I read the script and looked at pictures from a story about the Ama divers of Japan, this morning. I saw something about this last year. I found an incredible beauty in the “work” that these women have traditionally done. I also see a heritage (one that is dwindling with passing time, as so many do) that seems to me to be almost a love of the tradition. These women, mostly naked, were/are athletes in their own right and have a special connection to the sea, in being able to dive 30′ deep, in cold water, for up to 2 minutes per dive, and do this for several hours. It’s what they did and continue to do (though in greatly dwindled numbers and with more body covering, which I feel takes a great deal of the beauty away from this heritage).
Mostly, what I got from this is how important it is that we find beauty in all that we encounter, in this lifetime. Beauty in the tradition of the Ama divers, in my eyes, is no different from beauty to be found in many labors and traditions. As well, I see beauty in the strength and heart of the draft horse, pulling with all their might to move some heavy obstacle, just for the doing. I find beauty in so many animals that travel great distances in search of water and food, as well as annual migrations. These, too, are all athletes. I see beauty in the now abandoned farm house or mill, where I can envision the lives and loves, the labor and endurance of the people who once lived and worked in these places (which I can only view and treat with respect).
What I am sharing here are only the more obvious ways, places and beings in which to find beauty. There is beauty to be found even in what we choose to avoid or resist. There is beauty in the sadness I feel, the tears I shed, for someone I’ve lost in this lifetime and beyond. There is beauty shown in the way the aches and pains in my own body draw my attention to a need or neglect there. There is beauty in the nostalgia of the ancient ways, some totally lost, others barely retrievable yet needed in this day and age.
There is beauty even in the odor ants, marching across my counter, toiling to ingest and carry off the honey from the jar I left out the night before. There is as much beauty in the slime trail left behind by a slug, as in that left by a mouse in the new snow.
Walk with me,
Peter J Quandt