Free Shipping On all Orders over $400 · Zero Tariffs for Most Countries

0

Your Cart is Empty

A hush moves through the Western Gallery—not wind, not footfall, but the weight of breath holding its shape.  The scent of sandalwood clings to the seams of stone.  I pause beside a relief I have passed many times.  Today it catches.

Limbs whirl in carved tumult, but I see only two: vanara and rakshasa.  A monkey’s jaw clenched against demon flesh, not in fury, but in something deeper.  This is not the climax of battle.  It is its still center.  A mouth made votive.  A bite that burns clean.

The shutter opens as I still my body.  Film gathers the silence.  Long exposure lets devotion pool in silver.  Later, hand-toning will reveal what light alone cannot: how even violence, when offered in full surrender, can become holy.

I breathe, then write—just two lines in my notebook:

Even stone sings when bitten—
hear the startled hymn
between pulse and dust.

And so it sings.  In muscle curved like flame.  In thigh and tooth.  In the hush that fills the frame when love becomes fearless.  When duty sheds its weight and becomes light.


Also in My Journal

Stillness in the Shape of Shelter
Stillness in the Shape of Shelter

1 min read

A rain-streaked Buddha sits beneath the coiled naga Muchilinda, not to resist the world, but to hold stillness within it. This meditation reveals a print shaped by breath, not description.

Read More
The Shelter That Remains
The Shelter That Remains

1 min read

Time gathers around the Buddha as breath, not burden. In this haibun, the artist offers a moment that does not explain itself—it simply remains, unmoving beneath the shelter of silence.

Read More
What Light Remembers
What Light Remembers

1 min read

Light rests on the Buddha’s chest without revealing him. In this moment of reverent waiting, the image forms as presence—not picture. The serpent shelters, the stone remembers, and the poem listens.

Read More