stroke. It seems to open up and explain what it was, why, and for what purpose.
Later, this understanding carries over into life. We do not see the full picture of our destiny, so many events appear wrong, illogical, leading us astray—and only with time do they reveal their true essence. The mandala teaches me to trust life and, above all, myself. When during the process it feels like the drawing is falling apart, the colors clash, and the images are illogical with no clear reason for being there, I always ask myself: did I enjoy creating them? Was it logic that placed them there, or was it a response?
If I found joy in the process, that is my guarantee that I will love the outcome—even if the intermediate stage makes me want to cry because it looks so awkward. All that is needed is to trust the space and keep going. And eventually, this becomes a way of living: listening to the response, channeling the flow, and trusting the space.