I have been working with sacred geometry for awhile now, mostly in the form of the simple seed of life, which is a circle surrounded by six other circles. I enjoy playing with the form, using a ruler to make lines that connect various points in various ways, and then adding my own organic additions. Usually in the process of making these little mandalas I encounter my own lack of precision. Lines don’t connect quite right, or circles are just a little off—small things that irk my inner perfectionist.
The painting that is on my easel now is one I began about this time last year, and in it I am incorporating some elements of sacred geometry. What I find so interesting, as I move across the white field of paper, painting this pattern, is the curious unfolding of my own inner battle between perfectionism and acceptance. My inner perfectionist is squeamish about painting these perfect designs less than perfectly. But the spontaneous artist says, “Keep going, just roll with it, or you’ll never get anything done!”
And so my paintbrush slides ever onward, outlining imperfect circles and patterns that disintegrate because I couldn’t get them to hold across the entire field of paper. In the process I find myself embracing the sacredness and beauty of that which is inspired and moved by the perfect and yet expresses itself imperfectly. I think of all the flowers blooming right now in this lush and warm Summer—not one of them is truly perfect, yet each is the sublime embodiment of its own unique Beauty.
There is a deep-seated yearning among some cultures, ours most certainly included, for perfection, and yet it is an impossible goal. And it is the only goal worth having. Perfect Love, Perfect Peace, Perfect Understanding. For in our yearning for that something perfect, we envision a more richly imagined world, a world we are constantly creating and moving toward. Paradoxically, this process can only happen when we can step away from perfectionism and embrace our imperfect expressions. And that’s when we experience the sublime, which is more beautiful for us than perfect could ever be.