Anyone who has ever been to a Tibetan Buddhist temple or a California

meditation center has probably seen the Bhavachakra. Known in English as the Wheel

of Life, the Wheel of Becoming, or the Wheel of Suffering, this popular mandala

depicts the structure and dynamics of samsara,

the universe of cyclic existence. As with other traditional Buddhist images, the

Bhavachakra is loaded with stylized figures and arcane symbols, each rendered

in strict accordance with long-established formulae regarding placement, color,

size, bodily proportion, etc. Not surprisingly, Buddhist art is not about

self-expression; rather, it is meant to facilitate spiritual awakening.

When I first encountered this fact, and Buddhist

iconographic painting in general, I was fascinated and perplexed. I had just

arrived for a multi-month stay at Norbulingka, an institute in northern India

dedicated to preserving Tibetan art and culture. Although my position as volunteer

graphic designer ostensibly involved sitting in front of a computer, I would

often wander into the painting studio to watch the young trainees working diligently

on their thangkas. I was impressed by

their deep concentration, captivated by their beautiful handiwork, and hard

pressed to define what I was seeing. Was it art or craft? Were these Tibetan

refugees to be admired as exemplars of selflessness or pitied as paintbrush-pushing

peons?

I was, after all, raised in the US, where art is primarily a

secular thing, a commodity even, and where being an artist — a real artist, anyway — involves trashing

tradition and forging a unique pathway to infamy. A Bohemian by blood, I had

adopted the label of "artist" after learning to draw Snoopy in kindergarten, and

later adopted Salvador Dali as my personal hero, partly because of his utterly

bizarre persona. I took tons of art classes in college, majored in graphic

design, and subsequently pursued my childhood dream of being a cartoonist,

albeit more Tom Tomorrow than Charles Schulz.

Then, during my stay in India, I got into Buddhism. My

affections changed from Dali to the Dalai Lama, whom I met several times at

Norbulingka, one of many institutions over which he technically presided. In

fact, my living quarters were located just below the sweet suite reserved for

His Holiness' occasional visits. And just outside my front door, adorning one

wall of the ornate, brightly colored central temple, was a magnificent

rendering of the Bhavachakra. Every day on my way to "work," I would pause to marvel

at the intricacies of the cosmos within which I was presumably embedded.

A Brief Breakdown of

the Universe

Having returned full circle to the Wheel of Life, I now

present the basic layout, from the inside out. Smack in the center of the wheel

there appear a rooster, snake, and pig, representing desire, aversion, and ignorance

(the three poisons or root causes of suffering). Just outside this inner circle

is the ring of karma, within which tiny figures rise on one side and descend on

the other. The main part of the wheel is divided into six pie slices depicting

the six realms of existence (those of the gods, demigods, humans, animals,

hungry ghosts, and hell beings), while on the outer rim are depicted the twelve

links of dependent origination (which I won't get into here). The whole of the wheel

is held in the grip of Mara, the demon of illusion. A moon in the upper left

corner symbolizes liberation, while the Buddha in the upper right points the

way.

As complicated as this all might sound, the Wheel of Life is

often used as a teaching tool for children, containing as it does many core concepts

of Buddhism. The image is designed to provide the viewer with a quick download

of dharma and, ideally, inspiration. For

despite Mara's menacing features and the system of suffering over which he

presides, his main function is to remind us that nothing is permanent. Neither

hell beings nor even gods dwell eternally in their respective realms, but are

reborn elsewhere in accordance with their karma. And all beings have Buddha

nature, the capacity for full awakening. Essentially the Bhavachakra, like

Buddhism in general, is primarily about freedom.

A Sort of Homecoming

So too does the USA stand for freedom, or so I had been

taught. When I finally returned stateside after over a year in the shadows of

Shangri-La, my reverse culture shock was profound. Although I had seriously considered

staying indefinitely in India to study Buddhism and perhaps even become a monk,

I realized almost immediately why my conscience had called me back. Where once I

had perceived only sickening abundance, I now saw abundant sickness and heard a

desperate cry for help. My former cynicism had (mostly) morphed into

compassion. I had, in effect, been reborn into the realm of my own culture, and

into a full awareness of the ubiquity of suffering. It's no less present in the

McMansions of the Midwest, I grokked, than in the hovels of Himachal Pradesh.

