In the days that I have lived, time has been long, and short. Depending on my mood and placement in the space of time. I think, and think, until my mind is nothing but a meddling of mismatched thoughts that no other reader can in fact understand.
The latest in this melody of consciousness that is my mind has come to a simple question. What is beauty?
Can it be defined in a paragraph, like some peice of land? Can it truly be contained in a novel, for which a nameless (yet famous) author of that period has written merely to survive? Is this ideal of beauty a flow of changes that comes with the evolution of mankind?
Or is beauty, in its own truth something that we cannot depict to other individuals? It is in fact one of the most unattained ideals of man, to be that wanted, most treasured thing. For which men would throw themselves into a pit of flames, merely to see the perfect face.
Our society, as many in the past, hasd createdits own image of the perfect man or woman. A thin female, with a large smile and eyes that seem to brim with unamounted nothingness. A man with perfect muscles and a strong heart for which he can do steady work.
We try futilely to chase this mirror image, twisting around so quickly on the road of life that we fall. Why do this?
Because people are terrified of what they do not understand, and they have never understood themselves.
"Why do I want that?" "I shouldn't be this way, it's not right." " I wish I were her."
That is a falsehood, one that most of the world, in fact I sometimes believe everyone does not realize. The world of advertising is false, it is painful, it is something that we as individuals must nearly ignore to find our own peace, and in that our own selves.
Stop trying to 'loose weight' to fit an image, do that for your health, or for your own wants. Don't do drugs simply to gain an image of some rock star, or a hooker on a television screen. These idols do not in fact exist, but you.
Beauty, perfection, the all-important loveliness that comes with such a price that we smite ourselves with pain, tearing at our eyes and cutting into our very flesh. Or at least that is what many believe, cut, slice, destroy! Make anew in the image of the human made gods of the current times.
Depart from these thoughts, find the movements of the wind, the caress of the ocean, those things are beautiful!
Oh but listen well, child of Socrates, the reader who has found that the modern ideals are not complete, they are in fact. Mistaken. The only true magnificence that exists is within you.
It is, in us.
It is that nameless woman sitting upon an abandoned road, inside her sunlit garden. The small girl who plays hopscotch on the gray concrete outside her school, jumping into the air, her small brown braids bouncing with each fit of laughter. It is every person, who takes the truth that they are, who they are. Making sure to accomplish the little goals that they set out each day with perfect contentment.
Life is beauty.
That is the truth of beauty, it is in every one of us. It is everyone of us, if only we would take that knowledge and perpetuate it, allowing the blinding white light of our hearts to be guides to those who find such hatred for themselves.
Maybe then we can find that the world, is no longer such a horrid place.