I woke feeling unbeautiful .... You know that feeling, like you’ve somehow lost the favor of sun and now must learn how to be ugly and slow and dark with perpetual shadow? Feeling beautiful blips in and out for me. And then in and out again. But this morning I woke with a terrible thirst.
I put up with the blip in and out because I was scared. Scared to really look, scared that somehow presence would make it even worse, like driving a car that’s making increasingly unsettling noises and driving on, just hoping it’ll somehow resolve itself instead of opening the damn hood.
Here’s me opening the damn hood on beauty.
Beneath the desire to feel beautiful is a thirst. The thirst cannot be quenched by being seen as beautiful because it is the thirst to BE beautiful.
To ride the Beautiful Wave, that feeling of profound and radiant okayness, when the inner shimmer is matched exactly by the outer. The beauty of that symmetry when the swag is conditionless and soft and in harmony with the Original Cosmic Swag: compassion, openness, yesness and grinning all over town.
If my beautiful has condition, it lasts as long as the condition: one good hair day for one day of feeling beautiful. One hour of post coital gazing from lover is one hour of feeling radiantly beautiful.
Access to my innate beauty that lasts only as long as a lover’s gaze makes me want to snip out their eyeballs and take them, so they will never stop gazing at me.
Or, and this is the way less Hannibal Lecter path, how about a steadier, more fun, more in my integrity and less conditional access portal to the Beautiful Wave?
The wanting behind this thirst, is, of course, to have better and clearer fun with existence. Me forgetting my own luminosity makes it inevitable I won’t be able to steadily see others.
The work I do to recover my own timeless, conditionless Beautiful Nature is the work to see and help others see their own. It’s so so so so so SO SO SO SO SOsosososososoosoooo much more fun to love than it is to judge and whisper gossip in your own head like a valley girl.
Love is fun. Judgement is so late nineties.
So, that’s not news, really. We all get that we need to find a steadier point of access, like “love thyself and let others off thy hook” and all of that, but what does it really mean to learn and come home in the essence of your own Beautiful Wave?
I’m not that sure. Hence the thirsty, ugly feeling morning.
Darlings, will you think less of me if I admit that somewhere deep in me there’s a part of me that very seriously thinks I will only be loved if I am pretty? Or that I often indulge in comparing myself with other more symmetrical faced women with boobs of a bouncier nature and I do not fare well in the comparing?
As if a sapling had any business comparing it’s tiny perfect leaves with the bark of a dying ancient Elm or the barnacles of a rock that once exploded into lava only a few quick million years ago.
I can see that instead of cultivating true habits of expansion that actually open me to the Beautiful wave that I actually am, I have lazily taken the Approval shortcut and withered my own capacity to Be beautiful.
Being dependent on the I Am Pretty You Approve of Me paradigm also makes jealousy, ownership and neediness kind of inevitable. I wasn’t kidding about the snipping out the eyeballs thing.
Great, thank you for that. And onward. To be quite frank, I am not completely dependent on other’s approval for feeling beautiful, or upon conditions. It’s something that I lose awareness of, when a lover goes away, when I have another baby, when I get lazy and start feeding on the approval cycle again and lose a handle on my own clear seeing.
But there are times when I don’t lose access, when I am staunchly standing tall in a kind of conditionless beauty that I know as my truest state, like when I teach, when I dance, when I am generous and give with a whole heart, when I design, when I’m down on my knees and howling to the gods of paint to let me In, when I love even though I have no reason to, when I say yes to a deeper truth even though it scares the pants off of me, when I go out of my way to bring delight or joy into someone’s life … I am luminous, and heedless of even the term beauty. What does such a thin notion of beauty have any business doing here in This Great Light?