The beautiful is not human. For some humans, this is OK.
A simple bench. I sat facing the harbor in the early part of a spring day. A mile, or two, to the other shore.
I was a statue (with only my neck moving) watching, from the left (where sits a bridge the span of my hand) to the farther shore on my right, elevated a dozen feet, with large rocks bordering the sea slightly to the left in front of me.
The occasional small boat, moved across my vision, too far away to hear, or a bird flapping, small and dark, against the panorama of the sky. Bright horizontal clouds, similar in color to the distant shoreline. Windless weather obedient to neither heat nor chill, a view made of flickering nature, but from where I sat, copying my mood, entirely still. No painting could possibly compete. A towering and floating expanse, a solemn, mute unfolding. Lucid and reflective on this morning, I decided the cure for depression was the morning (but I wasn't depressed). Sun and clouds had equal influence. The plan was that both (radiance cancelling radiance) would have nothing much to say. The sun was a muted trumpet, surrounded by clouds thick, but clouds more white than gray. The light was eager to examine light examining itself in the brighter and darker parts hovering on the other side of the bay.
Now, on the left, a train moved left, heading to town, trying to get away. My reverie unnecessary to the invisible passengers, moving silently into many shadows. No love can survive a town's artificiality, but millions try. A tiny train to my ear and eye. The beautiful is not human. This scene owes nothing to the human, except in a nondescript, abandoned way. I thought again of the painters. Who would dare to reproduce my view of the harbor as I have described it, mile after deep mile? No one would dare. None have the skill. Let them paint with love. Let them use skills found in town. Not one painter could I think of--- modern or not. No painting. Perhaps one. A painting with a human face. The Mona Lisa. A smile: enigmatic, odd, signaling no emotion. Beauty is not human. Say nothing. Do not hope. Beauty belongs to God.
