reservoir of beauty
A blend of highlighters and jewel-toned markers swirled across the clouds. I soaked in the brilliance and secreted it away in my reservoir of beauty. It’s the place I dip into when I feel pressed too hard, when life is loud and frenzied, when my mind refuses to settle. I draw on memories of beauty to calm me and to renew my energy.
But as I studied the sunrise I realized the ones I love best occur not in stillness but in tumult. When the sky is filled with the turbulent jumble of moisture and dust particles and atmospheric debris, that’s when clouds appear. That’s the backdrop on which glory paints.
The stunning colors can’t occur without the chaos. Were the sky unblemished, I wouldn’t notice the sunrise at all. The heavens would lighten without a riot of color. The ethereal interlopers and impurities become the canvases absorbing and refracting the light that stills my soul.
Emptiness has limited capacity for beauty. I need margin and rest and some control over the calendar of expectations. Yet it’s in the crowded spaces of competing inputs, in the chaos—it’s in community—that I find so many of the soul-sustaining hues staining life with grace. My reserves are filled in solitude, but so too are they replenished in the tangle of relationship as we absorb, reflect and refract Light together.
It dawns on me how deep and wide and varied are the sources filling my well of beauty. And the realization casts new light on the day.