Beauty is Truth

“I’m losing interest in writing,” I told Kittu. Kittu is my cat. He loves to sit in my lap when I relax on a chair on the veranda in the evenings.

“There’s no rule or order that you should write, is there?” Kittu asked.

“Writing is my way of adding meaning to life.”

Kittu snickered. “I’m contemplating the meaning of my lying in your lap.”

“Your lying in my lap makes my life beautiful,” I said.

“Beautiful,” Kittu seemed to ponder that word. “Not meaningful?” He asked.

“I’m not Keats,” I said.

“What did Keats do?”

“Beauty is truth, truth beauty, he said.”

“Was he a poet?”

“Of course. You know what he said after that?”

Kittu purred.

“That is all ye know on earth, and all ye need to know. That’s what he said.”

“He’s right, I think,” Kittu said after a brief silence.

“Really?”

“My lying in your lap is beautiful, you said. Doesn’t that beauty add some meaning to your life?”

“Modesty is not your virtue, eh?”

“As humble as you please, not modest. Modesty is for those who don’t want to think for themselves.”

I ignored the digression and pondered the bond between beauty and meaning.

“You write in order to add meaning to life,” Kittu said. It sounded more like a question.

“Yeah,” I agreed.

“Aren’t you trying to create beauty with your writing? Or at least, mitigate the ugliness of evil?”

Indeed, I thought. You’re beautiful, Kittu. My discovery of your beauty is the essence of our relationship. I wish I could discover the beauty of life similarly. But I’m creating that beauty with words, you’re right. Keats is right.