Nine Designs for Inner Peace: The Ultimate Guide to Meditating with Color, Shape, and Sound

Introduction to the Nine Designs

I was born in England, into an artistic family, in a creative atmosphere where painting, drawing, cooking, and music were constant themes. I can see the kitchen table spread with sheets of paper upon which I had created colorful arrays of potato prints. These were the impressions left by potatoes that we had cut in half and carved a design out of before soaking the surface in colored paints. At a later age the jewelry gift boxes made from embroidered designs I had sewn together kept me entertained. The emphasis on these projects was always the fun of the activity itself. The beautiful end results were usually given away as gifts, or became something useful such as pot holders. My mother had a Richard Hittleman Yoga record that I listened to from the age of fourteen, while studying the manual and practicing the postures. These creative and spiritual conditions were ripe for the practices that would later structure and become the core disciplines in my life. From this creative haven I embarked upon art school and then yoga school and finally I came to a crossroads. Now what? There was only so much school I could do, and the completion of an art exhibit or a physical yoga practice left me with only fleeting happiness. I wanted to integrate all that I had learned, but I was not yet sure how it was to be done.

Some people find their passion in motherhood, or in a fulfilling job—but I knew there was some way I was yet to discover that would weave together all the artistic and spiritual practices I enjoyed in a way that would create the fabric of a whole way of life.

The answer came almost as the question was raised. I saw the book Tools for Tantra, a book on the Goddess Yantras by Harish Johari, in a bookstore in Sedona, Arizona, where I happened to be vacationing with my parents. The process of Yantra painting Harish described appeared to me both mystical and beautiful. The explanations—both devotional, aspiring to worship certain deities, and scientific, what happens to each part of the brain as we coordinate thinking with doing and praying—completely captivated me. I started to draw the outlines for the Yantras and began to process what I was reading.

So began this path which has at the root of it the practice of creating Yantras, but which has since extended to encompass all that I do. The Yantras are now a starting point, a focus, a joy to make and share.

That same summer I returned home to New York to see that Harish Johari was by chance coming to New York State from India, for what would be one of his last few visits to the United States, to teach a Yantra painting workshop. I signed up immediately, and from there I was hooked.

I was a little terrified at first of this abrupt, elderly Indian gentleman, but the twinkle in his eyes and the deep peaceful state I felt as I sat beside him overrode the fear of his rather raging personality. Six months later I was on a plane to Delhi and then a bus to Haridwar, the town where Harish lived with his extended family and his students from Europe. During all the years of practicing hatha yoga I had never really felt the pull to go to India, but this time nothing could stop me. From day one, the four to six hours each morning I spent painting under his tutelage, along with the daily walks to the Ganges to bow down to Mother Nature and become absorbed in the devotional climate of this holy town, were but a morsel of the real fruits of the trip: the attention to the sacred in the everyday activities in his household.

From the cleaning of the house (a layer of dust seems to cover every surface there within twenty-four hours) and the washing and ironing, to the cooking and preparation of each meal, each activitiy was done as a beautiful sadhana (spiritual practice). The meal preparation, which took a large portion of the day, included great thought to the day of the week and the appropriate spices and styles of cooking. Preparing the ingredients included much cleaning and sorting through unprocessed products and soon I had my hands full picking leaves off the fresh herb plants that would season the day’s dish. On the first day Dada (as Harish was affectionately called by his close friends and family) said to me, Now you are here you will really be part of the family and do as we all do. I felt loved and honored by this. In any other context I might have felt it to be demeaning, but here it was a gift. The greatest gift I received from him was to cultivate this attention in my daily life. There was no more rushing to do the vegetables so that I could go and meditate, no more rushing to finish one painting in order to start the next, all that mattered was the quality of attention to the thing I was doing at that moment and the immense amount of happiness and love I felt as a result.

Harish set the tone for his mindful approach to the activities of the day in a conscious way. The day started for him with hours of prayer and ritual and by the time his students and other members of the household surfaced we would sit with him outside as the fire began to die down; this morning practice held the flavor for the day, the ritual, active prayer and the silent devotion.

