The temple stood silent. A sacred place. Illuminated by the Mandala’s glow. Its radiant pattern, strange, beautiful. A man sat nearby. Watching. Pondering. The glow reflected in his old eyes. Vibrant colors on weathered skin. He touched the Mandala. Felt its power. Unseen energies pulsated. Silent, except the hum of the universe. An esoteric chorus. His life, a mystic journey, mirrored in the Mandala’s enigma. Alone, he understood. The temple, his sanctuary. The Mandala, his guide. All was simple. All was complex. Endlessly, the Mandala glowed. Bright, then dim, as if breathing. The old man breathed with it. In harmony. He was home.