Oftentimes we find ourselves wondering where time has gone. Where are those memories we safely tucked away, soon to find them, missing. We focus so much on our goals and proving ourselves, we skim over living: the here and now and nuanced beauty, layered within the passing minutes. We are distracted by the bells and whistles, the ping of our phones, scrolling images, noise. So much so that we miss the point of living, always searching for what we already have. Searching for what’s next.
“Beauty is a portal to life: time traveler, historian, wormhole to who we are, elixir.”
Beauty, with its magic has its ploy, pulls us from the frenzy of our everyday. When we’re seeing, life opens up, pauses, allowing us to see beyond its surface edges. Beauty is a portal to life: time traveler, historian, wormhole to who we are, elixir.
It’s not enough for us to look, but to see and to listen, capture the nuances of moments that pass. To feel the bark of a tree with our eyes, fingers, memory and emotion. Know its deeper movement, complicated roots of support and communication. See its leaves that fall and cling, its buds that burst and bloom. To move amongst the trees is to see time changing, to see beauty, know history: humble in our lives fleeting.
We are mortals, part of a circular system: of beauty and wonder, beginning and end, singular and plural. Beauty attracts us, ties us with a thread of history. Human on a planet of others, bee in a hive.