Black and white line drawing of a circular sacred yantra with Thai script and radiating motifs, shown as a tattoo design rather than on skin.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Circular yantra design with Thai script

Geometric · Black and grey · Flash

A black and white line drawing of a circular yantra, with a ring of Thai-style script inside a border and bordered symbols arranged in a radial pattern around the outside. The linework is fine and even, with no shading, and the design is set on a pale, slightly textured page with faint background text from the printed source. The composition is symmetrical, with the central circle surrounded by evenly spaced motifs and pointed rays.

Geometric Circle Mandala

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Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The snow had already buried the back step by the time the innkeeper's widow pressed a folded square of paper into your hand and told you not to open it until the lamps were lit. Outside, the pass road had vanished under white. Inside, the fire spat pine resin and a dog slept with its nose on a stack of ledgers.

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You unfolded it anyway, close to midnight, when the wind had found every gap in the shutters. The paper was thin as onion skin, printed with a ring of Thai letters and a circle of boxed symbols pointing outward like the rays of a sun drawn by a child who had been warned about the sun. Someone had traced it by hand into an old copybook, and the faint print of the book showed through from behind, ghost letters laid over the diagram.

The widow's son, Anong, had been a monk before he was a cook, and he found you hunched over it with a candle. He did not laugh. He turned the paper to the light and read the ring aloud, slowly, the way you read a recipe to someone who will have to cook it alone. "Nothing on here keeps the snow off," he said. "It was for the road. Drivers copied it onto their dashboards. My mother copied it for the kitchen door."

In the morning the plough came up the pass with its orange light turning, and the widow was at the door before anyone knocked. She took back the paper, folded it into quarters, and kept it. Then she poured you a cup of tea, and the steam curling off it rose in rings, the same circles as the page.