Shining Silent

It is hard to explain, the difference that occurs from soul to body. It's hard to be and exist in the alternate world a mind struggles to sustain. Art; a beauty, a blissful escape from what life forces us into, what society expects. If only one could be drown in the desire to be part of something more, to be with what is greater then yourself and the lies around you.
I imagine a world where there is no struggle but a will to be more then what was expected of you. I ask myself, why are we drawn to things? To pain, and love, and sound, strange things like, rain, wind, snow, light, trees. Perhaps we see something in them that is not in ourselves, something we've lost or never found. Something beautiful and content that he, as conscious, striving, needing human beings.
Then I think of the moon, great and full. Glaring down on me from its pedestal as though it were unreachable, as though it were better then myself. The moon. It's just a dead rock, just a meteor handing by a sheer force of gravity, and without that invisible string it would be just a rock floating in space. By the undaunted power of the sun it reflected itself on me, its glow nothing more then a shadow of the brilliance projecting off of it.
For a moment, the moon and myself stood on equal ground. Glowing as a reflection of something larger then ourselves. We were alive, but not to the universe. Small specs showing as glittering dots in the vastness of space. We weren't going any where, we had no definite goal rather then to be through in our beauty we were illuminated. We ached in our momentary suspension, just a fluke by some mistake in nature.
No matter how beautiful or seemingly magnificent something shines, it's only beautiful because someone is there to see it.