In my last entry I was writing about my wife, comparing her to a Rembrandt before I digressed into self-deprecation. I’m afraid my metaphor was heinously inadequate, or at least I am afraid she will read it and think so. But then, can any metaphor hold all the glorious wonder of personhood that is contained in human beauty? Can words describe the process by which I came to realize the lustrous candor of her eyes after I had already fallen in love with the glory that is her breasts?
The Bible says that we humans are made in the image of God, an image that the theologians tell us is not visual, but that we should see in every man and woman we meet. I think I realized this when I realized that my wife became more beautiful when I knew I loved her. The image of God, like the image of beauty, is a thing that when understood shines upon the mind of humanity, affecting our senses in the same way prisms expose the colors in light.
