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.
Got to hand it to you.
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