Pic from the web
What is beauty? It only exists in a person’s mental corridors where each individual develops his own idea of beauty, to create his own individual world overflowing with pleasure.
There’s something that suggests that a sense of beauty is innate: a universal law, eons-old, pre-dating history even but slippery and elusive to human perception.
However, it’s really the eternal splendor of nature whose beauty requires
worship and your appreciation of her is buried in your psyche.
As if she knows you. As if you owe her. She’s in there. Silent. Noble. Conscious of being the only goddess of indisputable perfection.
She’s in your appreciation of every leaf, of every blade of grass, of every star, of every flare of the sun and of every gust of the wind. They each contain her ideal completeness. You, her human, must honor her and admit to her immensity, because if you don’t, she will curse you with an inner aridity. An aridity that spreads to everything.
English translation. Heathcote Williams