Monks, listen to the parable of the raft. A man going on a journey sees ahead of him a vast stretch of water. There is no boat within the sight, and no bridge. To escape from the dangers of this side of the bank, he builds a raft for himself out of grass, sticks and branches. When he crosses over, he realizes how useful the raft has been to him and wonders if he should not lift it on his shoulders and take it away with him. If he did this, would he be doing what he should do?

No.

Or, when he has crossed over to safety, should he keep it back for someone else to use, and leave it, therefore, on dry and high ground? This is the way I have taught Dhamma (the dharma), for crossing, not for keeping. Cast aside even right states of mind, monks, let alone wrong ones, and remember to leave the raft behind.¹

Since the Buddha offered this advice nearly three millenia ago, there have been many crossings, and many rafts left behind. In viewing these rafts today, one has a range of possible interpretive approaches. One could illuminate the raft's form and structure, or the origins of the materials with which it was built. One might trace its history as it was, inevitably, brought to the city from its resting place by the shore. One could discuss its transformation as the constituent parts of grass and branches were dismantled and later refashioned into other material forms. One could describe its disintegration through disuse.

Or, one could consider the raft in light of its purpose as conceived by its builders; as a vehicle for crossing. Works of art, like literary expressions of the Buddhist teachings, were intended to guide practitioners from the suffering of mundane existence (samsara) to the sublime shores of spiritual liberation (nirvana). The artists' resources--form and color--were shaped and brushed into images of enlightenment, inspired by the experiences of mystics.

Among the most compelling legacies of Buddhist art, mandala may be translated as "sacred assembly." Although artists have frequently interpreted the mandala as a circle (for a circle inherently conveys the principles of wholeness, completion, and unity which a mandala has come to signify), mandalas have traditionally been rendered in the form of semi-circle, a corner, a triangle, a temple, and even as the human body.² As Mallman has observed, in its broadest definition mandala simply refers to any "sacrificial area," its form reflecting the particular sacrificial rite undertaken.³