I tell myself — and everyone who wants to hear — "I am looking for beauty."
The reason I say that is to remind myself of a way of being.
I want to keep my eyes open. And when I say beauty, I don't mean according to the standards of Western society — the one I grew up in.
I can find some insects beautiful. For most people, insects seem disgusting or scary.
But I’ve often looked deeply into the eyes of a praying mantis and felt completely lost in them. There’s something in their gaze — an optical illusion — that makes it look like space itself is staring back.
Lately, I’ve been reading about Haïkus, those Japanese poems with a very strict form: They are made of three lines, with a 5-7-5 syllable count.
That’s what most people in the West know about Haïkus — and you’ve probably read some written by non-Japanese authors. But there’s more to them. Much more.
That’s because Haïkus are rooted in a deeper way of seeing the world — one that the Japanese (or at least their ancestors) cultivated. In the West, we often focus more on words than on meaning. In a true Haïku, it’s the experience that matters — and it should be connected to the rhythm of nature.
A real Haïku always contains a reference to the season. It captures the highlight of a fleeting instant.
Everything in it comes from open observation of the environment and amazement at the sight of Life itself — happening right here, right now — and repeating in an endless cycle.
That is what I’m trying to do when I say I look for beauty.
Haïkus are traditionally rooted in the natural world, but I try to carry the same spirit even in urban settings. To me, humans are part of nature. Even what we build — our cities, machines, and art — is an expression of natural behavior. But that’s another topic...
And you? Have you heard of Haïkus before? Would you call yourself a seeker of beauty?
