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Mughal Jewels Ruby & Pearl String Necklace

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I have felt two halves

I. 

I have been who I am, who I’ve always been

I see myself from afar, I see myself take a path

Ive always taken. And a new one too, which will lead somewhere

I do not know yet 

I am between two halves, two hemispheres

I’ve collided and tumbled 

Pulled by gravity inwards

And outwards again, until I now know

This is where I’ve always been, 

All along, a sunburnt road 

Hope is always there beside my two hemispheres,

Which I will find 

A little space I carve

To make a smile again in my heart

This little space, so well contained

I see it, clear waters

I pull myself towards one hemisphere

Where specifics become real

Real between the generational spaces

I am of one universe

And of another, 

A more ancient one

But I am one universe when 

I am part of my own 

History and hemisphere

Among other

Hemispheres and Worlds. 

II. 

Though 

I ought to find the sun 

Setting in this hemisphere. 

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a dream building from within,

and should be sought from inwardly, 

it basks outside, 

but disappears, dissolves, becomes intangible 

to ourselves, and others 

a spreading seed, growing among other things

is strongest from the heart, 

it tumbles and turns, 

it embarks on its own journey, 

forces act against it, but 

a seeds sprout is independent 

and should remain so others can form

I wonder how things fly into breeze

the leaves, branches, and millions of little dust particles 

soaking in humidity

the weight they hold in the air

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Life is saying we’re done and falling back in love

                   after the black hole closes shop

— Kelli Russell Agodon, from��“Punctuating the Living,” published in Waxwing

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Scared of your soul

Scared of those who touch it 

Scared of all feeling 

The intensity and depth 

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Holi, known as the festival of colors, is a Hindu celebration where participants throw brightly colored powders (gulal) at one another while singing and dancing to celebrate the arrival of spring. Here, the artist has thrown pigment on the surface of the drawing in a similar spirited manner. Holi powders were traditionally made from finely ground plants, flowers, fruits, and medicinal herbs such as neem, hibiscus, indigo, beetroot, and turmeric.

“Noblemen on Elephant during Holi Festival,” late 18th century, India 

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There is nothing to do. Just be. Do nothing. Be. No climbing mountains and sitting in caves. I do not even say: ‘be yourself’, since you do not know yourself. Just be. Having seen that you are neither the 'outer’ world of perceivables, nor the 'inner’ world of thinkables, that you are neither body nor mind – just be.

Sri Nisargadatta Maharaj (via lazyyogi)

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The world appears to you so overwhelmingly real, because you think of it all the time; cease thinking of it and it will dissolve into thin mist.

Sri Nisargadatta Maharaj (via lazyyogi)

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See how Rodin brings warm life to cold marble in “Charm and Distinction: Sculpture from the Johnson Collection,” on view now.

“Despair,” modeled in clay 1890; carved in marble 1906, by Auguste Rodin 

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A girl collects water lillies from a canal near Uttar Stla village in Barisal, Bangladesh on October 24, 2017. (Azim Khan Ronnie/Pacific Press)

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Meri, a Waiapi woman, snuggles with children at the tribe’s village in Brazil’s Amapa state on October 14, 2017. The tiny Waiapi tribe is resisting moves by the Brazilian government to open a region of pristine rainforest to international mining companies. (Apu Gomes/AFP/Getty Images)

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I (masculine) am parched with thirst and am dying; but grant me to drink from the ever-flowing spring. On the right is a white cypress. ‘Who are you? Where are you from?’ I am a son of Earth and starry sky. But my race is heavenly.

Translation of a Greek inscription from the second half of the 4th century B.C.

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René Burri, New York City, 1975

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Don’t miss color as time at this week’s Friday Nights at the Museum. Enjoy an evening of classical composition, jazz improvisation, and pop, performed by local musicians led by Joshua Stamper. Friday Nights are free with Museum admission.  

“At the Jazz-Band Ball,” c. 1936–39, by Fred Becker