This article
is provided by kind permission of J. Ruth Gendler. This article
MAY NOT BE REPRODUCED without the permission of the author.
A Meditation on Love
By J. Ruth Gendler
When people talk about where they find beauty, what is beautiful
to them, they reveal whom they love and how they love, and what
they love to do.
Listening as people recollect and offer their own beauty stories,
I am in awe of the ways that beauty moves in our lives. Everyone
who has a family, or loves an animal or a place or a piece of music,
has a beauty story to tell. A man reflects on the challenge of keeping
Eros alive in a long marriage, a woman speaks of what it was like
to grow up with a mother who was a model, another comments on learning
how to appreciate her own beauty when compared to a classically
gorgeous sister.
As we speak about our personal relationship to beauty and what
is beautiful to us, we reveal our longings to be seen, our need
for acceptance, the powerful influence of mothers and fathers, grandparents,
older siblings, first loves and favorite cousins, our keen ability
to remember what embarrassed, confused, and delighted us, our yearnings
to stand out and to fit in, our desire to be loved. In our own stories
we mark the distinction between looking beautiful and feeling beautiful
-- the part of us trapped by our culture and the part of us that
knows our own value.
A nurse declares that her beauty secret is that the husband who
adores her is nearsighted, so when she is close enough for him to
see her, is seeing her with the eyes of love. A newspaper story
describes how a young interracial blind couple got together when
she became attracted to voice, reminding us that prejudice is born
in dismissing people because look different, because we see them
as exotic and frightening.
"Love is blind," we say, but perhaps it is more accurate
to say love sees with different eyes. Love sees beyond the surface.
Love opens the door for beauty. When we see with the eye, we develop
the ability to refine, to judge, to discriminate. When we see with
the heart, we expand the view of what it is to be human, see the
common dream, see the wisdom of friends and neighbors, see there
is no separation between that which is most beautiful and the everyday
world. The eye of the heart sees with a wholeness that allows imperfections
and idiosyncrasies to coexist with beauty. The eye of the heart
knows surface and depth are not opposites. Beauty is a process,
a revelation, not a finished state.
Beauty reveals itself over time in relationship. The people I love
are beautiful to me. I'm not sure if my eyes are blinded by love
or it is love that lets me see their beauty. Knowing them over time,
my appreciation of who they are and how they appear increases. Their
beauty comes from their liveliness and authentic sweetness, their
intention to live lives that make some sense (and some nonsense),
the spirited coherence of being who they are.
A teacher recalls sitting in on another teacher's class and thinking,
"Isn't it strange how ordinary looking, how rather plain these
kids are? My students are beautiful." She sees her students
as gorgeous because she knows them well. "When you sit with
them or work with them and see them every day and know their moods,
they become more amazing, not less so,"' she says. "And
then, I realized that the kids in the other classroom look beautiful
to their teacher, too."
When a beautician notes, "All my clients are beautiful,"
I hear how her awareness of and attention to beauty brings it out
in others.
When we are most alive, we are beautiful. When we are in love,
we are reminded that we are beautiful. And sometimes when we know
we are beautiful, we find ourselves in love. "In love"
usually means the romantic sense of being with one other person
who in that moment we feel reflects us perfectly. In love, living
in the field of love. Sometimes I have felt like I was in love,
even when there was no one I was in love with. I couldn't talk about
my lover's hands or eyes or voice. I couldn't focus all this love
on one other, and it was both confusing and revealing to realize
how much we become places for each other to rest in. Alone and "in
love" it is easy to feel like you're making it up. Our songs
and movies have told us such great sentimental stories about being
"in love," we forget that being in love can be a state
of truth as well as an illusion.
Longtime friends witnessing a friend "falling in love"
often caution the infatuated person that being in love is a dizzy,
temporary state. I think of this territory not just as a delicious
romantic dance, but as a field to which we can travel from many
places. There is a way in which being in love with anything -- a
person, a place, a project -- is crossing a border into a country
where the ego does not rule, being in a state where essence is honored.
We are both inside and outside our everyday selves. It is always
interesting to observe what happens when we return to the land of
ordinary life. Can we live with more generosity and trust?
I never want to underestimate the capacity that being "in
love" has to change our seeing, expand our vision, and remind
us of both human beauty and human frailty. The search for the beloved
is full of paradoxes. We want to be who we are when we are our best
self, and sometimes because we have met that self when we are in
love, we believe that self only exists in the presence of the other.
So we hold on to the other and lose ourselves, forget that love
is partly of this world and partly of some other place.
An old beau spoke of the danger of trying to make our lovers be
God, insisting that we each need our own relationship to the Source.
It sounded logical, but I rebelled at his analysis. In this world,
one of the ways we glimpse God is when we are in love. Not that
the beloved is God, but that God is the Beloved, a tradition as
old as the Song of Songs and the ecstatic poems of wandering Indian
mystics, the Sufis. One of the most beautiful and accessible ways
to address God is as Love.
The Greeks gave us an image of Eros, the unpredictable archer before
whom even the Gods trembled. Hindus tell their stories of the Gopi
maidens seeking Krishna, the bewitchingly beautiful, blue-skinned
god; Krishna with his soft glowing eyes, perfumed hair, Krishna
drawing women to him, touching each in forgotten registers of being.
What is done with love is done in beauty to celebrate the God that
loves. More and more I believe the messengers of love, the envoys
and the couriers of beauty are everywhere. And I wonder how something
so clear can also be mysterious. The Indian poet Ghalib writes,
"This earth, burnished by hearing the Name, is so certain of
Love that the sky bends unceasingly down, to greet its own light."
from the book Notes on the Need for Beauty by
J. Ruth Gendler Published by Marlowe & Company; May 2007;$15.95US;
978-1-56924-292-6 Copyright © 2007 J. Ruth Gendler
J. Ruth Gendler is an artist, writer, and teacher. She is the author
of The Book of Qualities and the editor of Changing Light: The Eternal
Cycle of Night and Day. The Book of Qualities, now in its fortieth
printing, has been adapted as a two-act theater piece and translated
into German, Japanese, and Chinese. In addition to personal essays
and poems, Gendler writes about the arts, education, health, and
books. Her artwork has been exhibited nationally. Gendler has taught
writing and art in a variety of settings for twenty years. She has
been an artist in residence with both California Poets in the Schools
and Young Audiences of the Bay Area, and leads writing and creativity
workshops. She received her BA in English and communications from
Stanford University, and she now resides in Berkley, California.
Her website is www.ruthgendler.com.
|