Tag Archives: Beauty

The Eye of the Beholder

It was an episode of the black-and-white TV series The Twilight Zone. On November 11, 1960, viewers were presented with a woman lying in a hospital bed, her face covered in bandages. Doctors and nurses came and went, their faces wrapped in shadow, or their bodies turned away from the camera.

“Ever since I was a little girl, people turned away when they looked at me … one little child screaming … I’m used to bandages on my face. I’ve lived my whole life inside a dark cave.”

At the nursing station, the verdict was divided:

“If it were my face, I’d bury myself in a grave someplace.”

“Deeper than that twisted lump of flesh, deeper than that skeletal mask, I’ve seen that woman’s real face, nurse. It’s a good face. It’s a human face.”

On the TV overhead, the nation’s leader is giving a speech:

“Tonight I shall talk to you about glorious conformity … the pleasure of our unified society … We must conform to the norm!”

And now a conversation between doctor and patient:

“We’ll take the bandages off soon, Miss Tyler. You may very well have responded to these last injections … if not, please know that there are many others who share your misfortune … you can’t expect to live any kind of life among normal people … perhaps you’ll move into a special area in which people of your kind have been congregated.”

“You mean segregated!”

Later, the time of reckoning is at hand:

“We’ve done all we could do.”

“If I’m still terribly ugly, could I please be put away?”

“Under certain circumstances, the state provides for the extermination of undesirables.”

The bandages are slowly unwrapped. At the last turn, nurses gasp and cover their eyes. “No change!” Miss Tyler bursts from the room, running down the hall past horrified onlookers.

At the end of it all, Miss Tyler is introduced to Mr. Smith, “a representative of the group you’re going to live with. In a little while, you’ll feel a sense of great belonging.”

***

To help you appreciate this story even more, here are some photos:

The first shows a dedicated doctor and nurse, overwhelmed by the appearance of the patient.

Next is the disfigured Miss Tyler.

Finally, a similar abomination, Mr. Smith, offers Miss Tyler a place amid the untouchables.

Sadness

A Spinning Top

The ad popped onto my phone this morning: Above all, a top must be simple, elegant and designed forever. The words were accompanied by a photo – a perfectly balanced top doing its thing.

I said yes in that moment.

There was no research, no plotting of uses, no cost-benefit analysis. There was just yes.

I stared at the simplicity, the balance … the beauty of the object. What is happening to your brain, my man? I didn’t know and I didn’t care.

Bruce – what does this thing cost? Shhh.

What good is it? Shhh.

Are you nuts? Shhh again.

And … you better not write about this on WordPress! (Sigh)

I sat quietly and listened. The “yes” was coursing through me, uninformed by rational thought. There wasn’t any bloated verbiage, only that one word.

It was time to see what the company had to say:

According to recent studies, fiddling with items at your desk can aid thought process and improve productivity.

Nah

Learn about the colors, weights and attributes of the metals of our tops.

Nah

We all love to challenge ourselves! Beat your own spin times, or better yet, compete with your friends for pizza and drinks.

Nah Nah

In a few days, my titanium top and a circular glass base will knock on my door. I will welcome them into my family.

Enough said

Beauty

A bluebell woodland in England

Terraced rice fields in China

The hills of Tuscany in Italy

***

I ask myself “What is beauty?” There are many possibilities. Before your eyes are some of the world’s wonders. Drink in the mauves, the spring leaves, the shining waters, the touches of yellow, the feminine curves of the land. Our souls delight in the display.

Of all the images, though, my soul flies to the white horse. She is gazing at all of us, seeking out the end point of her affection. The Earth gladdens the eyes but the breathing being reaches the heart.

My personal favourites are human. They need not be splashed with colour, have cascading hair or smoothness of skin. They might be young, they might not. But there is an entrance to mystery that brings me to silence. And so I abide at the windowsill …

The Hand

It’s quite a miracle, really.  I could list all the sweet things that hands can do for us but you know those already.  Besides, it doesn’t feel like the way to go tonight.  There’s a mystery to this object that goes beyond its function.

The design of the hand just begs for reaching out, for beckoning, for drawing the other close.  Of course we can do that with words but there’s something magical about the curling of the fingers.

The palm is pretty cool.  There are all those lines and the stories they apparently tell … about me.  Then there’s the fact that the whole thing is a cup.  It’ll hold water.  It’ll hold anything that’s precious.

