- Jun 24, 2003
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Well for my first post I'll share a poetic.. inspirational, I not quite sure what to call it... piece I wrote for my high school senior English class. Will try to post much more in this thread... at the moment my computer is broke... but I will try!!
Seeking Beauty
I am the old woman, the young lady, and the girl. I am known as passion. As idealism. As Perfection. I am imperfect. I am in everything. I am beauty. You will call me Ave. You will see me as the mist of the sea manifesting before you on the beach. My husband is tragedy. His marriage makes me smooth. His marriage makes me rough. He is both the chain and the key. When your soul is beautiful you understand. His name is Krete. He is standing next to me on the surf. Head cast down. Eyes cast down. Body ridged and limp. He is immovable. His hands dangle listlessly. Can you see them? My son is gaiety; He is my joy. He is all that has ever been bright. He parades around clapping his hands in the cool ocean breeze. You will hear his flute and know him as Pan.
We stand before you as you view onward, past yourself, into the depths of your reflective mirror. You have called us. What do you seek? Nay! Say not! For it is always the same. Mirror, mirror, on the wall- who is the fairest of us all? Your problem is always the same. This is always your great enigma, your great mystery. So you have called me and now I have appeared. You look at me strangely like I do not belong. You cannot believe that I, ragged and wind torn, am your illustrious beauty. Alas, this is our disaccord. You want to be beautiful, yet you know not what it means. Your face. It is plastic. Plastic melting in the mirror before your very eyes. Nothing here to see. Do I touch you? Youve not the experience of my family. You have had the perfect life. Money. Pride. Looks. But behind that powdered skin is nothing! There is no compassion. No experience has tempered your soul. Beauty is what you desire? Lie down. Close your eyes. Thats it.
Now feel the dream that isnt. Tossed upon the waves. Your ship has drowned. Salty brine grits between your teeth. You can taste it. You can feel it rub against your skin. Your silky skin. Raw. Red. God is with you. You are washed by Hades merciful waves upon an isle. Your hair is tangled. Your face is marred. Your fine clothes- remnants. You cough sweet life giving water, from your swollen, deprived lungs. Ah, fortune. You have been delivered safely. It is unfortunate that he did not think to guide your friends and family safely ashore.
A village is nearby. You hear voices. Your struggle and crawl to the place of gathered peoples. You are shunned. Who wants to talk to a rough, ocean rubbed woman? You give up. Then he comes. He is young, but not handsome. He accepts you. He feeds and clothes you. He talks with you and shares his life, his secrets. He smiles at you, but you merely look onward, your sightless eyes heavy with despondency. Days pass. The village accepts you for your sad soul. Tonight there is a dance. The man, who has taken you in, swirls you around in delighted circles. He holds you close and you laugh with him. The warmth from the celebratory fire, and the warmth from you exertion slowly warm your heart. You are happy. Gaiety has broken through Tragedy. One whole second passes.
You are awake. Snap! You are lying on your bed. Tear stained wet blankets under you. You are smiling. Come now! Get up! Look in the mirror. View the three of us standing on the shore side. Beauty, Tragedy, Gaiety. Truly we are one. Throw away your creams and powders. Do you really need me to tell you that you are beautiful? © Tanya Ryle 2002
Seeking Beauty
I am the old woman, the young lady, and the girl. I am known as passion. As idealism. As Perfection. I am imperfect. I am in everything. I am beauty. You will call me Ave. You will see me as the mist of the sea manifesting before you on the beach. My husband is tragedy. His marriage makes me smooth. His marriage makes me rough. He is both the chain and the key. When your soul is beautiful you understand. His name is Krete. He is standing next to me on the surf. Head cast down. Eyes cast down. Body ridged and limp. He is immovable. His hands dangle listlessly. Can you see them? My son is gaiety; He is my joy. He is all that has ever been bright. He parades around clapping his hands in the cool ocean breeze. You will hear his flute and know him as Pan.
We stand before you as you view onward, past yourself, into the depths of your reflective mirror. You have called us. What do you seek? Nay! Say not! For it is always the same. Mirror, mirror, on the wall- who is the fairest of us all? Your problem is always the same. This is always your great enigma, your great mystery. So you have called me and now I have appeared. You look at me strangely like I do not belong. You cannot believe that I, ragged and wind torn, am your illustrious beauty. Alas, this is our disaccord. You want to be beautiful, yet you know not what it means. Your face. It is plastic. Plastic melting in the mirror before your very eyes. Nothing here to see. Do I touch you? Youve not the experience of my family. You have had the perfect life. Money. Pride. Looks. But behind that powdered skin is nothing! There is no compassion. No experience has tempered your soul. Beauty is what you desire? Lie down. Close your eyes. Thats it.
Now feel the dream that isnt. Tossed upon the waves. Your ship has drowned. Salty brine grits between your teeth. You can taste it. You can feel it rub against your skin. Your silky skin. Raw. Red. God is with you. You are washed by Hades merciful waves upon an isle. Your hair is tangled. Your face is marred. Your fine clothes- remnants. You cough sweet life giving water, from your swollen, deprived lungs. Ah, fortune. You have been delivered safely. It is unfortunate that he did not think to guide your friends and family safely ashore.
A village is nearby. You hear voices. Your struggle and crawl to the place of gathered peoples. You are shunned. Who wants to talk to a rough, ocean rubbed woman? You give up. Then he comes. He is young, but not handsome. He accepts you. He feeds and clothes you. He talks with you and shares his life, his secrets. He smiles at you, but you merely look onward, your sightless eyes heavy with despondency. Days pass. The village accepts you for your sad soul. Tonight there is a dance. The man, who has taken you in, swirls you around in delighted circles. He holds you close and you laugh with him. The warmth from the celebratory fire, and the warmth from you exertion slowly warm your heart. You are happy. Gaiety has broken through Tragedy. One whole second passes.
You are awake. Snap! You are lying on your bed. Tear stained wet blankets under you. You are smiling. Come now! Get up! Look in the mirror. View the three of us standing on the shore side. Beauty, Tragedy, Gaiety. Truly we are one. Throw away your creams and powders. Do you really need me to tell you that you are beautiful? © Tanya Ryle 2002
