Wouldn't Jung have been thrilled to hear this? As much time as he spent studying the effects of mandalas, he did not know that the mandala is a three-dimensional sphere or that it sends and receives information. This 3-D aspect matters because, Laszlo explains, it means that our intentions, our thoughts, our desires—our mandalas—are not only sparks of information that go out into an information-dense universe, but they also go out as three-dimensional holograms. And those holograms have seemingly magical powers. Laszlo admits this image of information as hologram “boggles the mind,” but, he says, it makes perfect sense in a quantum, everything-is-connected-to-everything universe. “Through the holograms created in and conveyed by the A-field, things are directly ‘in-formed’ by the things that are most like them,” he says in Science and the Akashic Field.
This means that my mandala—my 3-D sphere hologram—resonates only with other holograms holding similar information, like a tuning fork that vibrates only with tuning forks calibrated to the same pitch. And because this resonation happens in a fluid universe, it can happen very, very fast. “[T]hrough torsion waves in the vacuum the A-field links things and events in the universe at staggering speeds—a billion times the velocity of light,” said Laszlo (Science and the Akashic Field). As I read this, I realized my mandala was not only a hologram, but like a hologram, it also moved. It released energy and received energy. It released information and received information. My mandala was alive. It was a wheel. It spun. It moved.
With that level of information, energy, and speed at play, I guess going from bankrupt to bankful in thirty days wasn't such a miracle after all. Nor are all the other stories I've heard from people in my Lotus and the Lily telecourses, who tell me about the intentions on their Intention Mandalas coming to pass practically before the ink is dry.
In light of the magical properties of our quantum universe, Jung's poetic description of a mandala now makes perfect sense. Quoting Goethe's Faust, Jung said the mandala is “Formation, Transformation, Eternal Mind's eternal recreation.” I didn't understand this when I first read it, but now I see that when we create our mandala, we form it and, in the process, form ourselves. Then, as we live with it and release its powerful intentions and commitments, we are transformed, and the whole miraculous adventure happens according to the playful laws of Eternal Mind.
There was a woman in the sixteenth century who understood the laws of this Eternal Mind better than any other woman of her time or perhaps any time. In Love Poems from God, Daniel Ladinsky calls St. Teresa of Avila “undoubtedly the most influential female saint in the Western world.” These lines from one of her poems, “The Grail,” give us a window into her profound understanding of how the world works. It makes you wonder if she saw the universe the way modern science sees the universe.
They are like shy young school kids—time and space
before the woman and the man who are
intimate with God.
The realized soul can play with this universe
the way a child can a ball.
After spending a few months in deep exploration of the meaning and magic of the mandala, I've reached a few conclusions. As you move through the Lotus and the Lily and make and live with your own mandala, you will reach your own. But for me, the Intention Mandala is
Organic: It comes from within; no one can make one for you.
Creative: It generates, releases, and receives energy, information, and potential.
Alive: It moves, it spins, it connects, it attracts.
Mysterious: You make it, but you don't consciously know what you are making. You use it, but you can't control it. It creates, but you don't really understand how.
Paradoxical: It comes from you, but it is greater than you.
Ancient: It holds truths our ancestors knew millennia ago.
Mystical: It illustrates and holds the union of your small one with the One.
Week 1
prepare
In December 2009, I had a burning desire to have a magical year like the one I'd had in 2006. I wanted so much. I wanted to write more books. I wanted a powerful literary agent. I wanted marketing and administrative support. I wanted to teach at renowned spiritual centers. And I wanted prosperity to come home to roost, this time for good.
I began as I begin everything, with a chat with my wise loving Voice. What made 2006 so magical? I asked. The first word that flew through my hand was Advent. Advent? I wrote, “I haven't thought about Advent for years. Why do we have to talk about Advent?”
I learned why. Advent was a big deal in my childhood home. In December, we did not get a Christmas tree. We did not go on shopping excursions. We did not decorate the house. Instead, my mother laid on the dining room table a simple pine-branch wreath with three purple candles and one pink. Before dinner, she lit a candle for each of the four weeks of Advent and read a prayer. Advent, she said, was a season of preparation. If you wanted to receive the Light of Christ on Christmas, you had to spend four weeks getting ready.
You can imagine how thrilled we five kids were with Advent. We didn't want to pray. We wanted to sing Christmas carols. We didn't want a bare living room. We wanted a sparkling tree. We wanted to make lists for Santa Claus and eat Christmas cookies. But Mother was in charge, and we were having Advent. There was one small delight. Each day one of us was invited to open a tiny door on a special Advent calendar. Behind it was a picture of a dove or an angel or a Christmas tree—some symbol of the joy to come. Those little pictures spurred our anticipation to even greater heights.
So what did my childhood memory of Advent have to do with creating a magical year? Well, in the course of my conversation about Advent, I realized 2006 was spectacular because I had spent the previous December preparing. I spent long hours in divine dialogue, dissecting how my life was unfolding. I wrote about the past and all its pain. I wrote about what I was learning and all the gifts in my story. I forgave everyone I felt had harmed me. Then I wrote in detail about what I wanted next in my life. After all that preparation, on January 1, 2006, I could write in a firm hand with total confidence: I am ready. I am ready for my marketing partner. I am ready for my publisher. I am ready to be in a relationship. I am ready.
The magic wasn't in declaring what I wanted; we've all done that and seen nothing happen. It was in being ready. I had given myself a rich Advent. I didn't call it that at the time, but looking back, it's clear that I had prepared my heart, my mind, and my soul to step into the next phase of my life. And because I was totally and completely ready, everything I wanted came effortlessly to me that year.
Preparation is a universal spiritual practice. In every spiritual tradition, a major feast or occasion is preceded by a period of prayerful preparation. Before Yom Kippur, the holiest day in the Jewish calendar, there is a week of preparation. In the Christian tradition, a month of Lenten fasts prepares the soul to celebrate Easter. Muslims fast, pray, and reflect daily for a full month of Ramadan, then end the month with a huge feast and festival of Eid ul-Fitr. In Islam, hajj is the sacred pilgrimage to Mecca, undertaken during five specific days of the Islamic calendar. All Muslims, whether they have actually traveled to Mecca or not, celebrate a great feast of Eid al-Adha when the five-day hajj period ends. The Hindu celebration of Diwali, the festival of lights, goes on for five days, each day honoring an aspect of the harvest; the festival culminates in a celebration of Lakshmi, the goddess of prosperity. Perhaps the longest, oldest, and most famous pilgrimage of preparation is the one that follows the Camino de Santiago (the Way of Saint James), an ancient trail that begins in France and winds across northern Spain to its destination, the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela (the