(This is a post I wrote a few years ago, when we were in a throes of a devastating family crisis. (Now, thankfully, behind us.) It was first published on my blog, Cabin and Camp. )
It’s early morning and I’m sitting on my deck looking out at water so placid it could be a painting. Farther out, past the point that sculpts our bay, the wind is churning up the waves and I see two sailboats heading west toward the shipping channel. I hear a mourning dove calling, and now a string of Canada Geese are working their way along the shore. A while ago a kingfisher landed on our dock post and sat still for just a moment before taking off again.
It’s quiet this morning and even in August there is a Fall chill in the air. The dew is heavy on the grass, and even though I’m bundled up in sweats and shivering under an afghan, I’m overwhelmed and suddenly grateful for these beautiful moments.
I come from a long line of depressives and have had to fight it many times in my life. My own cure comes, I’m convinced, from aggressively seeking out beauty. But I’m not the first one to grasp the profound healing properties of beautiful things.
Since early man we humans have purposely sought out anything that even hints of feel-good properties. We adorn ourselves with objects that have no necessary function other than to please us. We pierce our ears (and other body parts) in order to hang shiny doodads from them. From the earliest times we’ve woven fabrics and intricately etched leathers into colorful clothing. We’ve scratched and stained our skin, creating fabulous tattoos. We’ve worried our hair and plastered it with glop in order to create a whole new us. The history of adornment tells us much about what separates us from the animals. I believe its roots are in our almost desperate need for beauty.
Beyond our own self-images, we’ve created beauty by gathering seeds and planting flowers in otherwise barren places. We’ve painted gloriously vibrant scenes on cave walls. We’ve built structures of staggering proportions under seemingly impossible conditions for no other reason than to protect and admire the gorgeous treasures we’ve created.
And throughout all time we’ve lavished attention and affection on those few mortals who stun us with their own creative visions. From artists to musicians to writers to sports idols to moviemakers, we love them for their ability to transcend the ordinary and bring us outside of ourselves to a beautiful ecstasy we can never stop craving.
The kind of beauty that calms us to our very souls can be found almost anywhere. I remember seeing a photograph of an old woman standing proudly in a tiny, filthy room strewn with trash. She herself was dressed in rags, but she was smiling and pointing to her one, lone window. She found an old calendar somewhere and had torn out the pages and taped them to her window. Whatever dismal view she once had was now replaced with visions of the Taj Mahal, the pyramids at Giza; with mountaintop sunrises and Chinese junks on a lovely, winding river.
Beauty is a gift we can all give ourselves; a treasure free for the taking and available everywhere, if we only open our eyes to the wonders of it.