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This Body of Mine

This body of mine;

She’s everything, yet nothing.

Can we stop obsessing over her?

She’s important, yes.

She’s everything to me.

She carries me around and feeds me.

In this earth she allows me to touch, taste, hear, see and feel things.

But she’s also nothing to me at the same time.

My soul lives both inside of her and beyond.

My desires, my dreams, my purpose.

My vision is both inside of me and far outside of my head, into the future.

My arms reach for things and yet her outreach is beyond her body.

She vibrates a frequency felt by some and seen by others.

She’s everything, yet nothing.

She has whatever shape she has whatever day she has it.

Sometimes thinner, tougher, tighter.

Sometimes bouncier, bloated, bigger.

My happiness will

Not live and die from her form

or her fitness.

My happiness starts in my soul and moves through my body.

I desire, I dream and then I dance.

Life flows through me.

The electricity, the blood, the mass, the empty space, the air, the water, the very life force that made me alive.

Her bundles of nerves and her energy centers.

Her beating heart that both breaks me and keeps me alive.

Her emotions that rock her like the high tide

stormy seas

She findes me

Her mind that is a portal to other realms and ideas.

She’s everything for me to carry out my purpose.

But how much are her looks a part of that?

Her health? Yes.

Her looks? I’m not sure I need them.

She looks how she looks.

She moves how she moves.

She feels how she feels.

This body of mine. She’s everything and nothing to me all at once.

I am from the earth.

I am just one of her many colors, shapes and forms.

Do we look at the redwoods in the forest and criticize every piece of crackled textured bark? Every twisted root? Every veiny leaf?

Of course not.

We look at the tall evergreens with awe and respect; their majesty felt within.

Do we look at the flowers and say that a dainty little pansy is less worthy of soil than a bold towering sunflower?

Is the blooming purple Jacaranda any more divine than the climbing vines of the burgendy Bougainvillea?

How absurd.

We look at them with wonder. Growth from a tiny seed; they bloom despite the competition all around it.

If only we could look at women with such wonder, such respect.

Divine creatures. goddesses of creation.

Intuitive and intelligent.

tough as nails and sweet as wine.

Embodying the wisdom of the seasons, the cycle of nature.

I reject anything less. From society, commercials, ads, men, friends, and my own inner voice.

Because the deepest inner knowing

knows how beautiful, how stunning, how miraculous I truly am.

My purpose and my pleasure lie far outside this body of mine.

She is everything, and yet she is nothing.

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