a table or a cave, porn or a pew
Laying the body down on a surgical table presents risks.
Have you been there?
Taking that risk?
I’ve surrendered a daughter to the cold hard metal surgical table more than 40 times in 20 years.
I’ve laid my own trembling and terrified body down on it 8 times.
Going there again in a few days for the removal of toxins implanted in one of those previous eight surgeries. I put my body at risk to modify it, risk will be required to restore it.
The way out, is the way in.
Like breath,
like a cave,
no coincidence there.
Equally dangerous in both descent and ascent, cold and treacherous.
My surgeon is a spelunker, go figure that connection anywhere outside of love and find yourself baffled. I can’t even remember how it was that caving got brought up at my surgical consult, but it did. That’s when I knew it was him. Kin in the love for the dark inside spaces of the womb that holds us all. Both having fallen into so many caves in our youth.
I’m so very held, and completely seen.
Held in the intensifying ceremony of restoration.
The wild necessity of this particular curriculum is very present with me. I am grateful for it, I wouldn’t have it any other way, which explains a lot for me, about me.
Often when humans, but mostly women, discover the facade made of toxic chemicals in my chest there is a sense of confusion, misalignment in expected reality. Yet here I am, having had them for nearly two decades. Intimately experiencing the depravity of the feminine body and the dysfunction of our collective relationship to it. Back when my grandmother begged me not to implant, just before it happened, I a girl amongst many, dissociated and unaware, by-products of the anesthetic the masculine has needed to use with and on the feminine body, went towards it like it was necessary. Because it was.
I’ve been the victim and enabler, the all too common combo. And also, contributed to the perpetuation of oppression, the hardest thing to hold.
It’s a completely unoriginal experience. I’m not remotely close to a minority in this. We are a majority, the women at the center of it, cornered on all sides by the masculine energy and no one really knowing what is actually happening, because the anesthesia.
How anesthetized is our awareness?
When I begin to wake up to what is no longer in alignment with the truth of who I have always been and not been at the same time, my soul demanded remedy. It was undeniable what had to be done, not brave, just necessary.
I’ve been binge watching a Hulu docu series called ‘the secrets of playboy’, interesting choice of media consumption right before breast explanation right?
I’d recommend, ten out of ten, in particular because of your aversion to it. Looking in the mirror of societies taboo is uncomfortable for many if not most.
The playboy story is one of covert systemic oppression of YOUNG women on the guise of sexual freedom.
(Let me be clear, it’s not that I don’t believe in sexual freedom, it’s that I think we have a long way to go to embody sexuality responsibly.)
We aren’t sexually free ladies, not yet. And when we are, it’s not likely we will pursue body modification like we have. I suspect a lot of unsavory perpetuated habits would cease.
The sexual entertainment industry has proven to be more predatory than liberating. And both the masculine and feminine energies support the perpetuation of it, but the ladies hold something most of the masculine does not, the burden of being taken, of being victims.
I've been taken, the victim, in pursuit of sexual 'freedom' which was really just the pursuit of sexual belonging. and .....
It’s not just in the taboo, also in the pew. Duality is funny like that.
A quick look at stats illustrate this, check out the breast implant (and further more body modification) stats coming out of Utah, a predominantly mormon state. It’s alarming.
This the geographical bath I was incubated, grown, and continue to swim in. I don't always know why, until I embody the truth of my lived experience and then it begins to make more sense. I was once mormon, I know intimately how revered the perfect feminine body is in this presumably religious society. I'd dare say a culture just as covert and toxic as playboy, less taboo of course, but also done in the name of God. It’s all gross in my opinion.
These church going women with implants stat in at something around and or over 50%, and they have to check another box, baby making too. Wombing little humans in bodies they come to hate, and often with toxic tits sitting right on top of those little fetuses.
That’s the reality of something I did, and was. It’s me I am calling out.
My body perception, in this lived experience, has been undeniably intertwined with culture and religion, that's a saddening aspect of my own dismantling.
The uncovering of the truth is gaining momentum, and in the fire of awareness bandwidth is freed, bandwidth I've been using to heal.
I’ve been thinking repeatedly about the teaching that fear is just excitement without breath, the descent into the depth of my heart space, my breast, the arc line room deep inside the cave is majestic and mostly filled with excitement, though sometimes fear, which is to say, the same thing.
Having gone internal in this way will inevitably creates a painful ascent, might it also be one filled with tender admiration and knowing.
Always a return to life, to breath, to the internal and eternal love of the brilliance of anatomical medicine. The body.