I am not a great inventor but if I ever ivented something I would want to invent a mirror for the soul. The idea is not original, Oscar Wild thought of it before me, but sinse I still haven´t found that mirror anywhere I would like to make it myself.
Today it was raining, so I decided to indulge in a great book, tea and Debussy's Clair de Lune. I picked from a shelf The Red and the Black by Stendhal.
This 18th century chronicle of provincial France, narrates the story of a young Julian, that fails to resist the feminine charm of Renal's beautiful and sensible wife. Going trough the first chapters, I couldn´t help but recall in Jullian, Jane Eyer's strength of character, painting in my mind even if unintentionaly, a masculine personification of my favourite heroine.
Julien believes in something great and never gives up searching for grandeur and deeper meanings in all his actions . Napoleon's figure is always present in his mind like a candle that illuminates a dark road that leads the hero trough unknown places.
The chronicle was beautiful and while I was reading it this evening, Beyonce's new song started playing on my spotify playlist. "Perfection is a disease of a nation, pretty hurts, pretty huts", after the song Debussy started playing again but I couldn´t get "Mama said your a pretty Girl, whats in your head it doesn´t matter" out of my mind.
I had to stop reading and I started thinking about the XXI century obsession with beauty and the sickening pursue of physical perfection. I couldn´t help but wonder if it's not indeed our "souls that need surgery". Sometimes I have this feeling that we are part of a pantomime. That we try all the time to prove our value, without paying attention to what we want for ourselfs. Is it silly to believe in things? Why does it seem ridicule to talk about dreams and ideals in our century?
Everything is so immediate. Images have all the power. We look, we have impressions and we assume things. I think the soul is at risk, it is threaten by the need to please and that frightens me. Beauty should be a reason for celebration not of obsession.
Today it was raining, so I decided to indulge in a great book, tea and Debussy's Clair de Lune. I picked from a shelf The Red and the Black by Stendhal.
This 18th century chronicle of provincial France, narrates the story of a young Julian, that fails to resist the feminine charm of Renal's beautiful and sensible wife. Going trough the first chapters, I couldn´t help but recall in Jullian, Jane Eyer's strength of character, painting in my mind even if unintentionaly, a masculine personification of my favourite heroine.
Julien believes in something great and never gives up searching for grandeur and deeper meanings in all his actions . Napoleon's figure is always present in his mind like a candle that illuminates a dark road that leads the hero trough unknown places.
The chronicle was beautiful and while I was reading it this evening, Beyonce's new song started playing on my spotify playlist. "Perfection is a disease of a nation, pretty hurts, pretty huts", after the song Debussy started playing again but I couldn´t get "Mama said your a pretty Girl, whats in your head it doesn´t matter" out of my mind.
I had to stop reading and I started thinking about the XXI century obsession with beauty and the sickening pursue of physical perfection. I couldn´t help but wonder if it's not indeed our "souls that need surgery". Sometimes I have this feeling that we are part of a pantomime. That we try all the time to prove our value, without paying attention to what we want for ourselfs. Is it silly to believe in things? Why does it seem ridicule to talk about dreams and ideals in our century?
Everything is so immediate. Images have all the power. We look, we have impressions and we assume things. I think the soul is at risk, it is threaten by the need to please and that frightens me. Beauty should be a reason for celebration not of obsession.
I would like to invent a mirror for the soul.
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