“There is no exquisite beauty… without some strangeness in the proportion.”
― Edgar Allan Poe
Beauty is an elusive concept. So very subjective and relative. So incredibly hard to define. But there may be one common feature to everything that has ever been considered beautiful. Beauty is not perfect.
Beauty does not glitter, shine and shimmer. It is not flamboyant, big and bold. Beauty does not brag. It hides in the smallest things – in the dew drops on a rose petal, in the way the sun shines on the lake waves, in the sound of laughter. Beauty can be found in a torn down building covered with ivy, in confused children’s games, and the most asymmetrical of art. Beautiful are the tears cried for somebody else’s pain, the sad songs, and the goodbyes of loved ones. Ice and fire are beautiful, even though they both take lives. And the night has beauty, even though it is black and cold and quiet. Beautiful are also the people who are flawed, but have big hearts, and make their way through their own mistakes and laugh while they do so. There is even beauty in death – in its stillness and the promise of another birth.
Nothing that is true is ever ugly. Everything that beats with life has beauty inside. But life is not eternal. It grows, expands, and then dies – and beauty dies with it. Maybe that is the big imperfection of beauty, the flaw that makes all beauty beautiful – temporariness. Beauty is admired because it can never be caught, never truly possessed. One day, it will all slip away, disappear, transform; and we will have to start looking for it someplace else.
I like people who laugh – a lot and from the heart. I like people when they talk about something that excites them and a spark lights up in their eyes. I like people who are creative, who recognize and appreciate art, and who love to invent new things. I like people who remain children by heart, who fool around and still know how to play. I like people who sing along to the songs they hear on the radio, or start dancing randomly just because they feel like it. I like people with taste. I like people who have the habit of looking you straight in the eyes, and those who actually hear, not just listen. I like those who are honest, genuine and true. I like people who speak their mind, people who are level headed, and people who are good-hearted. I like happy, smart and funny people, who are confident and relaxed. I like people who are open and kind, people who know how to care. I like people whose lives are filled with love and who are brave enough to follow their dreams. I like people who live in the moment, who don’t give in to rules, limitations, or public opinion. I like people who do it their way. I like colorful people, those who shine and bright up the room. I like people with an appetite for life. I like people with energy. And I love people who are human, flawed and imperfect, people who are a bit silly, goofy and special – those are my favorite kind of people.
Reality is small.
Limited by time and space,
by inches and by seconds.
It can fall
and break at any moment,
and with every step,
if we decide to move.
Reality is delicate.
An unknown truth, a hidden image,
even a simple word
will be enough
to make it seem absurd
and to tear it all apart.
Reality is stupid.
In understands only what it sees.
It is blind
for everything behind its back,
for every quiet word.
Reality cannot adapt
Everything that’s new
shakes its fragile foundations,
because reality refuses to believe
anything that comes from different worlds.
Reality is an illusion
that can be broken as easily as glass.
It is an inflexible and stiff
It is merely a reflection
of our own experience.
Reality are only things
that our senses are able to feel.
Things that exist right here, right now
are those that we consider real,
even if they die tomorrow.
There are infinite realities,
one for every person.
But reality accepts one truth,
and one truth only,
and considers all the others lies,
and shuts its eyes,
and goes on living lonely.
that reality is non-existing.
Can you manage that,
or are you still insisting?
Beginnings are hard. And scary. You have to step outside your comfort zone into an uncharted territory where just anything might happen.
Once, everything was a beginning, and it did not seem hard at all. Each day meant something new. We had to make our first steps, pronounce our first words. We went to school, made friends, and fell in love – all for the first time. We met new people and learned new things, and there were so many beginnings that they did not even seem scary anymore.
But then, we grew up. And got scared. There were fewer and fewer beginnings. The days just came and went, never bringing anything new with them. We did everything we had to. We tried it all. All the starts, the awkward first steps, the falls, and the fails – all of that was long behind us. The world had nothing new left to show us. But the saddest part was, that we did not even want to start something new. We were afraid it would throw us out of our balance, that we would embarrass ourselves. We were scared to death of not succeeding.
At one point, we would ask ourselves, “When was the last time I did something for the first time?” Unfortunately, we would not know the answer. The only thing we would know is that we became old and boring. No more beginnings. Only endings.
Beginnings are hard, sure. A blank page is staring right at you. You can write whatever your heart desires. If you do it wrong, you will have failed before you even started. But, if you do it right, everything will just fall into place. Sometimes, when you go out there, when you throw yourself into a new beginning, when you have no idea of what to expect – it is best just to close your eyes, and jump, and hope for the best …