



Punakha, Bhutan 🇧🇹
24dec24




Punakha, Bhutan 🇧🇹
24dec24

Paro, Bhutan. A street, a wall, a yellow burst of life in the mountain air, and there it is—the symbol of it all, the cosmic jest painted boldly in strokes of faith and humor. The phallus. It’s not just a phallus. It’s an ancient mantra written in form, dripping with the smoke of timeless prayers and the laughter of monks who know the secret of the void. This is not prudishness; this is freedom.


You see it everywhere here, on the houses, on the walls, on the winds that swirl around the hills—meant to ward off the evil eye, a divine joke on the demons who seek to invade the sacred space. It’s the Buddha’s outrageous, earthy truth, telling you to let go, to laugh at the absurd, to see the spirit in every line and curve of creation.


The mustard-yellow wall and that window, framed with its carved wood, cradle the painted phallus like it’s holding the pulse of the earth itself. It’s alive in a way Western minds might struggle to grasp, standing tall against shame, speaking for joy, for life, for raw, beautiful existence. It’s the wisdom of the Himalayas that says, “Here is life, here is spirit, here is everything.”
december 2024

This is the legacy of Drukpa Kunley, the “Divine Madman.” A monk who drank, seduced, and blessed with his so-called “Flaming Thunderbolt of Wisdom.” A holy man who saw hypocrisy in piety and used the vulgar to expose it. He made sex sacred and foolishness wise. He made the phallus not just a symbol of fertility, but a middle finger to everything stiff and self-important.
It’s not porn. It’s power. A reminder that sometimes the profane is holy, and the absurd holds truth. Evil spirits hate the joke, you see. They hate laughter. So you paint the phallus big, bold, and unrepentant. Because in Bhutan, it’s not obscene. What’s obscene is pretending it doesn’t exist.


13dec24



Thimphu, Bhutan 🇧🇹
5dec24