I once chased a girl up to London to be near her when I was about 19-20 years old, totally on a whim and without any planning. I was in a rock band back in Devon at the time, but as I was looking to be close to this girl, I wanted to try to get something ‘more professional’ going up in the big smoke; so, I decided within a few days of being there to put an ad in one of the London papers (I think it was Metro).

With my country boy naivety and over inflated ego chipping into the inspiration of this advertisement, my relative competence musically gave me the false impression that I was much better than I actually was, and I arrogantly titled the ad “Professionals only. Singer/guitarist looking to start something cool”, and then gave my number. Well, it wasn’t too long before I got a reply, which excited me, and I eagerly called the number back to arrange a meeting in one of the local Twickenham pubs.

When I first met Kee, I have to be honest and say that he completely overwhelmed me with his presence. An extremely good looking guy with beautiful longish blonde hair, who towered about me at around 6 foot 5, who had about 5 or 6 years on me. He just oozed ‘cool’, and I instantly thought that I was way out of my league with this dude… and that was all even before he showed me his incredible portfolio of playing to 10’s of thousands of people in his previous heavy metal band (I forget the name, but they were a big deal), showing me photos of him on stage at some of the large rock festivals that were going on at the time. He was also very likeable and friendly, but to be honest I was really quite intimidated and didn’t really know how to proceed. This man was already everything I wanted to be, like a rock ‘idol’. I felt inadequate to say the least, and I just couldn’t gee myself up to think I was worthy of joining a band with him. I instinctively knew I wasn’t good enough, in every way, and that I rightly felt completely out of my depth.

It taught me a big lesson about my place in life, and I was really very humbled by the experience. I ended up hanging out with him a few more times however, and he kindly found me a job at the restaurant he worked at, as he knew I had no money and was struggling to make things happen. I think he must have guessed from my lack of interest to do music with him that I didn’t have the goods to give, but he was gracious to me as a friend and still called me to go out for a beer a few times. I met his stunningly ‘hot’ girlfriend at his work (as she also worked there), and working personally with this guy only increased my utter admiration for him. I remember once that whilst he was waiting on a table, I looked over at him and he was spinning a plate of food on his finger before he put it down in front of them… totally confidently, and very relaxed! People loved to give him tips because of this kind of stuff. He just impressed me, and I wanted to be like him. Oddly though, just the same as it used to be with girls I liked, I retreated into a shell of seeming apathy simply because I struggled to think of anything to say, which then in turn gave me a kind of anxiety around him/them. I wanted to possess what he had, but I knew it couldn’t be mine, and it bothered me.

When I was much younger, I liked to collect certain things that probably weren’t valuable to anyone else except me. Anything that caught my eye, I’d pick it up/buy it/take it and store it away in my little box in its secret dark place under the bed, to be taken out occasionally and admired whenever I felt like gazing at it and possessing it in my hands. I had an eclectic mix of random stuff, from certain foreign coins and notes to large lumps of fools gold I found on the local beach as a kid. I had lots of (what I considered) precious stones, and also lots of amazing different types of marbles. I had this trinket key ring that was a mean looking real scorpion entombed in glass, that my Australian step-dad sent me in the post once. As I grew older and started to travel around myself, I increased my hoard of random goodies over the years with little things I had picked up from around the world, like for example the rough cut rubies I found on a beach in New Zealand (I thought they were rubies anyway, someone told me they were) and other things that reminded me of certain places or situations, but that also pleased my eye.

Anyone who has known me since my late teens would know that I’ve always spiritually sought for truth, whatever it may be. Looking in the wrong places, I had been well versed in Eastern mysticism by my mid 20’s, and it had coloured how I saw the world. There was a lot of talk in that sphere of existence about ‘losing desire’ in a sort of ascetic way, and that material things could never satisfy the soul, which I actually instinctively knew to be true, because the fact was that my little box never really scratched the itch I had to possess beauty for myself; I think it may have only increased it. I remember once, looking for a long time on my own at the most incredible sunset in an amazing setting somewhere on my travels, and it was a kind of defining moment in my life. I realised there and then that however much I loved and admired this scene before me, that I could never in fact possess it. It sounds odd, but I wanted it. to keep it somehow; the golds and the pinks and the golden yolk of sunshine disappearing beyond the horizon. Yet, not only was it fleeting and temporary, but it was obviously beyond me being able to pick it up and hoard it in my box of precious stuff. It was a real revelation about the state of my soul. I suddenly had a sense that things were so much greater than this need I had to possess beauty, whether it be in people, scenery or objects.

Again, I was humbled, but this time it was a positive thing. I could finally let go of something that had always kind of possessed me, through no real actual mental effort, but rather by this spiritual revelation. It was for this reason that I rarely took photos from then on, as photos to me are a way of preserving a moment in time to store in a little box under the bed, where you may even miss being involved in the actual moment as you try to capture it . Even though I like and enjoy the historicity of them, many times marking defining moments of a life, they are like a ghost to me, an inferior imitation of truth that usurps truth’s throne. Yes, they can be so beautiful, and I still admire many images that are put before me (especially when done so in an artful fashion), but my need to possess them has vanished, along with many of my super imposed memories. To many, this loss is too awful to contemplate; but for me it is a total liberation, for I understand now that eternity is momentary, and that grasping for the past is sort of foolish (although admittedly it can still be fleetingly rewarding).

I no longer know Kee of course, nor do I have my box under the bed. I have a few photos of situations I was in and of people I knew once, stored away in a different kind of box, a box of long lost memories of myself and my faded contacts. But that is something else; it reminds me of the darkness I have come from, and whenever it is uncovered and shown to others now, it lets them know that I wasn’t always seeking for the holy, that I once was very lost. Even though in those photos I was much slimmer and had more hair, I no longer possess them now for beauty’s sake, but instead they remind me of what real beauty is, for ironically in those days of my youth I did not have it, and now (in spite of a large belly and an ageing wrinkly face), I do.

I have discovered that beauty is a gift that cannot be hoarded and put away for admiring later, and that it is so much more than skin deep or materialistic. In spite of the temporal natural beauty of flowers and sunsets, I really first discovered beauty when I properly saw the cross of Jesus with open eyes for the first time. Yes, I realised once again that I could never possess it for myself; but instead, I discovered that it is a gift that is continually and graciously given to me whenever I think of Him and appreciate Him, and I have now come to know that that is far more rewarding.

You must know that true beauty is rooted in real humility, in loving servitude. It is gifted to others, yet it doesn’t seek to entertain or impress. It cares. It’s so much deeper than even our own very cores, and it comes directly from the Source of life. We can never possess it, yet we can wear it like a mantle. It is not ours to own, yet we can borrow it whenever we like, and for as long as we like. Without it, we will never see the face of God, for one needs to know it intimately to do so, even though it doesn’t belong to us.

Holiness is the epitome of beauty. Seek it, whilst it still may be found.