Ache. Breathe. Let Beauty Become You.
Some formless pleasure punctures the heart, and we begin to ache.
And it doesn’t take long for us to feel, in the tender cavern of our soul, that this is not an ordinary ache. This ache defines us. This ache whispers of the universal places we overlap. This ache doesn’t float on the surface of emotional waves, but sinks to the sand. Lands. And remains.
As we tiptoe towards it, we begin to sense the sacred jewel we are approaching. This ache reminds us that we are alive. That our heart is full and open. That we have been touched by something divine and eternal.
That we, as mere and mortal human beings, have the capacity to touch upon the mysteries before, behind, above, below, within, and around us.
This ache carves a deeper ravine, widens the channels that lead to the heart, creates gusts of wind to stir up the recognition of our own invisible existence. It tells us stories of love, of heartache, of loss, of loneliness, of yearning, of despair, of wonder. All of which belong in the great barrel of beauty.
I beg of you, my friend. Don’t place the lid on this barrel. Don’t turn away from the ache that runs in your veins and colors your blood gold. This is alchemical material. Even if it grows. Look at it, softly. Speak to it. Know, while it belongs to you, it emerged from a great well. That all of us humans share.
Here is the secret.
Beauty leaves an aching residue that has miraculous potential. The potential to awaken the sleeping godliness we all hold within. The potential to hold the opposites, lovingly, inside of us.
To know that when we love deeply, beauty is there. When we lose deeply, beauty is there. When we rejoice, beauty is there. When we mourn, beauty is there. Beauty is there in our vulnerability, in our aching rawness, in our ability to simply accept the full spectrum of our holy, emotional experience.
When we nod to the heart, in its full frailty and its full fortitude, beauty becomes us.
There is no longer a separation.
We feel it in our blood and the beat of our heart. Our life is her expression. We welcome her many shades and faces. We look for her everywhere. And rarely do we have to look very far for her discovery.
We no longer choose what we allow in to the heart and what we kick out.
It is all there.
Beauty becomes us. And we become beauty. And we move far beyond our individual existence into a vast space of all-embracing recognition.
And even if this is painful — even if it reminds us of our humble tenderness — we breathe it all in. Knowing we are entering an essential part of our collective story. It is now, and always has been, the story of our clan — the alchemical and achingly wondrous beauty of our becoming.
Like us, aching one…
“Beauty is not caused. It is.” ~ Emily Dickinson