…as in, “the Gods are beautiful”.
This is a thought that strikes me frequently. Maybe I’m just biased, because They’re my Gods and I love Them – but no matter whether I’m kneeling in the State shrine gazing up at a consecrated Icon, or sitting with my personal shrine lighting candles next to the statues of my Parents, or in a museum, just taking in the intricacies of the ancient carvings of Their images – They are beautiful. Utterly, painfully, breathtakingly so.
It isn’t quite that They are physically beautiful; They are, but there’s more to it than that. I think it’s just the way They work, the way They are a part of my life and the lives of countless others; the spark of the Divine that They carry – I don’t know. But it wells up inside of me and overflows when I am in Their presence; when I am hurting, it cleans and soothes my wounds, and when I am joyful, it magnifies my gladness.
Just further proof that everything I do for Them comes down to loving Them fiercely.