The old man sat in his worn, fraying chair, looking out at the rain. His life felt like the rain, a continual pouring of water that kept running away and never settling. His face was lined with a map of his life and there was a kind of beauty and power in that. There were the frowns, laughter lines and minute emotional changes that mapped and described his life. He felt that he had seen it all and that nothing new could surprise him. The world would not see him as beautiful, with it’s obsession with glamour and celebrity, but in truth, there is more beauty there than on 100 red carpets.
There is more beauty in the mother’s pale face, as she copes with sleep deprivation and emotional exhaustion. Her hair dishevelled and the early lines visible on her face as she has no time for makeup. There is more beauty in the sleeping child with a facial disfigurement, distorted by imperfect gene changes, and yet a beautiful, gentle soul rests within. There is more beauty in the teenager, hoody drawn down, monosyllabic, scared to engage with the world, not sure if he wants to be here at all, or in the morbidly obese woman, who doesn’t quite fit her chair, whose heart is scared and battered and who doesn’t recognise her own worth.
Humanity itself is beautiful and something about the suffering we face is also beautiful. There is a need to celebrate this, beyond the shallowness of our current celebrity culture, to see beauty in all it’s forms.