Sentinels.

As my bus turns around the roundabout this morning, Monas rises into view. Grey outlines emerge against a gauzy radiant white sky as though they were transparent shadows flipped upright. To the left the bulbous dome and minarets of the Istiqlal Mosque nudge through. To the right the intricate spires of the Cathedral thrust itself upwards as if in answer. Like sentinels standing quietly in silence, they face the giants of Bureaucracy and Business. It’s squat in comparison. But against a pearly canvas, they gleam ethereal and luminous with all its faith and all in harmony.

The discords you hear are the din of the little people and the little day. If they would tilt their head skyward and gaze upon this light and surrender to its height, maybe they’d hear it too.