The Sacred Shape of Thought: How I Survive Mental Chaos With Geometry, Bees, and Jung
There’s something about sacred geometry that calms me in a way no wellness app ever has.
I can stare at a mandala or the flower of life pattern and feel something inside me unclench. It’s not woo. It’s not even aesthetic. It’s structure. It’s the relief of seeing something that holds its shape—because most days, I don’t.
My mind is more like that scribbled journal page I made last night: colour, mess, logic, noise. Pattern overlaid on instinct. Half-finished sentences. A scribbled note to self that says “drink water” next to a reference to Jungian archetypes and a weirdly detailed regret about something I said to someone in 2002.
I live there. In that collage. And I’m tired.
But the sacred shapes help. The structure. The rhythm. Like bees in a hive, like myth, like Jung’s Red Book mandalas. There’s something holy in the geometry. Not holy like religion. Holy like oh, this fits. This is a container. This is a system that doesn’t require me to mask or flatten myself.
I’ve been thinking about bees a lot. I read The Bees by Laline Paull and it hit me right in the nervous system. The idea of having a job. A known role. Something instinctive. Order. Structure. Belonging without second-guessing. No late-night replaying of conversations. No identity crisis in the middle of the supermarket.
Just: You are a forager. You do this. The hive holds you.
But I’m not a bee. I’m a human with AUDHD, autoimmune issues, generational trauma, adult children, aging parents, and a brain that spins like a kaleidoscope full of unpaid admin and unresolved psychological themes. There are days I am The Martyr, The Goblin, The Overgiver, and The Queen. All before 10 a.m.
And when I try to find comfort in the ‘collective,’ it often makes things worse. Because we’re not really a collective right now, are we? We’re atomised. Online. Branded. Caught between collapse and hyper-function. Even our activism is algorithmic. Our grief is monetised. Our systems are cracked, and so is our nervous system.
So I go back to the shapes. The old ones. The archetypes. The mandalas. The scribbles. The flower of life. Not because they fix me. But because they contain me.
This is how I survive my brain. Not by shutting it up. But by giving it something ancient and structured to hold. Something older than this chaos. Something wiser than me.
P.S. The Sacred Seed card in the image? That’s from a deck I made on a day like this. If you need something beautiful to hold while your thoughts whirl, you’re not alone.
👉 Explore the cards here