Growing up, I had no clue what a “whorl” was.  I do now, and it’s a pretty funky word.  Staring minutely at my fingertips reveals all these curved lines.  I wonder where they’re going.  I love how they meander across the skin … my skin.

The backs are immense as well.  I stretch my hand upwards and all these bones appear, in a fan shape.  I often look at the backs of my hands.  They remind me that I’m physical – an animal, full of bones and veins.  Blood is reaching every little bit of my dear body.  Nothing is left out.

I like the four and one nature of my fingers and thumb.  They get to embrace each other in a universal “okay” sign.  When they spread apart, there are lovely spaces between.  If I’m paying attention, I see that the space around things, and people, is important.  Room to breathe.

Then there’s the mirror effect – the left hand and the right.  They teach me the inner wonders of symmetry.  Plus I love it when they cuddle together, and when they fly apart to the sky.

And now my hands rest.

One hand I extend into myself
The other toward you

Green and Brown

Green

It was a TV commercial yesterday, featuring a wildly enthusiastic advocate of lawn maintenance.  Happily, three types of grass seed are available to the discriminating customer:

Tough – for a strong, resilient lawn!
Relaxed – for a healthy lawn that takes less effort
Awesome – for your greenest, thickest lawn (worthy of a trophy)

We are left with a question for the ages:  What kind of lawn do you want?

Brown

Toubacouta, Senegal.  Yes, I saw grass there … clumps of long, wispy dryness.  The land was beige, without the extravagance of neon.  The soccer fields were made of the same.  Clouds of dust were sent aloft by the wind.  The only brilliant green I remember was in the women’s luscious dresses.

Is there a better/worse here?
If so, could it be different than what Western eyes see?

What Is Hidden?

Jack Kornfield is a Buddhist teacher at Spirit Rock Meditation Center near San Francisco. In his book The Wise Heart, he tells us of a wonder:

In a large temple north of Thailand’s ancient capital, Sukotai, there once stood an enormous and ancient clay Buddha. Though not the most handsome or refined work of Thai Buddhist art, it had been cared for over a period of five hundred years and had become revered for its sheer longevity. Violent storms, changes of government, and invading armies had come and gone, but the Buddha endured.

At one point, however, the monks who tended the temple noticed that the statue had begun to crack and would soon be in need of repair and repainting. After a stretch of particularly hot, dry weather, one of the cracks became so wide that a curious monk took his flashlight and peered inside. What shone back at him was a flash of brilliant gold! Inside this plain old statue, the temple residents discovered one of the largest and most luminous gold images of Buddha ever created in Southeast Asia. Now uncovered, the golden Buddha draws throngs of devoted pilgrims from all over Thailand.

The monks believe that this shining work of art had been covered in plaster and clay to protect it during times of conflict and unrest. In much the same way, each of us has encountered threatening situations that lead us to cover our innate nobility.

Just as the people of Sukotai had forgotten about the golden Buddha, we too have forgotten our essential nature. Much of the time we operate from the protective layer. The primary aim of Buddhist psychology is to help us see beneath this armoring and bring out our original goodness, called our buddhanature.

This is a first principle of Buddhist psychology: see the inner nobility and beauty of all human beings.

The statue stands ten feet tall. It is made of solid gold and weighs five-and-a-half tons.

Grace

Sometimes there are no words. There is simply an image to allow in.

When I’m at home, after showering and breakfast, it’s time to explore the world. I stand beside my bed and put on shirt and pants. My eyes are looking towards the ensuite bathroom and the photograph on the wall. It’s a ritual for me, and in the three years since I moved to Belmont, the experience has deepened.

It’s not just unconscious buttoning. It’s gazing towards another ocean. It’s glimpsing another realm of the spirit.

Outstretched. Beckoning. Including.

There is a stillness as the tail reaches its highest point, and a yearning for the surge downward. There is strength. There are the curves of nature and the wonder of water all around. There are the drips falling down to rejoin the sea.

The image hushes my breath every time. No life lessons come easily at such moments but I know that standing quietly and looking softly are important. Someone broader than me knows what’s happening. I’ll just continue to revel in the salute, the blessing and the photographer’s eye.

Slo Mo

I love watching women.  I love watching women tennis players.  This week the best eight players in the world are competing in the WTA Finals.  The matches aren’t available on TV in Canada.  Instead I see them on DAZN, a streaming service.  It’s pretty cool … everything in HD, and no commercials.

