Our tragedy started in our inability handle prolonged bouts of beauty. It’s the story told by people living around holy places (their loss of piety), and justified self-sabotages, and over-extended hiatuses.
Our tragedy started in our tendency to label things. In our discomfort with wabi-sabi.
Once we got too familiar with beauty, we lost our sense of wonder. And that loss is replaced with cold cruelty. And that cruelty is always directed first onto ourselves before anyone else, leaving us at a chronic state of dissatisfaction.
(Isn’t that why the good poets emanate from the same miserable place, themselves?)
The business of repackaging ordinariness into pretty blog posts (or ordinariness into exotic vacations and expensive purchases) started from a disgustingly beautiful place, where superfluity were a race and imperfections a shame.
Here’s a friendly tug to a (more forgiving, more accommodating) sense of beauty.
