At the top of the western stairs above Grand Central Terminal at any time, day or night, you'll see them: people from all around the world pausing with their cameras and posing for photographs. Beneath them, you'll see men, women and children criss-crossing, making their way to and from trains that travel along the Metro North. My favorite line is the Harlem Line (navy), which takes you all the way up to North White Plains. Though the Hudson (green) as well as the New Haven (crimson) lines are solid as well. There's something there, something beyond ––– amongst the commuting, the arriving and departing, the marble and gold and glass and ceiling that holds above everyone and goes all the way up ––– there's a silence, a stillness. It's neither a meditation nor a prayer, but something in between.
March Sixth, 2020