"Beauty - a light that penetrates Curved age face and body" Bashny.Net

The site publishes a piercing and profound text written by Ursula K. Le Guin, a science fiction writer and literary critic, that is a real beauty. «< In beauty there is always a rule. This is the game. I am outraged when I see the beauty in the game made a fortune - and companies do not care how much damage they inflict on others as hurt our self-esteem. In my anger boils when I see people starving, mutilated, poisoned himself, unable to perform the impossible. As for me, I found a way to bring in the beauty of the game to a minimum - unless a new lipstick or a pretty silk skirt make me feel happy.



One rule of the game consistently, in whatever time and place we may be: young beautiful always. The ideal of beauty - youth. This is the law of life: young beautiful, each and every one individually. The older I get, the more I see it, and enjoy the spectacle.

And yet, when I look at the men and women of my age and older - in their bald heads, changed due to arthritis fingers, age spots and swollen veins - signs of old age does not affect what I think about them. Some of my friends older I find very beautiful, others not. Beauty elderly does not depend on hormones, as it occurs in youth. Their beauty - deep, it comes from the bones. It stems from the fact that a person is as an individual. Beauty - the light that penetrates to the outside through the curved age face and body.

live in the body of the baby is very easy. Another thing, when we become adults. Our body is changing, and the changes are hard. There is a radical change, it is not surprising that many young people lose their sense of themselves, do not know who they are. They look in the mirror and ask - am I doing? Who am I?

And then we go through it again, when we celebrate sixty or seventy.

My mother died at age 83 from cancer, it was very painful. Spleen increased to such an extent that the body is completely deformed. His mind I see when I think of my mother? Sometimes. I would like it to be wrong. The image of a truthful, it was in reality, and yet it spreads, closes itself, like a cloud, more truthful pictures from memory. He - just a memory of fifty years of memories of my mother. Last Time.

Under it, for him - a deep, complex, constantly changing image created from my imagination, once heard the stories, photos, memories. I can see the little red-haired girl in the mountains of Colorado, fragile girl- student with a sad expression on his face, a young mother with a kind smile, a brilliant intellectual, incomparable coquette, a famous artist, a wonderful kulinarka - I see my mother dancing, clean the apartment, his desk, bursts out laughing. I see a turquoise bracelet on her thin, freckles, hand. One moment I see all this as a whole, I look at that may not reflect neither the mirror - a great spirit, a flashing light through the year.

It must be that way see the world and displays it in his paintings. That's why, perhaps, we have goose bumps when we look at the tired old faces in the portraits of Rembrandt - they show us not superficial beauty at the level of the skin, and are deeper in the beauty of life itself ». < br />


via www.psychologies.ru/self-knowledge/individuality/chto-takoe-krasota-na-samom-dele/