If you put the easy draw of pop culture aside, we all have our own standard of beauty--what pulls, enchants, hypnotizes, relieves. That's the draw, the calling card, the captivating melody that snatches our wandering attention. But if nothing lies beneath, then it becomes fad fodder, overly sweet and clutched as a talisman for mass acceptance.
No, the real beauty, the true beauty is older than that and deeper. It is the creak of good bones growing older, the music of ancient trees surviving another windstorm, the harmonics of breath with breath, the deep hush before dawn.
With real beauty, deep beauty, discomfort cannot drive us away. We stay because, by now, its sweet soil has gathered in our own roots and there is no doubt of our own sweet survival.