Saturday, March 15, 2008

What I want to know is Why. or What.
What meanings have we attached to our physical self that have nothing to do with arms, legs, or bellies but which we are utterly convinced do? That somehow the weight we do or do not carry there reflect or impact our lives in significant ways? That if it were different..... something big... relieving, redemptive, reassuring would finally happen. The ache would be less achey. Sadness would have an end. Or at the very least; the raw ends would have a casing. Something to rest behind; to be contained within.

Why does arm-i-jello cause a sudden lurch of panic in the stomach? What does it mean to the soul when that size you used to be is not the size that you now are? And why does the intellect have such stunted influence on the thinking process? One would speculate that the intellect and the thinker would be one and the same- sharing the same cranium and all. Yet, it is frustratingly possible to "tell yourself something" and yet not to live in accordance with it as true, or permanent. It evokes the image of a damaged short term memory- what you intellectually know to be true must be spoken and respoken and told again to your thinker before your behavior changes at all.

Popular culture has brainwashed us into believing that if we control and manipulate the shapes of our bodies; our lives will radiate with success. We will have accomplished something of great value. If nothing else, then at least we are not fat.

People die for that cause. And all along the way to dying, they are grasping for this accomplishment that will validate their living.


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