This morning I am tired, and bored at work, and frantically procrastinating and wasting my time in an attempt to avoid at all costs having to do anything truly productive.
Does anyone else know what I mean by "frantically" procrastinating? I have days every once in a while where I don't feel like working, and do anything I can to avoid actually working, while still sitting at my desk, keeping up appearances to maintain the illusion that I am indeed working rather than impersonating a truly worthless human being.
On these days I usually drive home, exhausted, with the realization that I worked much harder to make it look like I was working than I would have had to work if I had actually been working. I don't know why I do this to myself. It truly sounds like an alarming kind of insanity. But there it is. Some days (today being one of them), I simply will do anything to avoid my responsibilities.
Which brings me to the point and inspiration for this entire post, which is that, in my frantic attempts to spend 8 hours sitting at a desk in front of my computer screen, looking productive but actually being a sloth, I have checked in with my favorite bloggers (the Fug Girls over at http://www.gofugyourself.com/- and seriously, if you have not experienced the thrilling snark that is this blog get over there right now and check it out.....right now!!! It is pure balm and joy and sunshine with a delightfully pointy little black bow....pointy because their wit is so sharp and black because well....black humor and....). Sorry, let me back up and make one more attempt at that sentence to make sure you're still with me. Becuase even I got a little lost in there.
So, I've checked in with the Fug Girls at least 20 times this morning, and each time I meet....disappointment...betrayal.....brutal emptiness......sad and lonely misgivings. The Fug Girls- my sole source of salvation on these sluggish and completely worthless days of worthlessness- have not posted a single new item. Not one new post in over twenty hours!!!! I just checked it again and still nothing new! I am outraged!!!! How dare they leave me hanging with no sinister, snide remarks about ridiculous celebrities and their bizarre pageantry for more than twenty hours at a time? Don't they know that I may not survive? It is 10:30 in the morning!! Where is my new post? Where is my fugly goodness? I have not had enough caffeine yet for this to be okay.
And then it occurs to me that, so-called aspiring writer that I claim to be, I have not published a new post in over twenty DAYS. So here it is....a new post. And hopefully I'll be a little more consistent with them in the future.
(Just checked the Fug Girls again....still nothing!!!!)
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Friday, August 15, 2008
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Beauty Matters
This issue of Beauty has been plaguing me lately. What does it mean? Why does it matter? I'm not speaking so much about physical Beauty. I'm speaking of that essential Beauty, the one that sings out life and passion and love and mercy- and magnetism. The Beauty that ignites and invades. The Beauty that can't be diminished or even defined. It can only be lived out- and by doing so it is expanded.
Until recently I have believed that I believe in my own Beauty. I just had a hard time trusting in the ability of others to believe it. I've always believed that I see Beauty in myself, that I have no problem seeing Beauty in myself. But I knew that others didn't see it all the time. That others had a problem seeing it.
But that was alright, because some people saw it. Maybe not everyone, but a few. Enough. I felt like enough of the right, few, key people saw it, knew it, believed it. Those with eyes to see and ears to hear and heart to believe, those gifted ones, those right ones. They saw it. Saw me. My Beauty. Finding those right ones, though. Now that is hard work.
Perhaps I've looked too much to that confirmation, that outward validation of my so-called inward reality. Perhaps that has become so important to me because I can't really see, don't really believe for myself. I always thought it was them. I was just fine. It was everyone else that was messed up. They had the problem. I had it right. But maybe not.
Why else would it matter so much to me, this question of my Beauty and their ability to see it? If I truly believe in it myself, will I even notice if anyone else does?
I've labored under the delusion that if the Beauty is there, but no one else can see it, then I must be doing something wrong. If I have a Beauty, that no one else is able to discern, then I'm distorting it or hiding it- misrepresenting it somehow.
Sometimes I fear that it has been taken, stolen from me. Squelched or squashed. It was there, at some point, but I lost it.
I fear I have learned:
To impersonate Beauty rather than embody it;
To stalk Beauty rather than invite it;
To grasp Beauty rather than embrace it.
But can a Beauty really be robbed of her Beauty?
Can I recall how to Be?
Can I learn to Release?
Can I endeavor to Forgive?
What if I am ugly? Body and soul and heart, through and through. What if I am not much more than the hate and fear and self-loathing that seems to spring up in me out of nowhere and fill me with rivers of doubt?
Surely some beauty is deception. But is all Beauty deception? Vanity? Smoke and mirrors? A soft voice and a mild manner? Paint and pins? A carefully crafted illusion well-planned and honed over time?
My being says no. I believe in Beauty. I believe in the purpose, the power, the purity of Beauty. I believe it has worth, meaning, healing powers even. There is truth in Beauty and access to love. Beauty draws us, comforts and preserves us, and at its highest, a fleeting glimpse of raw and unvarnished Beauty can be a revelation of the Divine.
Beauty matters. It always will.
Until recently I have believed that I believe in my own Beauty. I just had a hard time trusting in the ability of others to believe it. I've always believed that I see Beauty in myself, that I have no problem seeing Beauty in myself. But I knew that others didn't see it all the time. That others had a problem seeing it.
But that was alright, because some people saw it. Maybe not everyone, but a few. Enough. I felt like enough of the right, few, key people saw it, knew it, believed it. Those with eyes to see and ears to hear and heart to believe, those gifted ones, those right ones. They saw it. Saw me. My Beauty. Finding those right ones, though. Now that is hard work.
Perhaps I've looked too much to that confirmation, that outward validation of my so-called inward reality. Perhaps that has become so important to me because I can't really see, don't really believe for myself. I always thought it was them. I was just fine. It was everyone else that was messed up. They had the problem. I had it right. But maybe not.
Why else would it matter so much to me, this question of my Beauty and their ability to see it? If I truly believe in it myself, will I even notice if anyone else does?
I've labored under the delusion that if the Beauty is there, but no one else can see it, then I must be doing something wrong. If I have a Beauty, that no one else is able to discern, then I'm distorting it or hiding it- misrepresenting it somehow.
Sometimes I fear that it has been taken, stolen from me. Squelched or squashed. It was there, at some point, but I lost it.
I fear I have learned:
To impersonate Beauty rather than embody it;
To stalk Beauty rather than invite it;
To grasp Beauty rather than embrace it.
But can a Beauty really be robbed of her Beauty?
Can I recall how to Be?
Can I learn to Release?
Can I endeavor to Forgive?
What if I am ugly? Body and soul and heart, through and through. What if I am not much more than the hate and fear and self-loathing that seems to spring up in me out of nowhere and fill me with rivers of doubt?
Surely some beauty is deception. But is all Beauty deception? Vanity? Smoke and mirrors? A soft voice and a mild manner? Paint and pins? A carefully crafted illusion well-planned and honed over time?
My being says no. I believe in Beauty. I believe in the purpose, the power, the purity of Beauty. I believe it has worth, meaning, healing powers even. There is truth in Beauty and access to love. Beauty draws us, comforts and preserves us, and at its highest, a fleeting glimpse of raw and unvarnished Beauty can be a revelation of the Divine.
Beauty matters. It always will.
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