Each trouble is a treasure in a cruel shell. Each one contains the answer to its shell, like the combination to a safe locked inside itself. But we can open such vaults, because the inside of the shell is actually our own heart. The shell is pain. The fear. What we know as loss or harm. Within, the fruit is new ways of seeing, being and knowing. Inside the shell of every trouble is a fruit of impossible power. Inside every moment is a revolution of everyday wonder. Inside us, there is more than all of human culture and language. We bring crippling frameworks to difficulty, and cannot bring the fruit from the shell. But if we understand that each trouble shall be treasure, if we will break the shell together, it becomes so. We become the impossible fruit within the shell. The agony is already given. In this we all agree. Now, what shall that become in us, the living, the grieving? It must become beauty. It must. We must. We are.