Jules_062714_0075a

Jules – Netherlands

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When this project crossed my attention on Facebook I immediately knew that I wanted to participate. I had no idea where and under what conditions the photo had to be made. I trusted the universe that in time my intuition would “know” this.

On the morning of the photo shoot I still had no idea. My lover and I were driving  around through the hills of South Limburg in the Netherlands when we reached a church in a small village. In front of the Church was a big cross of Jesus Christ the symbol of the Catholic Church.

I was raised in a Catholic family and went to a Catholic boarding school where the “faith” was hammered in. I HAD to believe and I didn’t know how. The man on the cross was for me a symbol of suffering, pain and death. How could I believe that this man could save me from my sins. What sins? What did I do wrong? I was just a kid living my life. I grew up with a hate-love feeling about this man on the cross. How could he practice love and at the same time there is so much suffering?

Later came a time in my life where I totally abandoned Jesus, God and the Church.
During a tantra training that I followed years later I discovered that my belief was that God had left me. That there was no God.

After that slowly my interest came back and I began to read more and more. I read books on the life of Jesus, the Bible, and other books about the early history of Christianity.

And there I was standing in front of the church under the cross looking up to this man Jesus. Seeing his face reflecting pain, his arms wide apart. This was  my symbol of death, pain and suffering.

And there with the support of Erica I climbed up the base of the cross, upwards. I was standing there at the same height as Jesus, naked side by side. I looked him in the eyes feeling his presence, felt what was going through him when he was hanging there. Hearing one of his last words “Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.”

I could feel that the suffering—my suffering—was ending here now at this place standing next to Jesus, and he transformed into a symbol of joy and life. I felt my love for him and mankind and his infinite love.

Standing there; alone, naked, vulnerable and high above the ground, I looked down and felt what he felt when he was hanging there at the cross. It was no crucifixion. It was a transformation. A transformation into a different dimension from death and hate to life and love. Forgiveness for everything that happened, a total surrender to the now, this moment.

My heart flooded with love. It was an epiphany, a profound experience. My lover Delilah and the beautiful loving couple Erica and Daniel stood under the cross. Just as in those days: his mother Mary, his lover Mary-Magdalene and his favorite apostle John.

And so I took a further step in the process of truly accepting myself and realizing that I am part of God.

 

Toen dit project voorbij kwam op Face Book wist ik onmiddellijk dat ik hieraan mee wilde doen. Ik had nog geen idee waar en onder welke omstandigheden de foto gemaakt zou moeten worden. Ik had vertrouwen in het universum dat mijn intuitie het op tijd zou “weten”.

De morgen dat de foto genomen zou worden hadi ik nog steeds geen idee. Samen met mijn geliefde reed ik rond door de heuvels van Zuid-Limburg. We kwam aan in een klein dorpje. Voor de kerk stond een groot kruis met Jezus Christus, het symbool van de Katholieke Kerk.

Ik ben opgegroeid in een Katholiek gezin en ging naar een Katholieke kostschool waar het “geloof” er ingehamerd werd.  Ik MOEST geloven en ik wist niet hoe? De man aan het kruis was voor mij een symbool van lijden, pijn en dood.
Op welke manier moest ik geloven dat deze man mij zou bevrijden van mijn zonden.
Welke zonden? Wat had ik verkeerd gedaan? Ik was maar een kind. Ik groeide op met een haat-liefde gevoel voor deze man aan het kruis. Hoe was het mogelijk dat hij liefde uitdroeg en dat er tegelijkertijd zoveel lijden is?

Later kwam er een tijd in mijn leven waarin ik Jezus, God en de Kerk totaal verliet. Tijdens mijn tantra training, die ik jaren later volgde, kwam ik er achter dat God me verlaten had. God bestaat niet.

Hierna kwam mijn interesse terug en begon ik boeken te lezen over het leven van Jezus, de Bijbel en andere boeken over het begin van het Christendom.

