Since standing naked in front of a bunch of people I have been thinking about how physical nakedness is just a symbol of actual nakedness. I want to peel the layers away and clothes are a good start. But they're not the end of the peels.
I've finally had some time to look at photos from the event. I've had to confront my naked body myself. It's not like I've pored over photos of my naked self before. It's difficult, impossible actually, to dredge up love for myself when I look at the pictures. I have this distanced way of looking at them. I hurry. I wonder what I will use for the Current exhibit at the Southern Alberta Art Gallery (a show of local contemporary art in the summer). I think critical thoughts about my cellulite and my posture.
Why can't I love this woman?
If someone else had done it, I think I would love that person for it and I would admire her bravery. People at the event and since the event have been very supportive. My daughter loves me. (This is one of my favourite examples of how she appreciates me: My mom has a placemat with all the Canadian prime ministers pictured on it. Not long ago, a friend was asking my then 3-year-old daughter about the people on the placemat. Who is the funniest? She pointed to Jean Chretien. Who is the meanest? She pointed to John Diefenbaker. Who is the smartest? She pointed to Kim Campbell. Needless to say, Kim Campbell is the only woman on the placemat. I take it as a personal compliment.) I have a loving and accepting partner whom I'm marrying in June. I have lots of friends. I feel love for lots of people, often just any old stranger exchanging a smile. But for myself, it's thin on the ground.
Writing about this, admitting how much struggle I go through with health/transformation, stuff I haven't written about yet... I find much more challenging than standing naked. Exposing myself, i.e. my self, feels necessary but very uncomfortable. I want to be free of the burdens of not-my-self-ness. I don't want to place too many Holden Caufieldish words on it, just what I know is not my self. Like being brittle or too nice or too chatty or too cool. And writing about it is WAY easier than just doing it in normal day-to-day life. I can write on this blog about how ill/moving through gunkish I feel and find it almost impossible to talk to anybody about it.
One of the great blessings of my life lately is to have found my intuitive energy healer friend. When Betty tells me: You're using 70% of your energy for spiritual change, so you only have 30% left. I think: Finally something that makes some kind of sense. When I say to her: It feels like my atoms weigh ten times as much as they should. She knows what I mean. When she tells me that I am doing the work of moving energy for a lot of other people, I think no frickin wonder I feel like I can barely hang on to life sometimes. How do you talk about this with a doctor? Or your family? Or almost anybody? I can't. I just wrote about it though and I feel really naked, i.e. deeply embarrassed. But it really is time for me (and all the frickin people I'm apparently working for) to carry right on through this whole awkwardness shit.
Here's a declaration of what I think is going on: something is going on with my energy. It's bigger than me. I'm part of something that is underground but is becoming more and more visible. It's called deep healing. It aint pretty. It aint religion. It aint easy. It sure aint on TV. And there aint no good pill for it. But it feels real. Everybody actually wants it. They want to feel safe in who they are.
I feel like its important for me to come out because the more I do the more I can help create that critical mass that is needed for all of us to hook into healing transformation. Cassandra wrote about the idea of critical mass at the Human Body Project 44 event in a comment on a previous blog entry. She wrote: "There was a definite need for a project like yours, and it was an experience that I didn’t really realize I needed until the event was in progress. I realized how deeply it affected me, and the many people in the room. I think experiencing it with so many people really amplified, if not created, the atmosphere. People played off on another’s positive reactions, until it built into this amazing presence." We need to create more.
I thank God for Tasha Diamant. When I read what she's written I feel sane, alive and hopeful. She shows me thoughts and feelings that I could previoulsy only vaguely identify. Thank you so much Tasha Diamant for putting your own raw uncensored human experience out there allowing the rest of us to acknowledge our own!ReplyDelete