Then there was Edward Cummings, the lover, his poems still haunt the world with a kind of kingly grace.
I know, not many people like poetry now, it's more tedious than watching television, or posting pictures that make you feel special, just like millions of others people.
I seem to have been born in the wrong century, with the wrong mentality. I wish I was born in 1920s in Paris, at the time of Picasso. Paris is the art hub of the world, not that other places don't exist but Paris is haunted by the ghosts of arts past and present.
How nonchalantly exuberant were the artists of the old, excluded from the ongoings of the world, left to exist in peace to create the unimaginable.
Beauty, it is defined in worldly terms but I for one am never satisfied with any definition, beauty is more than a positive beautiful radiation. It's like an open soul that is free to roam our lands making us insignificant humans gasp and kneel before when it truly touches us.
The weird boy in 'American beauty' defined beauty very nicely too.
" It was one of those days when it's a minute away from snowing and there's this electricity in the air, you can almost hear it. Right? And this bag was just dancing with me. Like a little kid begging me to play with it. For fifteen minutes. That's the day I realized that there was this entire life behind things, and this incredibly benevolent force that wanted me to know there was no reason to be afraid, ever. Video's a poor excuse, I know. But it helps me remember... I need to remember... Sometimes there's so much beauty in the world, I feel like I can't take it, and my heart is just going to cave in."
No reason to be afraid ever, yes. This world of today, where we're supposed to care about things that don't fucking matter, like social status, making people jealous, being cool, and copying our icons on tv half of whom are Half naked on air half the time.
No. We exist in this mysterious land where we are godly enough, we can manipulate things to our will and we can witness bending of the laws of nature but most of all, we are given spiritual treats in form of beauty and most of us choose to ignore it or just restrict our perception to physical appearance of ourselves. Way to make full use of what we have.
In book 4 'inheritance' when eragon was on the verge of dying, a calm stupor was calming his aches and closing his eyes with black, he was ready to give up, when he saw a bee buzzing on a flower that had crept out from in between the rocks for sunlight, and he got strength because his soul weeped at the thought of leaving this world.
And here we are, in that world from morning to dark not giving two shits about it.
Maybe that's why you're afraid.