It was really hard for me to come up with something beautiful that moved me to tears.
Maybe because my perception of beauty was stuck in a mental picture of some heavenly place on earth.
That has been my most recent focus lately. Rarely have I been moved that much by a place, as that kind of beauty can be found in all places and the feelings I associate with finding them touch me in a different way.
It floods the heart until it swells and it’s a happy place (almost like I’m lifted).
Quietly contemplating, I found my thoughts had stilled and for a time I believe I remembered nor could feel nothing.
However, bit by bit I started recalling moments of kindness and compassion I had witnessed by others to others, and the tug on the torn pieces of my own heart began to pull.
I don’t think anything compares to seeing the light in the eyes of someone who has stumbled and been helped up by an outstretched hand except for maybe the look on the face of a crumbling, softening body conforming to the body whose arms have wrapped tightly around a grieving soul.
Without compassion and kindness, there is no real beauty, or at least lasting beauty.
In the breath of a New York minute, that brilliant orange ball of light over that shimmering surface of water becomes a black void against an even darker wet chill
Or the flower with its perfect pedals wilts and withers in the heat of the mid-day sun.
This kind of beauty isn’t static.
It ebbs and flows, rises and falls, grows and burns away… but kindness lingers on.
Compassion is remembered always, if not in the mind’s eye then at least in a feeling; a deeper, warmer feeling. We all remember how it feels to having been kind to.
We all remember what it feels like to give it.
Knowing this, I can’t understand why its getting harder and harder to find.