En daar stond ik dan, voor de kerk onder het kruis opkijkend naar Jezus aan het kruis. Ik zag zijn gezicht dat pijn uitstraalde, zijn armen wijd uit elkaar. Dit was mijn symbool van dood, pijn en lijden.

En toen, met hulp van Erica, klom ik op de basis van het kruis. Ik stond daar op dezelfde hoogte als Jezus, naakt naast elkaar. Ik keek hem in de ogen en voelde zijn aanwezigheid, ik voelde waar hij doorheen gegaan was toen hij daar hing. Ik hoorde een van zijn laatste woorden ” Vader vergeef ze, ze weten niet wat ze doen”

Ik voelde dat het lijden, mijn lijden, hier stopte. Hier op deze plaats staande naast Jezus. Hij transformeerde in een symbool van plezier en leven. Ik voelde mijn liefde voor hem en de mensheid en zijn oneindige liefde.

Ik stond daar, alleen, naakt, kwetsbaar en hoog boven de grond. Ik keek omlaag en voelde wat hij voelde toen hij daar aan het kruis hing. Dit was geen kruisiging, dit was een transformatie in een andere dimensie, van pijn. lijden en dood naar leven.

Vergeving voor alles wat er gebeurd was, een totale overgave in het nu, in dit moment.

Mijn hart stroomde vol met liefde. Het was een openbaring, een diepgaande ervaring. Mijn geliefde Delilah en Erica haar geliefde Daniel stonden onder het kruis. Hetzelfde als in zijn tijd: zijn moeder, zijn geliefde Maria-Magdalena en zijn favoriete leerling Johannes.

Op deze wijze zette ik een volgende stap in het proces van mezelf accepteren en de realisatie dat ik een onderdeel van God ben.

Jeroen_062714_0034a

Jeroen – Netherlands

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When the Embody Project came along, I was struck immediately. It was awesome. As an amateur photographer I really like the photographs. As a naturist I like to be naked whenever and wherever possible. Without clothes we are all equal. Common nudity might well be the key to the transformation of the world into the new era. Imagine…

My feminine side has prevailed for many years, because I never learned how to develop my masculine side. Working with the chainsaw brought a big change, it triggered something in me. So aside of being in nature, dancing naked, and caring, I learned action, courage, and yes, killing (trees) like a primordial hunter.

Showing both aspects as a participant in the project is quite healing. Like the Yin & Yang symbol the contrast shows in the picture: the destroying (yet wood and fire providing) power of the chainsaw and the subtlety and vulnerability of life.

There is consciousness, awareness. Consciousness creates matter. It creates life because it wants to collect experience in matter. Our body is an interface between consciousness and matter. Through our five physical senses information is passed from matter to consciousness.

There is a flow in the opposite direction too: information from consciousness into matter. It’s called intuition.

This is one of the reasons why our body is so special. Let’s stop hiding it, let’s start honouring it again.

Being naked helps me celebrate sexuality, the ultimate creative, life-giving energy. Being naked unites me with nature the natural way, the sexual way. So what a pity that we have to hide the beauty of our body too often, because of the beliefs of too many people.

It is my sincere wish that these beliefs may be gone one day, and that we can celebrate nakedness again, any time, anywhere.

Namasté.

 

Vanaf het eerste moment heeft het Embody Project me geraakt. Het raakt me als amateurfotograaf. Het raakt me als enthousiast naturist. Zonder kleding zijn we allemaal gelijk. En gemeenschappelijke naaktheid zou wel eens de sleutel kunnen zijn tot de overgang naar de nieuwe tijd. Stel je toch eens voor…

Lange tijd heeft mijn vrouwelijke kant gedomineerd, omdat ik nooit geleerd heb hoe ik mijn mannelijke kant kon ontwikkelen. Maar het werken met de motorzaag heeft een grote verandering teweeg gebracht, het maakte iets in me los. Dus naast het in de natuur zijn, naakt dansen, verzorgen, heb ik kennis gemaakt met actie, moed, en zelfs doden (van bomen), als een oerkrijger.

