What I like about Museums

You walk up the marble steps. You are leaving the plane of every day existence. You are climbing into a special realm that contains the infinite expressions of human potential. Your spirit will be enriched. What is good in you will feast.

You pass through the glass doors and a blast of cool air washes over you. It feels good after the dusty heat of the street in July. The bustle of the street is replaced by silent calm. It settles over you slowly, like a fine silt sinking to the bottom of a pond. You buy a ticket from a fellow all in black, right up to his square glasses. You take the ticket to a white haired man near a red velvet rope. He smiles at you as he tears your ticket.

As you walk through the grand hall, you hear the echo of your footsteps in the immense space. You notice how much museums borrow from cathedrals. Both are sacred spaces. We need space to let our spirits expand to their fullest capacity.

You climb up the vast marble staircase. You are alone on the steps, but the grooves worn in them speak of thousands of feet that have walked here before you. They whisper of footsteps yet to come.

You turn into the gallery. Polished parquet. Gold guilded frames. Benches covered in soft blue velvet. You are invited to be still. To be silent. To consider, without any words.

Just look. Just look. Just look.

When you have had enough, go back to the world.