"We love the mystics for their inward,
not their outward life;
because they lift us up above the world,
not because they make us have faith in it."
-Frothingham
Why must we lay such high regard upon the outward?
Upon what a person wears, how they style their hair, the way they walk and talk and wear makeup?
These are all aspects and details of what the eye beholds,
and I just don't care.
These things are not who they are.
The fire hidden within their eyes,
The depth of their laughter.
The callouses on their hands.
The way they say what's on their mind.
The ways in which their emotions overflow.
The way they believe in everything, unwavering.
Those passions are contagious, those are what draw me in and make me believe in you and me and this life in this universe. A lecture won't work, it won't reach my soul the way your fire does.
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