"California is a paradise to live in, or to see.
But beelieve it or not, you won't find it so hot,
if you ain't got that Do, Re, Mi..."
One post, and 80+ hits later from 10 different countries....
I am referring to yesterday's blogpost - perhaps, I was following up with my daring act at Dance Church the day before, when I courageously bared my mid-rift. It's hilarious, right? That I have these edges... Yet, it's not about shame, or guilt. My body is amazing! I taught myself to think this early in my 20s when I had padded myself withing the protective armor of a few layers of fat. Back then, I'd feel less than my counterpart sisters who still retained their post-pubescent like forms. Still, I'd get up and out there and I would DANCE my face off. So, I told myself that it wasn't about the shape of the boat, it was about the motion of the ocean. Ye~uh!
Honestly, though, it's only been very recently that I have come to fully accept ME and to shed all these layers of heaviness. So, I do not like to expose my body (unless I am at the beach where it is natural to run around in a bikini, or at a hot springs where it is natural to bee naked) because I have a fear of objectification - of myself by me, of myself by others, of my objectifying others, etc. To avoid this tricky terrain, I don't unveil myself, or allow myself to unveil others, often. Yet, it just seems that I must keep peeling away all these layers.
Case in point: I was strolling back from the park yesterday morning when I caught the eye of two men who eyeballed my like prey. Slowly cruising their old jalopy by, leaning out the window, saying "Hello" and expecting nicety in return. "HELL NO!" I had my silver-bullet, coffee mug gripped in my right hand like a weapon. The days of niceness are over, my friends! As I so willingly tell my sistars these days that, without shame or guilt, I will breathe my breath of fire upon thee if thou dare objectify!
It's an edge, alright.
I awoke this morning fresh from a theme that has plagued my dreams for years now. It's the tale of my running late for a plane, being grounded, never taking off, anxiously searching for my luggage and then crying about my missed departure. When I lived in the Hive, this dream was a common occurrence that left me emotionally eviscerated both within it and when I awoke. I couldn't fly.
Today, although I was disappointed that I had missed my plane (either to or from an exotic location), I responded much more maturely. I was accepting of my pain and sadness as I remained with my mother and as I watched amazing dancers - my crew!- dance under trees in parks. My anger only flared when a sister from waking time made a cameo appearance. She was bee~ing cajoled by another friend to tell me who she was currently dating. "What's his last name?" I kept asking, as my emotion grew. She was hiding her face, even though it was quite obvious as to who "he" was.
So, what do "YOU" represent to my Superego?
Because it is obviously more than this simple play of light and dark, masculine and feminine, black and white. It's worth exploring...