Het was erg helend om deze beide kanten te tonen in de sessie met Erica. Als een Yin & Yang symbool staat het contrast in de foto: De vernietigende (maar uiteindelijk hout en warmte voortbrengende) kracht van de kettingzaag en de subtiliteit en kwetsbaarheid van het leven.

Er is bewustzijn. Bewustzijn creëert materie. Het creëert leven omdat het ervaring wil opdoen in de materie. Ons lichaam is het raakvlak tussen bewustzijn en materie. Via onze zintuigen sturen we informatie door van materie naar bewustzijn.

Er is ook een tegengestelde stroom: de informatie die van bewustzijn naar materie gaat. Dat is intuïtie.

Dit is een van de redenen waarom ons lichaam zo bijzonder is. Laten we het niet meer verstoppen, laten we het in ere herstellen.

Naakt zijn versterkt voor mij het eren van de seksualiteit, de ultieme creatieve en levenbrengende energie. Naakt zijn verbindt me met de natuur, op natuurlijke – seksuele – wijze. Wat is het toch jammer dat we de schoonheid van ons lichaam zo vaak moeten verbergen, alleen maar door ‘het geloof’ van zovele mensen.

Het is mijn diepe wens dat ‘dat geloof’ op een dag verdwenen is, en dat we weer onze naaktheid kunnen en mogen vieren. Altijd en overal.

Namasté.

Emily 061514-68

Emily – USA

/in /by

I am Emily: daughter of Cynthia, daughter of Virginia, daughter of Ruth.

I am Emily: mother of Tulsi, mother of a child in my womb, soon to be birthed into this world.

 

What do I hold in my body from these grandmothers of mine? Things left undone from their lives, things still to be discovered in mine. I hold the potential of life; I hold the seed of my grand-daughters.

I hold life, a child created through the merging of two souls.

 

I hold creative passion, a vision of my life to be expressed. The weaving of my lineage from both father and mother lines. The hope that I will carry through with their wills yet to be fulfilled. The knowing that I bring something all of my own to this life, a purpose and a dream.

 

How is it that I am so much of them and yet, I am so much of myself. A body, a woman, a soul, seeking.

 

Seeking acceptance, seeking love, seeking beauty, seeking sense of self.

 

I am a mother too. Sometimes, I give myself up completely for my children. My body, my solitude, my dreams. For but a moment in this blink of a life. To guide them, to welcome them, to teach them, to let them teach me.

 

Today, I surrender. Today, I am naked. I am none of these things and yet I am everything. Without anything surrounding me, how do I define myself? How do I feel embodied when I am exposed, without my crafts, without my children. How do I feel myself when I am away from my garden, my herbs, my music, my spinning, all of the things that I feel are a part of me?

I realize that my body tells my story. My bulging belly, my full breasts, the stretch marks of my hips, the tinge of gray on the top of my head. The way my hips curve, the way the moons appear so starkly on my back, reminding me of my connection with solitude, cycles of death and turning inward.

 

I know myself and that is what truly matters. To be here in the world, shining, and doing my part.

But I am not here to be looked at and judged. I am here for me.

Becky 050314-228

Becky – USA

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What Are Secrets Anyway?

 

Pre-Project– Some Context

I actively initiated my healing journey, or maybe it actively initiated me, in 2007.
Either way, something began then that I haven’t been able to stop. It’s not that I’ve
wanted to stop it (okay, perhaps at times); it’s that my life really has organized itself
around a perpetual healing since recognizing and owning that I even needed to be healed in the first place.

 

Almost-Project– Email to Erica

Subject: Even as I write this…

Message: I can feel the anxiousness welling up behind my throat, within my solar plexus.
I am struck by how clear it is that this seems like the next step for my healing. And I am
terrified. Which makes me want it more.

Before you take this amazing work on the road, may I request an interview?

 

Project Prelude– The Interview

I have no expectations. I feel surprisingly at ease. Things are unfolding. Layers are getting peeled back…

There’s my embodied story. It is a tale of pushing my body to do coordinated
things and agile things and strength things. And trying desperately TO gain positive
attention for “these” things.

