"Some things never change…"

The mystery of change is rooted in the mystery of identity which is rooted in the mystery of existence which is, most mysteriously of all, rooted in the mystery of love. Love is a real attachment to the good and the good is manifest to a lover as something beautiful. As the ancients knew, the good, the real, and the beautiful are analogically convertible. Enter a pub and Plato will pour you a glass of Guinness. Your reflex is to say, "That's a real beer." Or perhaps, "Now that's a good beer." Or perhaps, "A beautiful beer." Its realness, goodness, and beauty as an object of love are triunely present in the beer's act of existing. Only because it stands so low on the chain of being does the beer suffer from accidental defects in its good-real-beautiful act of existence. A contingent existent, it can become less beautiful and less real as the bubbles dissipate and it gets mingled with backwash; it can also become bad by leading to drunkenness and sickness.