Reply #2: Yes, it was a moving experience with beautiful symbolism. LONG POST!

[Nothing Without Hope]

The nuns were warm and open and I'm glad I was able to attend today's ceremony. I'll describe what I saw for those of you that would like to know what happened. (Hi, Cheese!)

They had a little table set up with the instrument they had used to place the colored sand so precisely in the mandala, a long (I'd estimate something like 14 inches) silvery cone with a tiny hole at the small end and an extended edge on the large end to add the sand. There were surface bumps near the small end of this handmade tool so that another piece of metal -- they were demonstrating with the handle of a heavy kitchen spoon) -- could be rubbed over it to generate a vibration. The sand was very fine but would not come out the tip without the vibration. The idea was to hold the metal cone almost parallel to the surface, rub the side with the other piece of metal, and a very fine line of sand would emerge precisely from the tip. I found it very challenging to hold the tool steady and can only imagine the discipline that it took to construct the entire mandala with all its precisely arrayed colors. It was on a raised platform and was about 4-5 feet wide. That's a lot of work -- it took the nuns 2 weeks to complete it. They meditated and sometimes chanted to keep their intentions focussed during the creation of the mandala. You can get an idea of the size of the mandala from this picture of it, taken on Feb 28 when the design was almost complete:

The small objects around the outside of the mandala are symbolic Tibetan daggers -- I forget the name -- which symbolize penetration, depth and purity of intention.

It had snowed about a foot last night, but the hardy and efficient Boston area road crews had things sorted out by the time I set out for Wellesley around 2:30 this afternoon. I arrived at the lovely Wellesley College campus and headed for the Davis Museum. There was no fee to visit the Mandala room, which was a large museum room with warm muted burnt-orange walls with some Buddhist art exhibited. The mandala was to one side, with plenty of room for visitors to gather round. I was early enough before the dispersal ceremony that the nuns were still mingling freely with visitors. Only one of them (there were about six) was at ease with English, but they all were adept at communicating nonetheless. One of them formed a special connection with the 7-year-old son of a friend of mine and, after excusing herself for a moment, returned with a handwoven narrow patterned yarn string which she gently tied around his wrist as a personal keepsake and to symbolize the connectedness of us all. He was delighted and seemed to understand exactly what she meant. I wish you could all have seen her face, with her lively warm eyes and glowing smile.

I noticed that the Tibetan nuns clearly cared for each other very much. You could see it clearly in their facial expressions and body language and the way they so seemlessly moved and acted together while still retaining their individuality. Unlike the taboo against touching in our culture, they frequently held each other's hands or put their arms around each other's waists or shoulders. These women are not afraid to love, and they have in a real sense dedicated their lives to it. In their meditations, they send their love to all of the world, but they also live with it every day.

The Tibetan nun who is fluent in English gave a brief talk about the project and about the dispersal ceremony, and then two spokespeople for the local Wellesley Buddhist Society (which is Zen rather than Tibetan Buddhist, if anyone wonders), gave brief talks as well. There was more explanation about the significance and symbolism as well as mutual expressions of gratitude, with symbolic gifts (a Tibetan tradition signifying a connection -- the nuns received long, narrow white shawls, which were placed around their necks as they bowed).

One of the points that I found especially striking was the statement that the crowd of watchers standing around the mandala at that moment themselves constituted another mandala, one of living beings which had come together in love and compassion and would also disperse like the sand. Both the mandala and the assembly were impermanent, and the important thing is that the healing love would be spread by the people like the sand was dispersed in the water. Thus, in classic Buddhist tradition, impermanence is not seen as negative.

The ceremony for dispersal began with chanting, singing and the clanging of some kind of bell-like instruments by the nuns. It was a loud, rich, rousing, joyful mix of sounds, not quite a cacophony, with unexpected rhythms and harmonies--the very opposite of meek and mournful. The nuns went through a ritual of completing the mandala, then the sweeping up of the colored sand began, from the outside toward the center. There was some fear by the museum guards that this would trigger a fire alarm, which they prepared for, but it did not happen.

The sand was put into glass vessels, and an informal parade of the assembled participants and the nuns commenced. All ages and nationalities appeared to be represented, a rare and pleasing sight. Because of the deep fresh snow and the iced-over water, rather than to the edge of the lake they went to a footbridge over a river that fed into the lake. There, with more chanting, the sand was distributed among the smiling participants, with handfuls being shared around, and poured into the flowing water. My friend and her young son were too far away from the rail to drop their handfuls directly into the water, so they each made snowballs with their sand inside and threw them in. This clever strategy was widely appreciated. It was a friendly, happy group, even with the cold and the dim, overcast light. A few snowflakes were falling and joined the sand in the river. More impermanence, as winter fades into early spring.

I hope this gives those of you who wanted to know about the ceremony some idea of what happened. By the way, in case you didn't realize, there are Christian Buddhists, Jewish Buddhists, and so on -- as the Dalai Lama himself says (far more eloquently than I), the usefulness of the disciplines and practices introduced long ago by the man known as "The Buddha" (which means "The One Who Is Awake") do not belong to any particular religion but can be helpful to all. There are no dogmas, nothing to conflict with a Christian's religious beliefs. The people participating in the mandala ceremony surely included people from a variety of religious traditions; my friend, for example, is Jewish, while I grew up in a Christian tradition.

In closing, I'll give a version of the Metta (usually translated as "lovingkindness") meditation, one of the most common and important in the Buddhist traditions. The words used vary widely and are best chosen for oneself, it's the intention that counts. In practice, one builds gradually over weeks from visualizing the sending of the lovingkindness to oneself, then to beloved family members and dearest friends, then to acquaintances one feels affection for, then to more "difficult" people and enemies, and so in steps until one encompasses all living beings in the world. It is a lovely practice and some other time if you are interested, I can tell you a true story or two about experiences with it.

So, here's the version of the Metta meditation/prayer used by a fellow DUer, who told me he says it with his little daughter each night at bedtime:
May all beings be happy content and fulfilled,
May all beings be healed and whole,
May all have what they want and need,
May all be protected from harm and free from fear,
May all beings enjoy inner peace and ease,
May all beings be awakened liberated and free,
And may there be peace in this world and throughout the entire universe.