There’s my disassociated embody story. It is a tale of pushing my body to do risky
things and harmful things and painful things. And trying desperately NOT to gain any
attention for “those” things.

And then there is the story I have about both of those experiences of my
embodiment, the story that suggests that one is “better” than the other, or the story
that one somehow absolves me of the other.

 

Project Composition– The Shoot

Again, I have no expectations…Or so I thought…leading into the shoot. Then it hits
me…about 2 minutes before Erica is due to arrive…My body feels dense and achy.
My mind races with: I can’t do this. How will I do this? Why am I doing this?

I do it nevertheless. And I feel curious while I am doing it. I ask myself: What does
any of it mean, or what will any of it mean?

 

Project Intermission– The Purging

Four hours after the shoot ends, the purging begins. Even though it’s a literal purge,
its figurative nature is unmistakable. The thought that holds me through it all (even
if it didn’t make it to my conscious awareness until now) is: I don’t have to continue
holding onto this story, to these stories.

 

Project Postlude– The Synthesis

Attempt to Write the Essay Two Days After the Shoot-
My body has its secrets. It always has. It probably always will…

In the healthy, lighter, more exuberant side of life, its secrets are… While
in the not-so healthy, darker, more shadowy side of life, its secrets are…

Attempt to Write the Essay Six Days After the Shoot-
My body had its secrets. It guarded them vigilantly. The “good” ones and the “bad”.

It doesn’t want that for itself anymore. It doesn’t want to see or describe itself in the
context of “good” or “bad”, “right” or “wrong”.

It wants a new language for its experiences, words and ideas that allow it to be what
it is, or, to put a twist on a poem Derek Walcott wrote, words and ideas that will allow
me to: greet myself arriving at my own door, in my own mirror, with elation.

 

Post-Project– To be continued…

Lauren 040214-298

Lauren – USA

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To: Lauren
Of 2012, in the bed with the shades closed
From: Lauren
Of 2014, living happily

You’re going to find a way (soon) to begin mending. To begin learning how to love yourself. The world’s expectations of what is perfect will continue being relentless but you will figure out that being perfect is such a bore.

That feeling that your family will never love you again is wrong. They will always love you. No matter if you are too large, too sexual, too out of touch, or too different to make them comfortable. You’re going to find out that it is more comfortable to live inside the uncomfortable because this is where you’re allowed to grow, make mistakes, and learn why you love your family. Why you need them but why you will forge your own path.

You are going to continue to fight with your body. Wouldn’t it be great if Lauren from 2020 would write and tell us otherwise? But take this time to look forward to the coming challenge of learning how to love your body. You are going to be well enough to be able to take that completely frightening task head on. Can you imagine what it will be like when we don’t need the constant reassurance of a significant other that we’re beautiful? Or what it will be like to continue being put under a magnifying glass by Mom and stand there proudly? (Perhaps it is our job to teach her about what loving the body you live in truly is and forgive her for not teaching that to us.) And if you can’t, that’s okay because I can’t either—but I have a strong feeling we are going to find a way to make peace.

There are so many things I could tell you but I want you to know that the pain is going to go away. You’re going to find the strength in you to get out of that room, out of that apartment, away from those “sisters” who don’t understand your depression, and into a new light because you are strong. You are radiant, you are beautiful, and I love you. You are a giant bundle of a hot mess but I love you, which gives me hope of being able to catch up with time and start loving myself here and now. You, no matter how far under the covers you hide, are where my strength comes from.

Oh yeah, you’re also going to be lying in the grass naked looking at the sky, through the limbs of the trees, and feel beautiful while someone who calls you “beautiful” takes photos of you. How awesome is that? And even though the anticipation of that photo being online for the world to see (and criticize if they so choose) is enough to make me want to vomit, it’s even more so thrilling because that moment in time where you felt absolutely natural, absolutely sexy, absolutely strong, is never going to be taken away from you. It’s just another stop along the way in the discovery of self-love.

