I'm having a bit of a moment here. I'm sorry I've not hemmed up my plaid skirt yet, so I don't have that to show. However, I'm in the midst of an existential crisis of sorts....
Beauty is what is real. The original state of natural things is beauty. Love is beauty.
I want to look at dirt and growing things and waves and rocks and trees and flowers and mists and rain and sun shining through the clouds and leaping cats and children laughing and my husband working in the yard and people embracing on their wedding day and birds flying in the sky.
I want to listen to the wind in the trees and the scream of a falcon and the burbling of a stream and the roar of a lion.
I want to feel my husband's hand on my skin, taste the sweetness of an orange, smell the sage and salt on the evening breeze, enjoy the heat of a shower on muscles aching from physical labor.
Give me real. Give me real experiences and the world the way it ought to work.
I don't want to see anger, I don't want to see asphalt, I don't want to see shiny plastic. I don't want to hear the TV and I don't want to hear your car stereo, and I definitely don't want to hear you fighting.
I'm... angry. I'm angry at ugliness and the way that the beauty of original creations has been twisted to become ugliness. I don't want to play anymore. GO AWAY. Ugliness hurts me. It hurts all of us, I believe. We damage ourselves, become acclimated to the damage, damage ourselves yet more. STOP. Stop. Come back to beauty, come back to wholeness, come back to truth.
I don't have words to describe beauty, the beauty in the small things, but I am grown impatient with non-reality, and I'm about ready to become a hermit playing in the dirt.
Beauty is ... my life. It's food to me. I hunger. And I.will.feed.