The Search for Beauty
“Though we travel the world to find the beautiful, we must carry it with us or find it not.” -Ralph Waldo Emerson
Where is our place? What can determine where we decide our place is? Do we choose where it is beautiful or where we have a connection? Or perhaps, they are one in the same. I believe that our places come from something that our subconscious finds beautiful. But then what is beauty? Is it the untouched moss hanging from tall majestic evergreens or is it the systematic way in which the oil well pumps relentlessly to drain the ground but provide for us? Can beauty be where we have our fondest memories? Or is it in the now? Is it one place, or possibly wherever a certain person or thing is? Or can it be a whole host of places? I wonder if there are any rules about our place because I like to think that we define our own beauty, that the beauty we see in the world is a reflection of the beauty we carry.
I find beauty in memories. In memories I create or can actually recall. My mind used to be overflowing with memories like a flower bud that hadn't quite opened yet, but continued to grow and grow until it burst open, spilling its scent into the world. The scent of my memories had been lost to me, so I gathered all of the ingredients I could find, stories and pictures, to create the perfect perfume until I could find my own again. Now I have a beautiful unique scent made of the humid air in which my hair frizzes, the seal whisker a park ranger gave me accompanied by my first tick, the haunted house on the board walk, and rolling up my jeans to wade into the ocean.
I find beauty in change. In the power of change, not just as a big picture, but in the little details like the fact that the browns and dull colors of life have the chance to be vivid again. As I sit I can hear the water gently crashing its way through the maze of worn rocks. The wind plays the brush like the Pied Piper plays his pipes. The dead grass, killed by winter's hand, lies limp against the rolling ground and the sun prepares to warm the earth for a new generation. The eye draws up to the baby blue sky that I like an upside down ocean, and the clouds its crashing waves.
I find beauty in perspective. In the perspective that we can hate something, but still keep parts of it in our lives. It pumps relentlessly every day. It'll never give up until it is told that its time is up. It serves us. Helps us get around, stay warm, build, cook, create, but yet we hate it. It’s the miner that gives us our life sustaining fluids and it works for us, drawing that fluid we so desperately need. Yet it is told that it is ugly by the people who drive by using the oil that it delved deep into the earth to find. But I see it. It cannot help that it degrades the earth by taking her precious resources and it cannot help that it juts into our landscape like a fish out of water because we are the ones that put it there.
I find beauty in nature. In the way that nature can create the most beautiful colors and shapes. In the way that it can live harmoniously. My place has swirling whirlpools that are alive with colors that dance slowly and sultrily. Life ebbs and flows through the dance as the clear ocean water treads leisurely back and forth in time with the moon's rhythm. As the moon peaks over the oceanic horizon, the hustle and bustle of the day dies down and gradually the sounds of the crashing waves become the only sound in the white silence of the moon's domain.
I find beauty in the connections of the earth. In the way that everything lives and dies so that another can live. It dove down out of the sky onto the grassy island across from me. When it turned to look at me, time stopped. I could hear the full river paving its way over the rocks, I could smell the faint wetness in the air, I knew I was on the riverbed among the tall, dead rushes, I could feel my feet planted firmly on the pliable and soggy ground. But all of that was insignificant, even I was insignificant. The significance was in the fact that he looked right at me, and then continued on with killing his meal. But maybe that wasn't even the most important part, maybe it was that something so little had the power to make me realize that we all thrive together, for one another, but we've found a way to throw that balance.
I find beauty in people. In the hustle and bustle of people with places to go. I stood there, in a sea of people. Alone, but not alone. The buildings reach on, never ending like the world itself. People push and shove not caring about others as they search for the one building they must get to. But there is an art to it. Its seems as one large organism is rippling with energy, and the cells share their energy with others, sweeping them along for the ride. If you try to stop, the tidal wave will take you right back in.
I find beauty in the ugly. In the cell phone towers that obscure the night sky. In the dark it beacons to the stars, twinkling as they do, wanting to be just as powerful. But alas it cannot because it is grounded until the day it dies. It’s a warning. A warning not to come close as it is dangerous. For me, it is a beacon of hope, a beacon of prosperity. And a tower of life standing tall under its nearly unbearable burden.
My place is where people are, where I am, a certain place with fond memories, a place with enchanting beauty. I find beauty in nature, power, change, perspective, and everything around me. We just all have to look hard enough. My places have no limits and neither does the beauty I see in the world. I believe that the world is full of beauty and if we look hard enough we can find it. So that no matter what happens, whether it is pollution or a nuclear catastrophe, the world will always be the same in one way; there will always be beauty in the world. I know that that is one thing that will never ever change as long as we carry the beauty we hope to find with us.
