On depression and beauty.
The truth is I am depressed. I guess that goes without saying. But it's mild enough that it doesn't get in the way most of the time. It doesn't really occur to me or I'm not consciously aware of it; I just go on with my life. The thing is I don't enjoy life as much as I should. As much as other people do. I don't get pleasure from food the way other people do. I don't have any real hobbies, or none that I get any immense sense of satisfaction from. I run, but more for utilitarian reasons. I work, because, well, we all have to work. I do things that keep me busy, keep my mind busy, keep my mind quiet. I do things for lack of having anything better to do. I keep moving forward, but not always. Some days I get stuck, or I don't see the point in continuing on this path. Most days I get stuck before I have a cup of coffee.
I will tell you though, I have seen beauty. I have experienced beauty. Beauty that moves through you, beauty that sends shivers up your spine into the back of your head and neck. I understand the spirit of the world we find manifest. It makes sense to me in a way that few other things do. The patterns you see in a bolt of lightning and the branches of a tree. Desperately reaching through space to be closer to the thing you want. The thing you need. Or restless winds searching for equilibrium. Trying to find balance in an unbalanced world. These things are the very substance of beauty. They embody the spirit of the natural world brought into being, and at times I see these things for what they are, with the veil of misdirected energies lifted. But not today.