Beauty is witnessed in the heart.
In the midst of calamity, when the towers are crumbling, and the temples are crumbling, and the skies are crumbling, still the heart is free. It is quiet amidst the waves. Gratitude may enter us then. Beauty may be recognized.
For it is the heart that recognizes its own.
Avowed of neither persecution nor vengeance, the heart has a talent for blessing, for insight, and for gentleness. In the midst of calamity, when something must be done, when the mob is gathering, and one must diminish another in the service of greater good—when deceit and distortion are blackening the skies, and a voice must be raised to be heard—still the heart sees innocence. How can this be?
Is not our anger righteous? Must something not be done?
What say you, my heart?
And still the heart is quiet.
When viewed from afar, the heart is but a stone. Wake up! we shout. The towers are crumbling! The heavens rending! Now is the time!
And yet, it is true, even here the heart knows the way. For what must be saved has already been saved. This the heart knows. Here is the beginning of reason. Here is permission to recognize the innocent, and behold the beautiful.
What is there to do when what must be done has already been done?
Alert the others. Gather them close. Break the heart open and pass it around, like bread, that there may be nourishment. Offer the heart, that those who know it not might see it and remember. Don’t look for it, but let it come. You will know it has arrived.
For it is the heart that recognizes its own.
