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.
