Sunday, November 1, 2009

this is her story, told to strangers

I've been criticized for being too serious, so in all seriousness I'll speak with levity about a lightness that is too heavy to state simplistically. It's about women, or a woman in particular, who with each glance and embrace reminds me of why I'm a feminist. In her face is pure beauty and a smile perpetually gentle, except for the times when she laughs so loud the phallic monuments tremble. They're afraid she doesn't need them, and of course this is true for she has no void or hole to be filled. Completely whole in her pain and incredible grace she spreads love through her eyes and creates space for life so vivid and authentic no sculptor could emulate it.

In her deepness and wetness from emotions and tears, she removes the fears that have been forced into her pores. Such resilience is admirable in a world full of cowards who are too intimidated to speak before this exemplar of forgiveness.

As if her body was not her own, others have attempted to steal parts for themselves, but in some revelation she came to an awareness that it really did not define her self or her form. And from this discovery her body has become a camp for refugees who flee from loneliness and fear. They're frustrated from failing to know those things that she somehow comprehends about a reality that extends beyond our experience of atomized existence. Her holism is truly holy and inspirational to non-believers, the skeptics who doubt that love can manifest in a world ruled by power and hate.

She loves like Jesus and I love her back, partially out of desire, but mostly out of faith.

Rarely do I understand the complexity with which she communicates, but through her kiss and her caress I come to terms with my ignorance-I renounce my abstinence to find solace in her feminine landscape.


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