Who among us doesn’t secretly feel ashamed and less-than-ok about our bodies? Count me among that multitude. Judging our bodies in the U.S. is a national pastime and obsession. Too big, too small. Too much, too little (except maybe the fab Beth Ditto, above, though her nipples appear to have been airbrushed out).
We catch a glimpse of ourselves sideways in the glass doors of our local supermarket and wonder:
Are we okay? Is our enough really ENOUGH?
Our rush to judge ourselves can be harsh and unforgiving.
So it was with a massive sigh of relief that I read long time massage therapist Dale Favier’s take on bodies in Elephant Journal:
Women have cellulite. All of them.Men have silly buttocks.Nobody looks like people in the magazines, not even models.Adults sag.Everybody on a massage table looks beautiful. There are no exceptions to this rule.I’ll tell you what people look like, really: they look like flames. Or the stars, on a clear night in the wilderness.
He goes on to describe the reaction of clients when they lie down upon his table:
At that first long sigh, at that first thought that “I can stop hanging on now, I’m safe” – a luminosity, a glow, begins. Within a few minutes the whole body is radiant with it. It suffuses the room: it suffuses the massage therapist too…
He goes on to confess: To let you in on a secret: I’m in it for the glow.
I’ve posted Dale’s inspirational words on the bathroom mirror. Whether they’ll stick, or disappear in the steamy dampness is up for grabs.
Just in case, I have a backup set inside the medicine chest. Because I want to hang on to that glow.
A huge nugget of much appreciated love here.
Pure and simple love.
Acceptance between us.
However we be.
Thanks, I feel better going out the door this morning, already!
Me too. Thanks!