Harish was a supreme example of this attentive approach. He would paint on my painting to show me things, so focused and careful with his brushstrokes that the painting came to life with the devotion that those careful gestures contained. And the food he prepared—often he would make a special dish, usually a vegetable accompaniment to the main dish, which would always taste of something wonderful and out of the ordinary that I couldn’t quite put a name to. It was inspiring to witness the quality of living that he had so beautifully mastered and which showed itself in so many ways. He had written many books on art, ayurveda, massage, and breathing. He had created sculptures and music and used astrology and gemology in his work. Each of the subjects that he taught was intended to lead a way back through conscious attention, to reveal how all actions are to nourish and honor that which is sacred in each moment.

Sometimes you have to journey to a far off place to see clearly what is right in front of you. My travels in India were a little like that. I can better appreciate the richness of my childhood, the creative projects that my mother never ceased to come up with and share and encourage me with—the sewing, cooking, printing, drawing, knitting, painting, and beyond. These early pastimes and the sense of community and family I enjoyed as a child came into much clearer focus from my travels. My life in the here and now is infused with this appreciation of both my childhood and my time spent in India.

Heightened awareness of the senses through my connection to sound, color, and shape allows me to taste the spirit in my everyday life. Today I went for a walk and was in awe at the range of blues in the sky as the swirls of clouds crossed above me, the shapes of the trees and the distinct leaves. The sounds of the wind blowing in different directions amid other natural and man-made noises made me feel so alive. From these practices it is as if my sensual perceivers have been cleansed—I can actually see bright colors where before there was one muted color, enjoy distinct sounds where before I didn’t notice them, and appreciate the range of shapes changing before my eyes. Much of what we see in nature is ephemeral, like the color of the sky; the ability to appreciate the richness of the moment has been a way for me to achieve immense joy and recognize the wonder of being.

I am deeply grateful for the time I spent in India with the Johari family. Harish would say that I learnt a lot whilst there the painting and everything else. . . . He knew I had gained new eyes to see with—and his stern words gradually melted into a softer more peaceful space between us. Harish was initially a temple sculptor and painter and I believe that this meditative training in the tantric arts led him to develop the other areas of study and expertise. It is my intention to share with you this powerful practice of creating Yantras to enhance your own experience of the sacred in the mundane, elevating your waking state of consciousness so that you are more peaceful and centered in all that you do.

Active Meditation

Think of an activity that you engage in that is fulfilling and so pleasurable and absorbing that it brings you into the present moment. By this I mean that it draws you out of the concerns, worries, and occupations that reside in the mind seemingly all of the time. You notice a lightness of spirit, a happiness that arises in an inexplicable way. Physically, you experience an unwinding of the nervous system; your body relaxes. Being fully engaged in a creative project leaves little room for extraneous mental activity—its very nature awakens dormant pleasure that resides within. The rhythm and repetitiveness of sewing, knitting, and calligraphy, for example, are soothing; they let the mind dwell in a neutral state, sometimes known as the zero state, or the source. The phrase back to the source, which has entered into our contemporary vocabulary, suggests a returning to the land, to a time when people were conscious of honoring the earth, the rhythms in nature, and the sacred ordering of days, seasons, and years. It evokes a remembering of the wholeness of the activities that spring from and return you to the source. The results of these creative projects can bring about feelings of tranquillity, centering, and as the title of this book suggests, inner peace. This peaceful feeling indicates that you have connected with the source of your happiness and well-being.

Creating Yantras is a traditional spiritual practice that, just like yoga and meditation, leads you to the source, to a feeling of contentment. Yantras were originally conceived over four thousand years ago in the northern regions of India. Creating Yantras is a particularly powerful spiritual practice that enables you to connect your essential creative self with its expression. Working with these designs has become part of contemporary stress-reduction practices brought to us from the East along with yoga and Eastern philosophies.

Each of the Nine Designs, or Yantras, possesses distinct qualities expressed through differing shapes and color configurations. Your mind, body, and spirit respond differently to each one. Creating these designs in an active form of meditation leads you to inner peace by quieting the chatter that flows unhindered in your mind.

There was a time I went about my