Beauty

Today I looked through some pictures a relative sent me of her time in France, her home country. The pictures were unbearingly beautiful. Unbearingly is not a word- but it works better than unbearable. It's an action - not a past tense thing. I felt nearly assaulted by the beauty. It was screaming at me: "What the hell are you doing with your life? Get out of your house!" It was also offering me a window into my own salvation. "Want hope and truth and goodness? Stare at me."

When things get hard, when I feel the weight of terribleness sitting on my chest and trying to poke holes into my soul, my breathing reaction is to find beauty. If I can just see the horizon on the ocean, if I can just catch a glimpse of the milky way, if I can somehow stand on a mountain with piercing blue skies and crisp air- then I will be saved. Then I can breathe. Then I won't drown.

I become desperate for beauty. 

Often I just long for it and grow depressed in my despair of not having it. Sometimes I am in the right place where I can see it clearly in front of me. Then times like yesterday, I get off my ass and create it my damn self. I plopped our dinner outside, built a fire in the fire pit, and suddenly, I had beauty. I stayed by the warm fire until it grew dark outside and the creatures of the night began yelling and carrying on in their usual way. I'm hardly ever outside for the transition from day to night and that is a soul-sucking crime. 

The bugs and frogs and who knows what else out there were all screaming at me: "It's about time you came out to hear us! Why do you ignore us?" I don't know. Something of practicality and logic keeps me indoors. It's a plastic wrap trap and I am trying to rip it off. 

Time, money, and adult responsibilities keep me from traveling the world and seeing the northern lights. But why? Time, money, and adult responsibilities are all temporary- and SO IS beauty. Why am I chasing the first? Why not chase beauty?