The video cameramen and women are brilliant, not just during the run of play but also when the athletes are resting between games.  What’s especially marvelous are the closeups of human beings, and the times when the grace of tennis is revealed in slow motion.  I just stared this morning at the beauty of it all.  Here are some of my favourite moments:

1.  A young girl in the audience, eyes soft, her head resting on her arm

2.  A photographer’s index finger poised on the button of his camera

3.  A player running after the ball … the rippling of the thigh muscles as the foot lands

4.  A closeup of a player’s eyes as she ponders life while resting on her bench

5.   Fingers curled in a fist pump as she celebrates a winner

6.  An Asian spectator, her mouth forming a circle after a great shot

7.  A hand gently squeezing a ball, ready to serve

8.  The flex of the foot on the serve, the muscle above the tennis shoe moving with the tendon

9.  A cut on the leg, the blood dabbed away and then slowly reappearing

10.  Just a ball floating upwards on the serve … oh so slowly

11.  The hands of two champions coming together at the end of the match

***

The slow motion created these dances
I was transfixed by the loveliness, the flow, the rhythms of sport
Thank you, DAZN

Napoli

Lydia and me in Napoli

***

I had heard lots of negative stuff about Naples: it was dirty, smelly, and so congested with traffic that you couldn’t drive into the city. So why go? Lydia was interested in seeing the catacombs – underground burial sites from as long ago as 200 AD. She and Curd figured out that we could drive to Caserta, take the train to downtown, and then the subway to the resting place of the ancients. Okay, let’s do it. I’ll hold my nose when the time comes.

We climbed the steps out of the Metro station, and just like my first view of New York in January, I was blasted with life – tall buildings with their laundry flapping off balconies, surges of smiling faces, cobbled streets. “Oh my God … where am I?” I just stood.

We headed up an incredibly narrow street, with five levels of balconies looming above, and cars squeezing by as we hugged the walls. Sadly, we were in destination mode, and I wasn’t fully being with my world. Soon we were at the gate of the catacombs and descending many stairs to the dark entrance. Stone walls said “Come on in” and we walked where the flesh and bones of thousands of people had come to rest. There were large holes in the walls for adults, small ones for kids. It was quiet and we were quiet. Only the tones of our tour guide broke the spell.

What did I want down here? It wasn’t holes in walls. There were many frescoes painted in recesses, showing wealthy folks. I wanted their eyes. And so I wandered around, seeking communion. Eye contact with those who have been dead for centuries … it was magical. There were messages coming towards me but they were just beyond my conscious mind.

We meandered through Napoli for hours. Little cafés welcomed us in. Servers smiled. Lovers kissed. Folks walked through the squares hand in hand. The descending sun shone golden on old stone. Life rippled around us and through us. Alleys hosted tiny bars with a couple of tables. I looked and looked and was everywhere mesmerized by the beauties.

I’m coming back, dear Napoli, hopefully with a new life partner. Together we will join the smiles, the pizza, the light on the harbour towards sunset. Such a home for celebrating love. All of us human beings deserve to be here.

Mesmerica

There are IMAX movie theatres, where the show is projected onto a huge dome ahead and above. Then there’s Mesmerica, which I experienced today. The six of us sat in our tilted chairs as computerized patterns of light blended with fanciful music. The creator, James Hood, wanted us to experience an altered state of consciousness … and happiness.

There were moments of transcendence. Peacock feathers vibrated above me. Giant discs of light slowly descended, morphing as they fell. It felt like God was embracing me.

On one arm of the journey, a beam of bluish light wound its way through a forest of deciduous trees, over this branch and under that one. I joined in the search, for what I don’t know. The seeking was soft and sweet.

The explosions of colour throughout the hour felt so new. Mr. Hood let his mind open, and fresh air clearly rushed through. What appeared before us just didn’t exist a year ago. What majesty to bring something unknown into being.

Beyond the openmouthedness of it all was the swirl of disorientation. The constant flow of the images brought me to a swoon. I bet I closed my eyes fifty times during the hour. I needed those respites for centering. A wee bit of me felt guilty for missing some of the display but I was happier when I was taking care of myself. The heavens were being revealed above but there was also a heaven inside to be embraced. And the patterns of light found their way through the eyelids and into my heart. All was well.