In fact, the America of my rebirth seemed even more mired in

misery than any so-called "developing country" I had ever visited. I saw it in the

ostentatious affluence, the pervasive obesity, and the vacant expressions of my

fellow countrypersons. It was apparent in the advertising that relentlessly assaulted

the senses and insulted the intelligence. And it was there in the statistics: epidemic

use and

abuse of prescription drugs and painkillers, world-record rates of violent

crime and incarceration, widespread heart disease and other stress-related

illness, chronic over-consumption habits leading 5% of the planet's population to

ravage 1/3 of its resources, and a military budget as big as the rest of the

world combined. To my acclimating eyes, the pursuit of happiness appeared to be

an epic failure.

As for freedom, I could only recall Goethe's observation that "none are more enslaved than those who

falsely believe they are free." As I settled back into American life, I had the

unsettling realization that the whole country was little more than an elaborate

prison in which the inmates were also wardens, and the walls made of illusions maintained

by an invisible entity I came to call "Uncle Samsara." Indeed, the more I

thought about American culture, the more it seemed like an extreme caricature

of the human condition as depicted in the Wheel of Suffering. The cartoonist in

me couldn't resist flushing out the parallels, although it wasn't until years

later that I committed the scheme to paper. It is now preserved for posterity

as a freely downloadable,

tabloid-sized, digital image whose title matches that of this article. Like

all cartoons, it embodies a certain amount of snark, but like the Bhavachakra, its

ultimate purpose is to educate and to inspire genuine freedom.

A Key to the Matrix

What follows is

a description of my mandala, again from the inside out. At the hub of the wheel

appear a dollar bill, a tank, and a television, representing the three poisons

of greed, hatred, and delusion (these exist institutionally as materialism,

militarism, and the media). Just outside the central circle is the ring of financial

karma, in which people slowly climb the ladder to prosperity, only to slide

back down into a hole of debt.

The main part of the mandala depicts the Six Realms of Socioeconomic Existence.

At the top is the Imperial Realm, in

which ultra-wealthy beings live in mansions, ride in limousines, and suffer

from arrogance, isolation, and the occasional bad hair day. Below and to the

left of this realm is that of the Imperial

Wannabes, who abide in sprawling suburban homes, drive expensive cars, and suffer

from envy and existential angst. To the right of this realm is the Public Domain, populated by working

class humans who live in modest homes, apartments, and trailers, and drive used

cars. They speak highly of freedom while being severely constrained by desire,

fixation, and fear. Many of them suffer from high blood pressure, low self-esteem,

and bad credit. Lower on the ladder lies the Animal Turf, wherein many creatures are subject to displacement, confinement,

and cruelty on the part of humans. Some of them are kept as pets and often treated

much better than beings in the adjacent Homeless

Dimension. This realm is populated by nearly invisible "hungry ghosts" who

wander endlessly in search of food and shelter. The lowest of all realms is the

Hellish Hood, the residents of which suffer from

intense anger and psychological illness. Beings in this realm possess very

little freedom, whether held captive in prisons, mental institutions, or army

barracks.

The outer wheel depicts the Twelve Steps of Codependent

Consumerism. The sequence begins and ends with shopping, an activity

which leads directly to the accumulation of material objects. Possessing

lots of stuff leads to the need for a "stuff storage facility," commonly called

a house and usually located outside of town. This necessitates having a motorized

vehicle with which to transport one's person, groceries, and additional stuff. Driving a car necessitates buying

gas, which contributes to debt and the need to maintain employment.

Working generates stress,

which leads to an urgent desire for relaxation. This often involves consuming

alcohol and/or watching television. Depressants, TV and advertising all contribute to a sense of

lack or emptiness, symbolized here by a black hole. This feeling of

worthlessness leads to an impulse to shop, which begins the cycle anew.

The Wheel of Suffering is held in the clutches of the aforementioned

Uncle Samsara, the Lord of Illusion. This fearsome figure presides over

a vast empire of desire, despair, death and taxes. Outside of this wheel lies

liberty in the form of planetary consciousness, lunar consciousness,

and compassion (symbolized by a green Tara). Ultimate freedom is found in the

form of cosmic consciousness, wisdom and peace (symbolized by a

meditating Buddha).

May all Americans,

and all beings everywhere, be happy and truly free.

To download the full-size digital version of the Americosmos

mandala, click here.





Darrin Drda is the author of The Four Global Truths: Awakening

to the Perils and Promise of Our Times, recently released by

EVOLVER EDITIONS/North Atlantic Books.