I’m proud of what you’ve done. You’ve made it through the worst. Now let’s get to the best.

Ryan 021714-47-2-3

Ryan – USA

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Embodied but Free

 

This is my coming out letter. As a result of the Embody Project, and other circumstances, this is my experience and understanding of my gender today – 1 March 2014. I continue to learn more, remain open and hopefully help others that transcend the contemporary concepts of gender.

 

Erica Mueller: Why do you want to participate in The Embody Project?
Me: I guess I’ve always felt misrepresented by my body; people see me as a ‘man.’

 

Look at this picture closely.

What do you see?

Did the thought “He is ______” cross your mind? The first pronoun already misrepresents me as a whole person, never mind what you place in the blank. I do answer to He and His because I often identify with that gender; I also identify with the female gender and many others. I am genderfluid. I do not conform to or identify with society’s binary concept of male/masculine and female/feminine. I can switch gender identity and expression based on situation, place and time, or from one day to the next. Gender expression is given by appearance, mannerisms and voice. However, even these feminine and masculine gender descriptors are incorrect for me and rely on a binary system of gender identification; not a gender spectrum. I am both, none, and then some.

To understand myself and those like me I will discuss and relate to four topics: gender assigned at birth, gender identity, gender expression and sexuality.

Gender assigned at birth is an easy topic, or is it? A baby exits a mothers womb, the doctor takes a quick glance between the legs and it’s done: male or female gender based on biological sex; two possibilities for the people of Earth. Gender is not biological sex. I was born with male genitalia, as you can see in the picture. This didn’t feel uncomfortable or awkward until I began to notice my femininity as a teenager. Most of the time I accept my male body. I am quite literally attached to my penis. I relate to it, I identify with it as my body, the body I was born with, it’s cool.

Gender identity is an individual’s personal understanding of their gender on a gender spectrum: male, female or agender are but a few options. This concept can be confusing in a society where gender is binary and correlated with biological sex. I was raised as a male. I identified as male, still do sometimes, and have masculine characteristics. When I became sexually active is when I realized I was not entirely male gendered. I would jokingly refer to myself as a lesbian in a man’s body. How awesome to be a woman that identifies as a man in a man’s body! Best of all worlds, unless I had those days, or weeks, where I was a woman that identified as a woman in a man’s body… shit. I have repressed my femininity for most of my life due to societal standards; however, perhaps due to repression or other factors my femininity has become more prevalent as I’ve aged. I have started to integrate both aspects into my identity and expression, but I still have moments where I want to express a strong masculine or feminine identity openly.

Gender expression refers to how an individual portrays their gender identity to the world. I have days when I am noticeably masculine: I want a big 4×4 truck, flannel shirts and truckers hats; but then, too, I have days where I just want to be a pretty girl with long flowy skirts and poofy blouses, I move delicately and I’m emotionally sensitive to everything. This is difficult for me in a society that enforces gender uniformity based on biological sex. I rarely wear women’s clothes out of the house, but I do take my femininity out on the road show. People ask if I am ‘gay’ or ‘bi-sexual’, they never believe me when I say no, but this may become a half-truth.

Sexuality. One definition is the sexual habits and desires of an individual. I am, for most purposes, heterosexual. I am biologically male with a fluid feminine and masculine gender expression, even though I do identify with more genders. My feminine gender is attracted to masculine form and behavior while my masculine gender is attracted to the feminine form and behavior. I’ve recently begun to incorporate my gender identities into a whole, so I’m attracted to men and women with androgynous physical characteristics. The androgyne as an ideal has become attractive to me as I’m learning to embrace and express my gender transcendence.

Look at this human form and see me for who I am, a genderfluid human being that may express theirself along the spectrum of gender possibilities.

Lily 021914-239a

Lily – USA

/in /by

I remember dancing. I remember dancing under the moonlight, the drum’s beating heart enticing my body to sway. I remember hips circling, arms swirling, bare feet stomping on the naked earth. I remember hearing her song of devotion, the melodic sound dissolving my resistance. The seamless beauty of her voice seduces my spirit into this journey of embodiment.

