I recently wrote the following thoughts in a
letter regarding the proposed large-scale abstraction of water from the
River Shannon:
".
. . To gut a picturesque river is to take something from the heart of
the people, to demoralize them -- even if unintentionally. That, in
turn, can have a profound effect on family life and economics."
Is beauty a small thing?
I
have found, through the rigors and deprivations imposed by chemical
sensitivity, that the loss of beauty in one's surroundings can, itself,
be debilitating. Others have lost beauty in their surroundings as a
result of poverty, natural disasters, war, and other illnesses and
injuries. Whichever way it occurs, the loss of beauty brings on visual
gloom. Life goes spare and bare. You can tell yourself a million times
a day that mere visuals shouldn't get under your skin this way, that
this or that task must get done no matter what -- but how do you
honestly feel while doing it? Do you feel cast down, thoroughly
engulfed by a sense of visual "greyness" or hopelessness, and drained?
Or
consider, for example, an old section of your hometown that you used to
love as a child, perhaps once filled with abundant grass, flowing
river, and thriving trees. Imagine that a slime-filled reservoir or
dried-up riverbed now disfigures that lost haven of sweetness . . . . .
How would it feel to look at that, remembering the lushness of creation that once existed so peacefully there under the skies?
Speaking
for myself, such a sight would make (and has made) me queasy in the
depths. Something would forever after feel very wrong, out of joint,
and exceedingly dismal -- were that my hometown. (And, in fact, my
hometown has changed in some sad ways.) If I were forced by
circumstance to remain living there, something in my life would be
irrevocably altered. I would find myself battling a reflexive sinking
of the spirit at every turn, plus a grim sensation of things slipping
away in a more dramatic, global, and rapid fashion than they would have
at the steadier pace of nature alone.
When
we invade the peaceful workings of nature in extensive, sudden, and
perhaps unnecessary ways, we disrupt time -- our own time. We put
ourselves on a new clock. We then find ourselves racing against this
man-driven clock, accelerating our own demise. Man's clock is erratic
and unpredictable, subject to whims and appetites, supply and demand,
greed and need, and money.
The
more spiritually aggressive drives of man often dispense with beauty
and the purity of nature as though they were of no consequence beside
the things that "really" matter. They dispense with the purity of
nature because they already do not mind infiltrating their fellow man
with innumerable toxins and pollutants. Humans have become acceptable
reservoirs for mass-produced and mass-distributed toxins.
Beauty? Who has time for beauty? Only artists and dreamers?
Perhaps. But if they didn't bother to preserve beauty, each in his own way, humanity would go mad.
It's
very difficult to earn a living when one must white-knuckle one's way
through a persistent sense of futility and decay. It's very difficult
to inspire one's family in spiritually uplifting and creative ways when
one's physical surroundings appear increasingly devastated.
The destruction of beauty takes a more severe toll on us than we might imagine.
Far
from being a frivolous concern, beauty is one of our basic human
needs. It helps kindle that fire deep down in our souls that will fuel
us during long nights and tough times. It hones our sensibilities in
periods of desperation and need, reminding us of the human charity which
must always come first. It puts our minds on a higher plane of
awareness and sensitivity; so that, when a practical solution is called
for, our concerns will already be at that higher level and we will be
much more likely to handle our resources with care.
Who needs beauty?
We all do.
Wishing you havens of loveliness --
Cheers!
Cheers!
