mariacallas
Bluelight Crew
n a k e d n es s
We admire and celebrate an intelligent mind because it is rare. But we ogle and praise and put great bodies on a pedestal, because it is pleasing to the eyes. I celebrate a beautiful body because it is fleeting.
A womans breast,in all shapes, sizes and forms, strains the fabric of her sheer gauze blouse but not the imagination : I am sure that 100% of the population (including ALL males) will agree that it is a truly fascinating sight. They cant get enough of it. Milky custard comes to mind, all smooth, soft and creamy; or freshly risen pizza dough kneaded and smooth , ready to be warmed in an oven or to be folded between a gentle chefs hands. Nothing in existence moves quite as languidly as a young womans breast ; it stands proud, pert and awake, defying gravity until a hand cups it and it melts.
The fullness of a mans crotch, the linear span of his V shaped back, the thickness of his thighs, and the contraction of his abdominals when lightly touched, these too are fascinating to behold. The resistance of fabric to flesh sends shivers up our spines, makes us tingle in anticipation, as we drink in such mortal glimpses of beauty .
Fashion is nothing but a game, an aesthetic play on concealing and revealing. A high slit on a skirt, 3 inch stilleto mules or a plunging midriff can drive some minds mad . Women have so much power against such helpless men who grow weak in the knees at the sight of uncovered flesh...a womans weapon is not really her body perse, but the last piece of clothing she takes off. She doesnt own her body, but she can decide when to take off her thongs, or unclip her brassiere. Ah, such a sordid sordid mind game...these are all but mind games, games we only know too well. Seeing a body is not the same as knowing it. Only lovers can truly claim to know anothers body. Only we can truly know our own bodies.
Ah, but all these mind games are not to be taken simply as that. There are unspoken rules that are broken, subtle shifts in what is proper and what is unacceptable. These little dramas are what make up the meat of our daily lives...try to imagine sitting on a chair still warm from the previous occupant who had just risen. You feel unsettled, you feel violated, you feel as if you had intruded into someones ghostly space..perhaps their very soul. Before touch, our bodies are introduced to one another by heat.
We can profess to knowing a body just by mere sight...but if we stop there, we are nothing but voyeurs.If we obsess excessively over body parts, it is labeled a fetish. If we see the body performing explicit acts for pleasure or degradation, it is pornography. If we put our desire for a persons inner qualities before that persons physical attributes, it is platonic.When we find a beautiful person inside a beautiful body, it is luck, a rare chance, a diamond in the rough. There is no democracy in beauty,vigorousness and health, and so we bring to fore our intelligence, our kindness, our humor,wit and elegance. The sad truth is most of the time we find ourselves separate from our bodies...as if it is an entity we cannot accept completely and unconditionally.
We split our physical bodies from our souls very much like the actor who has to go through several costume changes per act-- we stay split until we are rudely reconciled to our bodies by pain, by hunger, discomfort, by lust. Such as a woman who has to bear a child and go through painful labor ; or a man who wakes up with a rock hard, unprovoked erection. These are the moments where we truly become our bodies....getting stripped or discovering your naked body has been ogled by hundreds of horny men can be a humiliating experience, an offense to the mind...but when we do so willingly, like disrobing for a lover or stripping in a spa, we are reduced to our bodies inadequacies as much as our souls will allow. Naked, we are no longer who we are clothed.
WE all know that there are those times when our bodies respond in ways we have a hard time controlling. A virgin has sex for the first time and uncontrollably shakes during her honeymoon. A mother who tries to save her baby in a fire unleashes an incredible strengh she previously thought not possible to have ; We sneeze, we have contractions, we oil our joints, and we breathe....we breathe in order to sustain a wonderful machine, as if we are passengers. If we train our bodies consistently, you will be surprised how it can respond at the speed of a thought. A dancer executes a priouette, a singer performs a song and dance number perfectly , flawlessly. Her head leaves a spot in one routine, and it returns to that very same place because her neck rememers. Her back remembers . Her joints , all have a memory of its own, and snap into place in perfect form.
Our muscles have memories. Our skin marks time. A scar is nothing but that...just a mass of dead skin and tissue....only our minds can assign it to be a sign of shame or pride.Our wrinkles, crows feet and spots count our vices and abuses; drugs, alcohol, sun damage, smoking, unwashed makeup. We try to reclaim our former glories through the avenues of makeup,surgery, skin creams and cover ups; Our minds and bodies continuously split and reconcile, compete and connive, struggling within itself to find its true meaning, its real identity.
When our bodies fail our expectations, we realize it ultimately when it is much too late. Like that Olympics athlete , who missed his mark by a fraction of a split second and a chance for the gold. We stay in a position for too long, and an arm or a leg falls asleep. We cannot quite do our sexual acrobatics as effortlessly as we once did; we find a lump in our breast, or a steadily receding hairline. A white hair. These betrayals frighten us because we realize that the body we have abused for so long and taken for granted, is really just a mortal piece of skin...a stranger.
So hug.Feel. Kiss. Run. Touch. Sweat. Squeeze. Feel again. Take a deep long breathe, listen to the beating of your heart, quiet your noisy mind. Exhale. The sooner we find comfort inside our skins, the better the world will be. We are only given one body to live in, to live life, to love. The mind believes itself immortal, when really it means the soul is immortal . Our bodies grow old, they become deformed, they eventually turn to dust. It may be mortal, but the body holds and keeps our mysteries and secrets.We will eventually all die, naked as the day we were born. But our hearts and souls never will. ~~~~~
We admire and celebrate an intelligent mind because it is rare. But we ogle and praise and put great bodies on a pedestal, because it is pleasing to the eyes. I celebrate a beautiful body because it is fleeting.
