Hand of bodhisattva, holding a lotus bud with blossom, Gandhara, c. Second - Third C. BCE
Broken at the wrist, the body gone—but wholeness isn’t a steady state. All bodies transform like this representation of god: breaking, broken, vanishing bit by bit until our mud and dust is compressed to stone by the weight of time. Art turns that mud into the compassionate one, still holding a lotus, its grace moving, transcendent. I’ll join those who set flowers and fruit at its feet, offer up thanks that its beauty hears, won’t be separated from, all our suffering.
