"Metro" Black and White Photograph by Gabrielle Naglieri

H ow do we keep the experience? How do we as human beings integrate into our lives those moments of being, those moments of realization and revelation, those moments when the true purity of beauty pours forth into us, saturating the very core of our souls, the spirit we seek to flood with absolute meaning and benevolence? How do we keep the experience? Life happens. Things are perceived, some are felt, some become obstacles and others triumphs. Some are analyzed, some are forgotten, but within these things a force beyond any controllable means shapes an experience; instances come together creating that life, while the beauty, however marred, shines through to us and becomes the experience. Many equate beauty with spirituality, an opening allowing the individual the opportunity for self-introspection, authenticating the self through an inner odyssey of understanding and reflection.

Beauty is the experience defining the human soul, a meeting of the natural and supernatural, but to retain that experience and grow within it, perpetually orienting the self to something greater becomes the problem. What is it about the human condition that makes us turn that experience into an anecdote, a story to tell, but not exist in? We essentially become human jukeboxes, reciting words with meanings we cannot conceive, hearing without listening. Thomas Morris in his Suspicions of Something More recognizes this dilemma but explains even in our loss, in our darkest and most trivial moments, spirituality breaks through, touching the human in the most ordinary of ways, leading to that extraordinary experience.

"Cafe" Black and White Photograph by Gabrielle Naglieri

Apertures of the spiritual surround each individual implicitly and explicitly. The words of a book, the wisdom of a professor, the wind gently tossing a white bag rhythmically against an azure sky, all are openings to something more profound and substantial, turning the individual inward in a movement towards the greater. During my first trip to Paris, France I not only celebrated my sixteenth birthday but an intense conversion of spirit and mind impacting my life so vastly I can still feel the ripples vibrating through my core. The grandeur and elegance of Paris swept through me like the crest of a wave about to fall. Crashing down, the wave cleansed my existence and I was reborn, my soul breathed and I was free to seek a higher truth. Beauty rushed me as the wind carries a scent bringing to its recipients memories of times past. My heart, heavy with the pain and splendor of this world, saw nothing but beauty and life, an experience whispering to me the force behind everything. At the time I felt nothing but exquisite happiness, an emotion so pure and serene the union of body and soul were realized. Walking through the narrow cobblestone alleyways, birds singing sweeter than the nightingale, I met myself in Paris and I met God.

Spirituality, philosophy, and theology were never aspects of my life, like most teenagers I lead a self-absorbed superficial existence, concerned more with image and status than I was the meanings and sources of life and the human condition. Paris transformed my life from existence into being, and I became an observer and seeker, consumed by questions and awakened to a new heightened consciousness.

Upon my return from Europe my experience of beauty brought me to a place I never before envisioned, a spiritual relationship with God and myself. As Morris states in his essay, it is through the ordinary and exceptional, the minute and pensive that one comes to an understanding of the religious and philosophical, conclusions shaped by experiences bringing the individual to a discovered truth. While beauty altered my reality, to develop that spiritual being within, I had to begin my pursuit of knowledge, elevating my intellect for self-preservation. Spirituality is real, a renunciation of the self for the self. It is about transcending the silence and seeing what is authentic and whole about life, beauty, God, and the self, finding what is true and permitting that reality to pervade everything. My arrival at this conclusion lead to an inner life deep in contemplation and frustration, a struggle to seek the truth while remaining fully engaged in external experience and not merely becoming a detached observer. To overcome the desire of retracting into my mind and existing within the confines of thought and meditation proved difficult, but the beauty I embraced in Paris resonated inwardly, opening my eyes to the necessity of complete participation, for without the beauty my soul would suffocate.

Morris refers to his experiences as life defining moments, instances and flashes of divine revelation seeking self-knowledge and purpose. These revelations were personal and spiritual, windows into something greater than he, yet speaking directly to his spirit. Such encounters as Morris explains, are callings, brief experiences irreducible by human reason and triviality, rather, the kept experience. Each individual, conscious or unconscious of these moments passes through life with an unquenchable thirst for more, answers to the question what does it mean to be human? To be human is to be called, to listen to that moment where being precedes existence and the slightest glint of light becomes an aperture of the whole of one’s meaning. For Morris and myself that radiance brought an insight into life some never obtain, a recognition of the religious and philosophical, a chance to perceive beauty beyond its superficial quality and echo through its benevolent spirit and power. The sources of these openings or windows remain present and accessible, occasions where silence is no longer heard.

"Eiffel Tower" Black and White Photographs by Gabrielle Naglieri

In the years since my experience in Paris I have encountered two other spiritual glimpses, both of which were transforming and intimate, providing me with a view to my calling and challenge. Beauty remains my porthole into the spiritual, a bridge between my transient reality and the vast continent to which I truly belong. At times I try to remember the beauty, at others my heart fills with it so I think it will burst if I let anymore in, but I submit, and let it course through me like the calming of a chill summer breeze. To experience that feeling is to understand it, knowing its overwhelming force, its penetrating munificence, leaving the core in a state of joyous pain. A rose is simple beauty, but to transform that exquisiteness into an experience is extraordinary.