Blue

“Do you want to know why the bad things in this world jump out at us much more than the good things? It’s because the good things, they’re everywhere. The good things are like white noise; we stop noticing it but it’s there. Just like the sound of these birds. That’s the good stuff. We have a blue sky that we could waste a whole day looking at. The trees are green. The breeze is blowing. And if you think about it, every inch of this world is so beautiful if you just take the time to look.”

~ billowandmull

White noise. Static on the dial. Desensitization to the glory of reality.

We can only take so much beauty, can only see glimpses of the face of God, before we are overwhelmed. Like our olfactory patches that can only take in a smell for so long before growing tired and immune, so to are our souls. At an early age, wonder dims. There is so much that we just can’t give it all our attention, and we begin to winnow down the stacks, to pick and choose, to ignore. We slowly grow numb to the wonder of the world around us.

This is a necessary filtration, there is no doubt, as there truly is only so much brainspace before the wires frazzle and crack, but so often we winnow so much, we filter so religiously, we wear ruts in the paths of our life and lose our ability to wonder altogether. We winnow and sort and choose the practical so often that we misplace altogether our sense for the beautiful. We close the eyes of our heart to make space for other things deemed in the moment, moment after moment, more important, and we gradually forget how to open them at all. Beauty becomes white noise. Love falls into a distant background hum. The splendor of life pulsing all around us becomes nothing more than the paper that has covered that stairway wall for our whole lives, the paper we might not be able to even describe anymore, if asked.

“It can feel foolish to pause to marvel at the stars when the world is burning. Or to find the whole world beautiful when you’ve known it to betray you. But wonder is a liberation practice. A reminder that we contain more than tragedy. Beauty is our origin and our anchor.”

~ Black Liturgies

But opening the eyes of the heart is not an ability that can ever fully be taken from us, even by ourselves. If asked, if inquired of, if awakened, we can choose to look at that wallpaper once again, to notice anew the delicate strokes, the vibrant colors, the nicks and smudges that the years have added. We can see, if only we open our eyes once again to the wonder all around.

We can always open our eyes afresh. We can always learn to see again. And we can also always open the door for others to do the same.

We can Be The Asker. We can point at the moon. We can love louder today than yesterday. We can, on our better days, shine our light out brightly and maybe just happen to be the spark that might help one other person to see the wallpaper for the first time in years. To hear the white noise and notice, for the first time in a week, or a year, or a lifetime, that white is composed of the whole spectrum of color, that that white noise is full up with magnificence, that life is more beautiful than we generally are capable of taking in.

“Inhale.
^{I pause to behold.}Exhale.
^{Even here, there is beauty.}“

~ Black Liturgies

There is no doubt that we are living in a dark space these days. I do believe that it is true that life on earth is better than it has ever been, but that fact can’t paper over the horrors present right now. It’s hard to see though the grime and sleaze and hatred and ugliness. They are real.

But just as real, even if hidden in plain sight…

The beauty hasn’t gone anywhere, and still waits patiently for us to open our eyes. It waits to be noticed. It waits to show us once again the wonder of being alive.

The blue sky
is always there.

Love louder. For yourself. For all of us.

“Are you more prone to pay attention to the beautiful or terrible? Where did you learn this way of seeing? What is its benefit and what is its risk?
It can be hard to witness the ugliest parts of humanity. How do we avoid using beauty as a tool of escapism?
Explore a memory of a time when you were captivated by beauty. What allowed you to bear witness well?”

~ Black Liturgies