ONE day last year, I was stopped in my tracks by this advert (below), emblazoned across a billboard.
Now, images like this are nothing new in this day and age. What galls me about this image, however, is its cringe-worthy attempt at depicting an alluring, provocative form of female sexuality. No disrespect to the model, but she looks like a pre-pubescent girl who’s raided mummy’s make-up case and is now parading about in her nightie.
The thing with issues is they stick. They stick to our bodies. And they hurt. They also numb. And they eat away at us.
Growing up, I was shielded from our culture’s parochial, myopic ideas of female beauty by my parents’ interests. From mum I inherit my studious love of words and books, and from my aunt I inherit my passion for the female form, art in all its guises, and interior design. They never bought fashion glossies or gossip magazines home, preferring instead Ideal Homes, Private Eye, The Economist, and The Manchester Guardian (RIP).
I Was Stopped In My Tracks By This Advert
In our house images of the female form by Toulouse-Lautrec, Schiele, and Picasso to name but a few, adorned almost every wall. No-one, though (in my not-so-humble opinion), got closer to capturing the dark, erotic underworld of female sexuality quite like Toulouse-Lautrec’s late 19th century Parisian depictions — life splayed open in all its indecent and decadent glory.
Anyway, as regular readers may know, I follow a Tantric path. Complementing my ongoing studies into analytical psychology, it balances head with body; the intellect with the experiential. So when I saw the above advert, it immediately called to mind the following excerpt from a book entitled Pagan Meditations by Ginette Paris:
Insisting on the beauty of Aphrodite, as one inevitably does, we risk forgetting that her mysteries are concerned with the whole body and not only with the eye. The woman who has the qualities of Aphrodite knows how to move, breathe, and vibrate, and is capable of generating as well as receiving high-intensity sexual energy.
Some beautiful women give the impression that they are inhabited by Aphrodite’s qualities. Their seductive appearance which promises of pleasure, however, leads to deception each time this promise is not kept by the body.
But when competence at bodily love prevails over good looks, certain women, even though unsightly, may exert upon their lovers an extraordinary attraction.
Several years ago, while travelling in Morocco, I went to see two performances of belly dancing in the same evening. The first took place in an American hotel, where I had gone to meet some friends. The publicity insisted upon the splendid figure of the dancer: she wore a light veil embroidered with pearls and was indeed beautiful. She moved little, but with grace. Her gestures were those of the belly-dance, but perhaps because of the air-conditioning, or her bleached blonde hair, the whole thing appeared to be insipid and deceptive.
Later in the evening, in the public square of the old town, I watched a young Berber woman dancing. She was certainly very poor and had no chance of penetrating show-business; her figure was too heavy, and her features hard and imperfect. Although dressed to the neck in a poor cotton dress, and without any artifice of scenery, she kept the public under the spell of her dance with the brusque movements of her hips, her rhythmic cries, her vigour, and her delighted eyes. All her muscles, all her gestures expressed what is most sexual within us. Each movement proceeded from her belly as if from the centre of herself. I have never since seen a more erotic dance.
The first dancer, although beautiful and graceful, seemed to imitate the movements of love, but she could not radiate with Aphrodite’s energy. It was only upon seeing the ‘real’ belly dancing that I knew the first was only a pastiche.
And that’s exactly the view I took of the above poster. Thing is, it takes a hell of an effort to break free from the myriad forms of body fascism that so insidiously grip our culture, affecting both men and women. Consciously reconnecting with your body, however, is a good place to begin.
Soon after starting Tantra, I inadvertently did a ritual which turned out to be quite profound. Transforming the bathroom into a temple fit for a modern-day goddess, I lit dozens of fragrant candles, scattered hot-pink rose petals about the floor, filled the bath with rose oil, and put some beautiful music on. I then spent the next few hours mindfully caring for and befriending my body. But it’s what happened at the end which most surprised me.
After drying off, I massaged my favourite oil into my calves and thighs while saying the following which is adapted from an exercise in Margot Anand’s excellent book The Art of Everyday Ecstasy — The Seven Tantric Keys for Bringing Passion, Spirit, and Joy into Every Part of Your Life:
Thank you (legs) for carrying my weight in the world and supporting my life. Thank you (knees) for your unique mobility. Without you I could not walk, run, dance, do Pilates or Yin yoga, and a thousand other joys. Thank you (thighs) for your strength, for your willingness to be pillars of support to connect my pelvis to my legs. You are a great help to me. I’m sorry I’ve beat up on you every day with scorn and self-loathing because I didn’t believe you were sylph-like and slinky enough…
I then spent the next fifteen minutes, quietly, tenderly massaging the oil into my thighs. As I continued, they began to feel sore and somewhat bruised — as though they were releasing long repressed pain and ancient hurt. If a body part could cry then my thighs did just that. And, as they did, I soothed them lovingly as though holding a child or loved one in pain. For the first time in my life I held and stroked them with unconditional love and absolute acceptance for how they were right now. Not how they could be sometime in the future, but right now, in this moment. I told them it was okay, that they could now let go of the hurt they’d held on to for God knows how long; that I loved them.
Since then, I’ve done this practice several times — quietly, tenderly soothing my legs — and each time my entire body has ached, as though it’s detoxing. And to think I only ever thought a detox consisted of eliminating certain ‘toxic’ food and drinks. I never considered detoxing might also entail the release of long-held toxic thoughts and feelings towards oneself which would result in a ‘healing crisis’ similar to what one might experience during the first few days of a dietary detox.
The Thing With Issues Is They Stick
We spend a lot of time in our heads – particularly those on a spiritual/soul-oriented path — abstracting, meditating, theorising, praying, analysing; but not so much time consciously connected to our bodies, lovingly reconnecting with our own flesh. We ‘think’ we do — but therein lies the problem. And a mindless, rote-routine of a yoga class won’t cut it either.
Thing is, it’s not until you do an exercise like this that you realise you haven’t a clue about the shame, guilt, loathing, fear, [insert issue here], you’ve been lugging around for years, perhaps even decades. And the thing with issues is they stick. They stick to our bodies. And they hurt. They also numb. And they eat away at us. They eat away at our relationships with others, too. Worst of all, they eat away at our authenticity.
So if you want to get real with yourself and others this year, take yourself in hand (literally) and accept and thank the skin you’re in.
Urban DevaFor more mind, body, and soul tips, follow Thea on Twitter @urbandeva
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You can read about Thea’s life in her book, Running into Myself, available from Amazon.
