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REMINISCENT of some gigantic Celtic brooch, this mandala holds a cosmic diagram within its gilt tracery. A slightly curious cosmos perhaps, one in which the epicycles of the celestial bodies are woven into a lattice of lines, and spiral-branched cosmic trees stand around the edge of the universe, keeping everything in its pre-ordained place. A further ring of trees at the centre guards the sacred solar system with its eight planets.
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But why shouldn’t a cosmos look like this? If, in the end, the vast cosmos we have been exploring the furthest reaches of with the tools created by science is no more real than a giant thought, dreamed up by the giant consciousness that is all we ultimately are, why shouldn’t this small cosmos, dreamed up by this small fragment of consciousness, also exist?
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