What are you looking at?
The truth of me is not beautiful at all
It’s the story of so much blood, tears and mud
Seeping into crevices, drying out and cracking
Under a relentless radiant gaze
Rendering my skin transparent to the sun.
Look! You won’t find anything inside
It’s all out here in front of me. All of it.
The debris of inspecting and judging
And downcast eyes while turning away.
I’m too modest and too proud
For the mechanics and toil of beauty
Too tired of endless repetition
Stripping down to perfection
Carving and threshing and tweaking
Until we’re all wearing the same face
And my eyes have turned opaque.
Once I saw a young boy dance his vision.
Another time, you and I sat for hours together
Contemplating unity and the nature of water.
In that moment your life took form
As the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.
Against a decoupage landscape of highlights and spotlights
Permanent looks of mild surprise and unfathomable ideals
Candid poses and so much inhumanly-toned skin;
Members of the Brotherhood-of-Lies
Have arrived at an entirely different truth than mine.
This is the second “Missive from the scrap heap”. It was written in response to a request a couple of days ago but it turned out to be inappropriate for that purpose. What is most interesting to me is how I experienced the idea of beauty 20 years ago compared to this surprising response to the idea of beauty now.