Mermaids and My Womanchild

Spent a day hanging out with my pre-teen and her friends. We went to see a screening of "Aqua Marine", Hollywood's "Little Mermaid" for the slightly older crowd. Suffice it to say, it was a very longggg day.

Being with young, pert "we know everything and you're old" girls was nothing if not mind bending. And it made me think about how Madison Ave. sells to these little ones. The not so subtle way beauty (as defined by those who sell it) is glorified - every young girl wants to be beautiful, but not every young girl wants to be capable and smart and gloriously living out the power of her person.

I struggle with this because I want the womanchild I am raising to Love herself unconditionally and to expect everything from Life. I want her to cultivate her mind and her body, but I want her to be intimate with her Spirit.

I am a woman who has rejected the importance of the beauty of the physical form. It's a carry over from childhood and it's a liability. I suffered from being told I was unattractive and flawed and overweight for all of my young Life. So, that when I finally looked into a mirror, I could not see the swan staring back at me - she looked always like a duck. To compensate I decided that beauty, my beauty especially, didn't matter.

Now, it truly is the inside of a person that counts, but what draws many to that light is what they see on the outside. I get it, I'm just not buying it. I still think it's a waste of time and money to pay others to do my hair, and paint my nails and sand the dead skin off the soles of my feet. All the rituals of feminine beauty (which more and more men now partake of) seem smoke and mirrors to me; a slight of hand and suddenly I have much less money in the bank, lots more little containers filled with color of all types and a sense that all this will somehow make me more attractive.

More attractive than my self, prettier than I am, sexier and more appealing to those men I am trying to ensnare. After about two weeks, the thrill is always gone and I begin to wonder why the uneven skin tone, the pinkish brown tones of my lips, and every other bit of me is not beautiful to the world around me. When I look at myself through the eyes of others I am disheartened. Not that I think others are repulsed by me, but they are not drawn in by my physical form. No, that would take a little make believe and pretend out of a bottle. It's ironic that I just want to be seen and Loved and viewed as beautiful by the world around me, but the world requires I do a little enhancement first. And, except for plucking those chin hairs which I just can't abide and coloring the grey which seems to make me feel old, I simply won't take the time or energy to do.

It's a stand I have taken in Life that has proven to be like spitting in the wind. It doesn't help to be so out of touch/step with the rest of the world. It gets you discounted.

But, back to my womanchild. She hasn't yet started experimenting with make-up in earnest. She is just beginning to be conscious of her body and what she wears. I watch her stare at her image in the mornings and hope she like what she sees. I hope she Loves what she sees. I do, when I look at her, but my opinion means less (or appears to anyway) these days.

As long as she knows that her full lips, hips and her broad nose are beautiful and that the milk choclate skin that covers them is exquisite. I want her to feel in her soul that her brown and golden touched hair is perfect in its kinky and locked state - gorgeous just the way it grows from her beautiful head. Because what I learned (maybe too late in Life) is that if you know your beauty and believe it to be so, others will be enamored with you. They can't help it, confidence is beautiful.

For all the little girls, no matter their color or shape or size I wish a sense of peace and wholeness with their physical form. That they reject the notion that there is some standard of beauty against which they fall short. That they shine from the inside out, always and forever...

post script: a few of you over these past months have mistaken me for the beautiful brown woman holding my great neice. That's my sis-in-law, Ethel, the dove from Harlem. I'm the lady in the pink turtleneck with her handsome nephews. I considered flying incognito for a bit longer, but the layers peeled back and there it is...Later Gators...

F*ck the Muck

This week has been a funky ride. I've been immersed in the muck of me. I thought my little experiment "What if..." would free me from my self criticism. As it turns out, the years have allowed me to hoard a heap of negativity related to my self image. So, I find myself asking "What if..." thousands of time a day - or so it seems.

And that, my friends, makes me think "What is wrong with me?" and that sends me right back to my never ending line of questioning. So, for the past few days I have been in a pouty, menstrual and basically foul mood. I tend to isolate when I get like that - it never occurs to me to just bitch out loud in my blog. However, Lynn (dearheart, who is taking her blog underground or out of bounds) suggested in her last blog that that's the whole point. We can get as plain and funky as we like.

So, sitting on my family room futon, watching American Idol with the wonder-child, ignoring the pangs of cramps and the river of red that pours forth from my womb, I've decided to write.

This week has seen my dear friend and neighbor laid low by depression. She's been diagnosed with a small tumor in her brain, on the pituitary. Tonight she told me the shrinks think she may also be bipolar. She and I worked together a few years ago (when I had my consulting thing going) and I love and care for her deeply. I spent a couple of evenings this week sitting in her presence making her laugh, and when I couldn't do that, settling for a smile and when I couldn't get that, just filling the silence with my voice because I thought she needed that and when that wasn't right, I just listened. Listened to the pain that fills her body and how tired she is of bearig it, to the stress and tension and fear behind every one of her words. And, I listened to her hope and I shared it.

At work I discovered that my new boss, who is also a work friend, is (as most people are) running her own agenda and actively working to draw me into it. Now, I am just not cut out for the intrigue and politics of American worklife. It's stupid, or maybe I'm stupid, but I just find the whole game lacking in integrity. My aim is to remain balanced, true to the work and committed to finding the adaptive, higher order solutions to the issues and changes that we're facing.

But, I realize that others may attempt to force me into choosing sides (because there is always another side in these matters) and engaging in their lower order war games.

I just hope they don't force my hand on a day when I have my period.

There you have it my blogland friends. F*ck the muck - right now life sucks. (Typing that felt really good, in the most juvenile way!)

Take it light...