look

All I’m saying is: if god wanted this moment to look any different, then it would.

Who am I to argue with my existence? It’s like winning a free trip to Paris, and then only noticing the details that could be different, that could be better. The Mona Lisa could do with a bit more luminosity in her hair. The Astronomer’s arms might have more pleasing proportions.

Who am I to argue with da Vinci, with Vermeer, with pain au chocolate and god? I could never paint a planet, or make my mind, or compose this existence from the silence that surrounds it. I could never carve this thought except for the earth’s marble. Who am I to critique all this creation?

An object’s beauty is in the eye of its beholder. So are its flaws. A flaw is just another thing I make with my looking. 

Look. You do not have to fixate on the mottled Starbucks napkin catching the dirty curb of the Rue de Rivoli. You do not have to spend your brief visit sifting all the beauty from all the ugliness you see. 

Look at the looking. Look at the light that makes looking itself possible. It drenches everything you’ve ever been.