I am beauty—in all its dimensions, in all ways beauty is characterized. I am the foundation.
Beauty is distorted when my heart is not heeded, when my heart in my children is silenced. I hold my hand below the heavens. It sweeps color like a brush—folding within the creation itself.
Beauty can be hidden between folds, in cracks in hard hearts. Beauty exists in softening, in ground fertile, expectant, wanting to be watered. Beauty is possibility, the expectation of pushing through the rough patches until there is ever greater softening. Hardness—a hard heart— is the opposite of beauty.
There is no becoming more beautiful.
What I have created is beauty—the foundation of all I create is beauty. Beauty needs to be discovered. I see it. I see you. I see all possibility of love blooming in hard places. That blooming—that discovery—that claiming of the beauty that is you, is realizing the fullness of who you are. You, my girl, have beauty that cannot be ignored, cannot be buried under the ground.
But it is, sometimes, isn’t it?
May I peel back the layers to show you what I created? May I show you what, in you, I see?