"Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
"Keep ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
Admittedly, these photos aren't from the statue of liberty; in fact, I've yet to visit her. However, this poem applies to more than just the statue herself. It describes a place, the land of exiles, where people come to feel at home within chaos. It's a place that inspires unlike any place else. Being here is like forever living in the moment when you lift off in an airplane, look down, and realize that the world is far bigger & more complex than you could ever wrap your head around.
I spoke with some employees of the Rockefeller Center; I asked them what it was like to have the best view in the world. They smiled, and said it only happens about once a month, but they look forward to "roof shifts." I watched them as they gazed unto the landscape like it was their first time. It induced a calmness in their eyes like no other.