A womans breast,in all shapes, sizes and forms, strains the fabric of her sheer gauze blouse but not the imagination : I am sure that 100% of the population (including ALL males) will agree that it is a truly fascinating sight. They cant get enough of it. Milky custard comes to mind, all smooth, soft and creamy; or freshly risen pizza dough kneaded and smooth , ready to be warmed in an oven or to be folded between a gentle chefs hands. Nothing in existence moves quite as languidly as a young womans breast ; it stands proud, pert and awake, defying gravity until a hand cups it and it melts.
The fullness of a mans crotch, the linear span of his V shaped back, the thickness of his thighs, and the contraction of his abdominals when lightly touched, these too are fascinating to behold. The resistance of fabric to flesh sends shivers up our spines, makes us tingle in anticipation, as we drink in such mortal glimpses of beauty .
Fashion is nothing but a game, an aesthetic play on concealing and revealing. A high slit on a skirt, 3 inch stilleto mules or a plunging midriff can drive some minds mad . Women have so much power against such helpless men who grow weak in the knees at the sight of uncovered flesh...a womans weapon is not really her body perse, but the last piece of clothing she takes off. She doesnt own her body, but she can decide when to take off her thongs, or unclip her brassiere. Ah, such a sordid sordid mind game...these are all but mind games, games we only know too well. Seeing a body is not the same as knowing it. Only lovers can truly claim to know anothers body. Only we can truly know our own bodies.
Ah, but all these mind games are not to be taken simply as that. There are unspoken rules that are broken, subtle shifts in what is proper and what is unacceptable. These little dramas are what make up the meat of our daily lives...try to imagine sitting on a chair still warm from the previous occupant who had just risen. You feel unsettled, you feel violated, you feel as if you had intruded into someones ghostly space..perhaps their very soul. Before touch, our bodies are introduced to one another by heat.
We can profess to knowing a body just by mere sight...but if we stop there, we are nothing but voyeurs.If we obsess excessively over body parts, it is labeled a fetish. If we see the body performing explicit acts for pleasure or degradation, it is pornography. If we put our desire for a persons inner qualities before that persons physical attributes, it is platonic.When we find a beautiful person inside a beautiful body, it is luck, a rare chance, a diamond in the rough. There is no democracy in beauty,vigorousness and health, and so we bring to fore our intelligence, our kindness, our humor,wit and elegance. The sad truth is most of the time we find ourselves separate from our bodies...as if it is an entity we cannot accept completely and unconditionally.
We split our physical bodies from our souls very much like the actor who has to go through several costume changes per act-- we stay split until we are rudely reconciled to our bodies by pain, by hunger, discomfort, by lust. Such as a woman who has to bear a child and go through painful labor ; or a man who wakes up with a rock hard, unprovoked erection. These are the moments where we truly become our bodies....getting stripped or discovering your naked body has been ogled by hundreds of horny men can be a humiliating experience, an offense to the mind...but when we do so willingly, like disrobing for a lover or stripping in a spa, we are reduced to our bodies inadequacies as much as our souls will allow. Naked, we are no longer who we are clothed.
WE all know that there are those times when our bodies respond in ways we have a hard time controlling. A virgin has sex for the first time and uncontrollably shakes during her honeymoon. A mother who tries to save her baby in a fire unleashes an incredible strengh she previously thought not possible to have ; We sneeze, we have contractions, we oil our joints, and we breathe....we breathe in order to sustain a wonderful machine, as if we are passengers. If we train our bodies consistently, you will be surprised how it can respond at the speed of a thought. A dancer executes a priouette, a singer performs a song and dance number perfectly , flawlessly. Her head leaves a spot in one routine, and it returns to that very same place because her neck rememers. Her back remembers . Her joints , all have a memory of its own, and snap into place in perfect form.
Our muscles have memories. Our skin marks time. A scar is nothing but that...just a mass of dead skin and tissue....only our minds can assign it to be a sign of shame or pride.Our wrinkles, crows feet and spots count our vices and abuses; drugs, alcohol, sun damage, smoking, unwashed makeup. We try to reclaim our former glories through the avenues of makeup,surgery, skin creams and cover ups; Our minds and bodies continuously split and reconcile, compete and connive, struggling within itself to find its true meaning, its real identity.
When our bodies fail our expectations, we realize it ultimately when it is much too late. Like that Olympics athlete , who missed his mark by a fraction of a split second and a chance for the gold. We stay in a position for too long, and an arm or a leg falls asleep. We cannot quite do our sexual acrobatics as effortlessly as we once did; we find a lump in our breast, or a steadily receding hairline. A white hair. These betrayals frighten us because we realize that the body we have abused for so long and taken for granted, is really just a mortal piece of skin...a stranger.
So hug.Feel. Kiss. Run. Touch. Sweat. Squeeze. Feel again. Take a deep long breathe, listen to the beating of your heart, quiet your noisy mind. Exhale. The sooner we find comfort inside our skins, the better the world will be. We are only given one body to live in, to live life, to love. The mind believes itself immortal, when really it means the soul is immortal . Our bodies grow old, they become deformed, they eventually turn to dust. It may be mortal, but the body holds and keeps our mysteries and secrets.We will eventually all die, naked as the day we were born. But our hearts and souls never will. ~~~~~
