Beauty, they say, is in the eye of the beholder. Though I have ample reasons to suspect that it can also be found in the mind’s eye, the heart’s eye, the shared eye, the third eye.

Which, if I’m not careful, would lead me to conclude that beauty is a subjective thing. Not out there, but in here. An imagined thing.

But imagination, as Picasso says, is also real. Like love is real. Like fun.

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So, here’s what I’m imagining:

There’s another kind of reality. It is just as much in here as it is out there. Just as much. Without the in here part, it’s not there. Without the there part, it’s not in here.

It’s where we find things like beauty, love, fun, joy, faith. And games. And art.

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I think the place where these things exist, these both here and there things, both imagined and actual, sub- and objective, is the same place Buber was talking about when he wrote I and Thou as in I and Thou.

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Rocky (my wife) and I have been married for more than 50 years now. When I look at her, what I see is profoundly beautiful. I see a face that I have faced through the years, a face that looks at me, at me, that knows me, that has seen me through so many ages and stages of life. I see her, then and now, here and there, in Israel where we first met and danced and saw each other. In Pennsylvania and California and Indiana, with the kids, without them. All that time and all those places I see in her beautiful face. Beauty beyond time. Beyond place. Past and present, here and there, and everywhere between.