On True Beauty
True beauty is something that arguably eludes most of us, including myself. Women’s rights societies argue that porn, magazines, and models cover our eyes to this great mystery. Though I agree that those forms of perfection don’t exactly meet the requirements for true beauty, I don’t believe that sexuality blinds us of beauty. What is this difference between Oxytocin, Dopamine, Serotonin and what we know to love: people’s personalities? Do our hormones cloud this true beauty or assist us to see it? Can one love and find someone adorable and exquisite, whom is physically ugly? As I find, true beauty has really nothing to do with physical appearance, it’s this emotional attachment to someone that erases all mars, scratches, and imperfections.
This spiritual connection is what keeps marriages alive for 50 years, and that allows us to watch women on television with bodies that nature tells us are perfect for childbearing. If appearance and able bodied ness were all that factored in to love then every man would have a porn star wife, every woman a Brad Pitt, and all the intelligent and sensitive people of the world would be alone. Instead it’s that empyreal connection that breaks those primitive mental obstacles and lets us see truth.
I’m sure that real beauty permeates, because of what I’ve seen. Years ago I met a girl who caught my attention: she had been staying at my grandparents for a week during the summer, where I went everyday for the free day care. I remember her with a golden background and a halo circling her head, her hair was browns of all colors: acorns, fall leaves, and chocolate, with luster of gold as from a polished egg. She had pale white skin, with not an imperfection imaginable, and those freckles that only show up on your cheeks, was long slim and trim, and wearing a sundress, though I’m sure she never did. In real life I’m sure she had zits and scars; sun-bleached, frayed hair; and was wearing brown and black pants t-shirts that were too big. The filter that passed over my eyes was how endearing, charming, and independent she was, and how kind she was to me. Those things were definitely true beauty because I burnt bacon, tripped, and lied about having baked a cake before: “Yeah, Yeah, I’ve baked plenty of cakes.”
Though our hormones commonly trick us into believing our sight as true beauty, occasionally true beauty can truly trick our eyes. No amount of makeup and personal training can cover up mean-spiritedness, and no amount of clothing can hide thoughtlessness. I know that true beauty is out there because once I saw it, and still it appears in my dreams.
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