I think about what I want to write here and all my grand ideas fizzle. The blank page fills with starts and dead ends. The truth is I have no grand ideas right now. I fluctuate between despair, rage, wishfulness, conviction, and tiny glimmers of hope.
And so I seek out Beauty. Consciously cultivate my relationship with this language of the Divine. I believe in the power of beauty to sooth, to heal, to inspire, to bring us home to ourselves. This is the practice that returns me to myself when the world has pulled me too far away.
I can trust Beauty. Not Vanity, that deception that masquerades as Beauty, a glamor that disguises emptiness and false promises. Beauty reveals, it doesn’t hide.
There is a soul to Beauty. A living breath of holy incarnation. It shows itself in a baby’s smile, a withered rose, a mud soaked and haggard first responder, a lover’s disappointment, a poet’s words. I can point to Beauty forever and yet I will never be able to truly describe it.
Beauty is an experience. At once as mundane and ever present as I am willing to see, and as an intangible miracle offering a glimpse into the Mysteries. This is the path I walk as I am finding myself again. Weaving between the known and unknown, the ordinary and extraordinary, wiling to see Beauty hidden and obvious. When I let it, it cracks me open to Truth.
So I seek Beauty at times like this, when I am so easy overcome by the fears and hurts of the day, when urgency for something else clouds what is always here all along.
The essence of life that is running through everything.