December, Twenty Ten.

We think we know the truth of the uttermost beauty, or perfection; we see ourselves being able to define it in such a way that we mock those who (rather audaciously) question our understanding of it. It is so blatantly obvious, it seems, that we must not even need to define it - what is there is there, this is what we know, and questioning it seems absolutely absurd. But one thing we've always known, be it significant or not, is that when an object is put too close to our vision, in too near a proximity, its details become distorted, its edges become blurred. The difficult part is adressing that this is true, understanding it, and doing what we know is right: taking a step back. This is truly the difficult part because we know in our uttermost hidden conscience, that what we think we know - that which appears to be the most beautiful concept, creation or mere idea - can, indeed, end up being among the blackest of imperfections.