by G E Barr

Created on: September 03, 2008

THE ESSENCE OF APPRECIATION

"There is no excellent beauty that hath not some strangeness in the proportion." -Sir Francis Bacon

When I pass a building, I will attribute its beauty to its history. I am not a fan of modern architecture. I am not a fan of sharp corners or 100 floors. Nor faux Victorian diddly.

For me, beauty does not shout, nor does it advertise. It simply is, for whomever shall see it and know it.

I have seen human beings, who, on the outside were not attractive, but on the inside, I would liken them to a rose. I have seen these "roses" in the midst of what I would consider horrible circumstances, and yet the roses went on as though they were strengthened and nourished by something.

I don't have this kind of beauty. A storm builds in my heart and my mind is too complex. Perhaps, someday I shall attain it, but I might not. For me, giving up for others was hoist upon me. It was not a beautiful soul within me. No. I've done what I had to do. This is what happens when one loses their life path, whether it was their choice or forced upon them. You wake up one day and realize that beauty has taken on a whole new meaning.

When I am deep in thought, I look angry. But I am not angry. It is as if physically, I am "hiding" myself to be safe in thought. Because, let's face it, people are much less likely to disturb someone who is sitting there, looking angry. But I did not acquire this on purpose. All of my daughters have this trait. Perhaps it is an adaptation passed on for safe thinking. Because, as history will tell you, women don't think much and nice looking women should never think. Thus, an unfriendly face when we are deep in thought.

Beauty, like art, is a subjective matter.

I think one of the most beautiful men to have ever lived, based solely on what he wrote was Kahlil Gibran. His poetry is like a vision of a deep pool where beauty continues to emerge.
And it beckons me to remember what is truly beautiful and to wrap it around my heart and keep it close to me.

Then real life winds whip me about when I go out into the day and I forget the beauty that I'd held in my heart.

Deep, profound beauty requires meditation to find.

But the faces of my grandchildren are like summer blossoms that never fade and they smile at me and their beauty resonates and their voices are like the wind which blows softly through a meadow. They call to me, genetic echoes. Reminding me that love itself, is beauty. An indescribable beauty. Were these children not beautiful, I would still see them as beautiful.

Beauty either is, or it is cultivated. And I have seen storms, which were capable of and did great damage, but they were beautiful to behold. Mighty is that beauty. Terrifying. And yet spell binding.

I would be afraid to be very beautiful. It has such responsibilities. Just the social niceties are no doubt heavy. And the expectation bitterly demanding.

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