Where Does Beauty Come From?

The words we use are very important. We forget sometimes that words are vessels encasing energy.

Not long ago, I gave a psychic reading to a friend of mine. During the reading, she received a beautiful visit from loved ones on the Other Side. The message was simple, direct, and deeply compassionate:

Let go of your self-image.

This beautiful woman’s eyes filled with tears.

Our culture gives a thumbs up to certain appearances: thin, shapely, athletic, youthful, fashionable, polished. While there is nothing inherently wrong with caring for one’s appearance, many people quietly carry the burden of measuring themselves against impossible standards. How many of us genuinely measure up to the idealized image society presents?

The impression I often receive from people overly identified with image is not confidence, but insecurity. Sometimes, the most externally beautiful people appear deeply uncomfortable in themselves. Their energy feels contracted, self-monitoring, and overly anxious about what others think of them.

True magnetism seems to arise naturally when someone is no longer consumed with maintaining an identity. Presence becomes more attractive than performance. Aliveness becomes more compelling than perfection.

Later, I pulled three tarot cards.

The Eight of Swords.

The Star.

Death.

The prison.

The healing.

The transformation.

In my journal, I wrote:

1. You've untethered yourself.

2. You’ll serve a great many people.

3. You’ve slayed the dragon.

Then underneath:

Dhammapada p.154 — Atman, the transcended self.

I sat with that for a long time.

Maybe the dragon is identification itself.

The endless measuring.

The maintenance of image.

The exhaustion of trying to become enough through appearance alone.

Spirit does not seem terribly interested in the costume.

Oddly enough, some elderly people embody this naturally once they stop trying to maintain a socially approved identity. You sometimes meet someone in their eighties or nineties who has become deeply beautiful because they are no longer negotiating with life. They laugh freely. They wear what they want. They speak honestly. There is spaciousness around them.

And honestly, sometimes dogs embody it better than humans (I know, pets and old people, right?).

My little French Bulldog, Stella, certainly does.

No self-image.

No performance.

No concern over being watched.

Just direct participation in being.

That may be part of why animals feel healing to people. They are not managing an identity while relating to you.

They simply arrive.

Words matter because repeated language becomes identity.

I’m unattractive.

I’m old (my favorite line, lately. ha ha!).

I’m too much.

I’m not enough.

These are not harmless phrases. They become instructions (I guess I needed a reminder, too!).

Perhaps freedom begins the moment we stop asking:

How am I being perceived?

And begin asking instead:

How aware am I?