You walk down the sidewalk and see the tiniest daisy growing from the crack in the sidewalk on which you are treading. How did its seed wind up there? More yet, how does this fragile flower grow amongst the cement. How does it thrive while being surrounded by dead, gray concrete? How does something beautiful spring from something dead? How is death the mother of beauty?
We see it every day, but sometimes we don't take the time to stop and smell the roses (or the daisy in the cement.) Sometimes we only mourn for the death instead of opening our eyes to the beauty that has been resurrected from the death.
I'm sure everyone reading this blog has experienced a death in the family or simply someone close to them. It's painful. It's devastating. We often think it is unfair. We cry. Occasionally our tears blur the vision of once fueding brothers hugging. Sometimes these tears don't clearly show a mother and daughter embracing when just two days ago they would not speak or look at eachother. Sometimes the death of a loved one brings about a rebirth of a beautiful relationship.
Dr. Sexson said that it would take years and years to find meaning to a certain line in Sunday Morning by Wallace Stevens: "Death is the mother of beauty." I somewhat disagree. I don't mean to sound like a preacher or some fanatic christian trying to convert the world. haha But, the ultimate death took place on a cross. A gruesome death. An indescribable death. A death so vile that anyone witnessing it would have been sure that no beauty could come of it. But the greatest beauty in all of existence was born, eternal life. All the ugly sins that humans commit are now able to be forgiven due to the death of one man. If that's not beautiful I don't know what is! Beauty was born of death. Death is the mother of beauty.