Note: In putting the final touches on The Sentiments, I came across this short essay, “On Beauty”, and considered tacking it on the end of the collection. Knowing that it would be somewhat of an anomaly, as it is an essay, not a short story, I’ve decided not to include it in the book, but feel compelled to share it here, at least. This was written in 2007, apparently, and I vaguely remember writing it during a period when I was waging a slow, personal war against the hectic pace of modern civilization. Long-standing frustration and anger with the compulsive consumerism and financial obsessions of the first world had given away to a resignation not to participate; my “war” was and continues to be one of opting out, as much as I could, from the unnecessary stresses of a hyperpaced society. In opting out, I began to relax into my own being, and realized that the true nature of work is not enforced by external rewards, but driven by internal needs and desires. Where before I had been forced or had forced myself to participate in the hourly wages or salaries of the market economy, with this new resignation to ultra-minimal income, I began to work in a way that had been denied for a long time. With relaxation came flowing routines; not forced, but patterned like the natural fractals of chaos. I found my element. I began to work. This essay is an early piece of that work.

We suffer in our culture from a profound lack of appreciation of beauty.  Beauty is not lacking, that’s for certain.  Most days, anyone can see and experience beauty, as subjective as it is, in many different ways: through meetings and chance encounters with beautiful people, through the appreciation of plants and animals, the flow of water, through human design and architecture.  We are fortunate to live in lands of great natural beauty, in societies of material abundance and possibility for wealth; yet so many people speed through their days in a blaze of caffeinated competition and delirious, excessive consumption, failing all the while to ever take a moment to really rest.  Even on breaks from work, people too often devour food, not savoring; run errands for various essentials and inessentials; or simply deny themselves the full experience of a short siesta.

Beauty replenishes our spirits and feeds our capacity to love.  The more I recognize beauty and the pleasures of the senses, the clearer it becomes: beauty is all around us, even in garbage, weeds, menacing storm clouds.  Yet we must consciously intend to be receptive of beauty, to let it work on us and play through our essences.

I am fortunate to be at a point in my life where I am able to take plenty of time to slow down, to enjoy walks and the warmth of sunshine on my skin, to take care of myself and my partner and our animal companions and our home.  In the past, when I have felt compelled by culture or circumstance to “work” at a pace that is unsuitable for my body, mind, and spirit, I have felt bankrupt, numb, devoid of much feeling at all, simply performing a string of automatic motions threaded together in a grueling daily routine that paid off in some amount of cash.  For me, living this way is a sin.  Living driven along by the omnipresent cultural urgings to consume and work more, I find myself trapped in a life that lacks substance and any kind of joy.  Sure, I may in such times experience moments of happiness, laughter, or appreciation, but those moments pass quickly, leaving in their wake once again the underlying strain of emptiness and discontent.

People are not meant to work like machines.  We are meant to work, definitely, but to our capacity and no more, and we are meant to work with joy and loving devotion.  Work also should not define us.  We should define our work; work should flow from our personalities naturally, like language, laughter, or perhaps, at times, sweat.  To work compulsively for money, status, or other societal ach