Where is our place? What can determine where we decide our place is? Do we choose where it is beautiful or where we have a connection? Or perhaps, they are one in the same. I believe that our places come from something that our subconscious finds beautiful. But then what is beauty? Is it the untouched moss hanging from tall majestic evergreens or is it the systematic way in which the oil well pumps relentlessly to drain the ground but provide for us? Can beauty be where we have our fondest memories? Or is it in the now? Is it one place, or possibly wherever a certain person or thing is? Or can it be a whole host of places? I wonder if there are any rules about our place because I like to think that we define our own beauty, that the beauty we see in the world is a reflection of the beauty we carry.
I find beauty in memories. In memories I create or can actually recall. My mind used to be overflowing with memories like a flower bud that hadn't quite opened yet, but continued to grow and grow until it burst open, spilling its scent into the world. The scent of my memories had been lost to me, so I gathered all of the ingredients I could find, stories and pictures, to create the perfect perfume until I could find my own again. Now I have a beautiful unique scent made of the humid air in which my hair frizzes, the seal whisker a park ranger gave me accompanied by my first tick, the haunted house on the board walk, and rolling up my jeans to wade into the ocean.
I find beauty in change. In the power of change, not just as a big picture, but in the little details like the fact that the browns and dull colors of life have the chance to be vivid again. As I sit I can hear the water gently crashing its way through the maze of worn rocks. The wind plays the brush like the Pied Piper plays his pipes. The dead grass, killed by winter's hand, lies limp against the rolling ground and the sun prepares to warm the earth for a new generation. The eye draws up to the baby blue sky that I like an upside down ocean, and the clouds its crashing waves.
I find beauty in perspective. In the perspective that we can hate something, but still keep parts of it in our lives. It pumps relentlessly every day. It'll never give up until it is told that its time is up. It serves us. Helps us get around, stay warm, build, cook, create, but yet we hate it. It’s the miner that gives us our life sustaining fluids and it works for us, drawing that fluid we so desperately need. Yet it is told that it is ugly by the people who drive by using the oil that it delved deep into the earth to find. But I see it. It cannot help that it degrades the earth by taking her precious resources and it cannot help that it juts into our landscape like a fish out of water because we are the ones that put it there.
I find beauty in nature. In the way that nature can create the most beautiful colors and shapes. In the way that it can live harmoniously. My place has swirling whirlpools that are alive with colors that dance slowly and sultrily. Life ebbs and flows through the dance as the clear ocean water treads leisurely back and forth in time with the moon's rhythm. As the moon peaks over the oceanic horizon, the hustle and bustle of the day dies down and gradually the sounds of the crashing waves become the only sound in the white silence of the moon's domain.
I find beauty in the connections of the earth. In the way that everything lives and dies so that another can live. It dove down out of the sky onto the grassy island across from me. When it turned to look at me, time stopped. I could hear the full river paving its way over the rocks, I could smell the faint wetness in the air, I knew I was on the riverbed among the tall, dead rushes, I could feel my feet planted firmly on the pliable and soggy ground. But all of that was insignificant, even I was insignificant. The significance was in the fact that he looked right at me, and then continued on with killing his meal. But maybe that wasn't even the most important part, maybe it was that something so little had the power to make me realize that we all thrive together, for one another, but we've found a way to throw that balance.
I find beauty in people. In the hustle and bustle of people with places to go. I stood there, in a sea of people. Alone, but not alone. The buildings reach on, never ending like the world itself. People push and shove not caring about others as they search for the one building they must get to. But there is an art to it. Its seems as one large organism is rippling with energy, and the cells share their energy with others, sweeping them along for the ride. If you try to stop, the tidal wave will take you right back in.
I find beauty in the ugly. In the cell phone towers that obscure the night sky. In the dark it beacons to the stars, twinkling as they do, wanting to be just as powerful. But alas it cannot because it is grounded until the day it dies. It’s a warning. A warning not to come close as it is dangerous. For me, it is a beacon of hope, a beacon of prosperity. And a tower of life standing tall under its nearly unbearable burden.
My place is where people are, where I am, a certain place with fond memories, a place with enchanting beauty. I find beauty in nature, power, change, perspective, and everything around me. We just all have to look hard enough. My places have no limits and neither does the beauty I see in the world. I believe that the world is full of beauty and if we look hard enough we can find it. So that no matter what happens, whether it is pollution or a nuclear catastrophe, the world will always be the same in one way; there will always be beauty in the world. I know that that is one thing that will never ever change as long as we carry the beauty we hope to find with us.