There is no home. We will die unnamed buried in unmarked graveyards of broken dreams. And so, we pray for ourselves and our children. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit: I give thee unto the grace of the waters of the lord as you sail on your journey afar. Bless us as we surrender our souls to the perils of the unknown. Watch over us as we move in the fear of darkness. Welcome and accept us as we reach our destinations broken and tortured. For such are the toils of life.

I once travelled far from everything I knew. I did not know how far I would go; but a part of me always knew that this journey would lead to a grey place where the sun shines with no shadows – where joy is blunted. It is surprisingly remarkable how much people take for granted, the freedom to just be, to be. To act without inhibition and to be care-free. I say some only because some of us are born free in the same sense that only some of us are born wealthy, and others are born poor. In these conditions, one is forced to revisit simple notions which are assumed as given, as things which go without saying. These are ideas and notions about how we relate to each other, how we treat each other, and how we see each other. Because after violent destruction follows desolation – this almost empty feeling – and after that comes nothing else but evocations from pain. One runs from a storm or flees the deadly waves of the ocean to come upon the desert.

It is striking how often we remark at something which might otherwise be called tragic or sad, as beautiful. Yet, this inescapable fact is the open secret to perhaps helping to understand one of life’s mysteries and its miseries. The beauty of life is in its beginnings and ending. Its joy and sadness. And when one examines it more closely, what is perhaps generally regarded as sad, though true as an emotional experience, is perhaps a much deeper recognition of a serene beauty. I am re-learning to see beauty; how to see it, on the inside, and on the outside.

Sometimes I find myself lying on a floating bed of memories; shrouded in darkness. I learnt again that the night is indeed dark and full of terrors. I opened my eyes and all I could see was nothing, nothing but darkness and desolation all around me. It was the desert again. Then I closed my eyes and felt terror – a terror I could not see. Just memories. Memories and sounds and aches of my body; I could feel the aching movement of emotion as if fists were being plummeted at me yet in my mind’s eye, I saw nothing, nothing but darkness. I opened my eyes once more but found no respite, no light to guide me to friendlier shores. The bed I was floating on was adamant to keep me in this sea of water where I saw nothing but darkness.

I am now struggling to remind myself of the lesson I learnt, or am learning, because I easily forget. The lesson is how to understand beauty, how to look at it. To understand its grace and subtle charm. Its pain and sorrow. To see its wonder, its mischief and joy; the playful elegance and delight of its impermanence. Perhaps above all, I am learning to see it for what it is; first in myself, and then perhaps in others. To see its cracks and fissures; the imperfections and banalities. Its vanity and ambition. And also, its boredom and indifference.

But perhaps that is not as important. For what does one make of beauty’s joy – if there is such a thing beauty can call its own, and the pleasant warmth it gives to those who behold it? The remarkable joy both of beauty itself, and what it brings, like love, kindness and compassion.

We are each vessels of creation – if you believe in such a thing. Expressions of a mysterious animating force that we call life. To respect the other is to recognise and acknowledge this principle. And thus, to truly see beauty, to understand what it is, is to see and respect the other as an embodiment of what we call life; to understand that as an expression of beauty. So that whenever we enjoy beauty’s grace, are mesmerised by it, its allure, its kindness, and enthralled by its beauty, we realise that we are participating and connecting with life itself.  

But you must remember too the underside of beauty; the truth of its ugliness. It’s horror and heartbreak.

To do this, to share in beauty and life, one must understand its particular form and manifestation without imposing one’s impression. This too is a remarkably complex philosophical point of inquiry.

This then leads us in an almost roundabout way to the basic question; we have explored how to see and understand beauty. But what is it? What is beauty? It should be clear that I am very suggestive when I use this idea of life’s animating force. If you think about it, what makes life beautiful?