I remember blood. I remember blood streaming down my thighs, eager to return to the land below. Like a lost child returning to its mother, my blood finds its way home. I remember my womb, nurturing life and then letting go. I remember painting my face with my blood, surrendering to the wildness of my animal nature.

I remember fire. I remember fire sparking passion, awakening desire, warming flesh and bone. I remember flame beckoning to me like a lover, calling me into its embrace and lighting my way through the mystery. I remember rising to meet it, fierce and powerful, raging with pleasure and love. Together we burn away the old, our alchemical cauldron birthing a new way.

This I remember. This is what I find, when I strip away the layers of clothing. This is what I find, when I shed the wounds of fear, shame, and isolation.

And through this stripping, I re-member that my wounds are a gateway to my power.

Through the gateway of my fear, lies the deepest love I have ever known. Behind this door, there is trust that does not falter no matter what horrors or grief I encounter, because this love is bigger than anything else has ever been. Here there is intimacy that cannot be lost, because it is inextricably woven into the fabric of existence.

Through the gateway of my shame, emerges pleasure beyond my wildest dreams. Here there is joy and delight in every sensual experience, and in every aspect of being alive.

Through the gateway of my isolation, comes the unshakable knowing of Oneness, even in this separate body. The separate Self simply provides an opportunity to revel more fully in the magic of unity.

For how can we truly know the magnificence of being whole and intact, if we have never known the sorrow of being broken?

My spirit knows unity in every breath.

Yet my body needs to feel the sturdy ground of earth, the sparking heat of fire, the tickling scent of an ocean breeze, the ridged bark of an ancient oak, the rhythmic vibration of a purring cat, the smoothness of a snake’s skin, the embrace of a beloved. My body needs to feel another body joining with mine, in ecstatic surrender, in order to remember that we are already One.

Rachel

Rachel – USA

/in /by

“Be big.”

That’s something I said to a close friend recently, who weighs just under 100 pounds, and who struggles with worrying that if she eats too much, she will become unattractive.

“Be big” is some advice that I could listen to myself.

Life is in the little details. All of them. Not just the positive, empowering details of our best moments when we feel full and confident, but in the ones that remind us how fragile we are. I have discovered that true empowerment for me comes from acknowledging the moments of doubt, the insecurities, the raw vulnerability, and from sharing them. Ninety-five percent of the time, I am a bold, self-confident whirlwind of a woman, but lately it is my brief moments of fear that have brought me closer to who I want to be. So rather than write about how empowered and explosive and strong and brave I felt swinging through the crisp autumn air and flinging myself off this rope swing into frigid water, I want to talk about the vulnerability that inspired me to act.

I am afraid of being too big. I’m scared of being too heavy. I’m terrified of being more than someone wants. My insecure moments descend on me when the weight of little words builds up, before I remember to throw up defenses. Passing comments of “wow, you’re tall for a woman,” or “can I try this acrobatic move with your smaller friend first?” or “I usually couldn’t do aerials with someone as big as you, but I’m glad this dance gives us momentum to do it!”…These often unintentional words seep their way into my normally resilient skin, because, after all, no human is perfectly waterproof.

I often catch myself slouching so that I’ll appear just a couple inches shorter.

Women are taught to take up as little space as possible. We celebrate our gorgeous curves and tell ourselves that real women have some meat, yet every time I sit on someone’s lap, I’m terrified that I’m too much. “Please, ladies, have a bodacious, womanly figure, but just try to keep it under 115 pounds…”

I am not petite. That’s taken me many years to accept.

So let this photo shoot be about sharing my vulnerability rather than insisting on my confidence, because just as we need to see the joy and possibility of empowerment, showing our fears is infinitely harder.

Through this photo I want to share with you…

my instinct to physically shrink and appear small “enough”

my fear of heights,

my terror that admitting my insecurities will make me seem weak and unattractive

my doubt of my physical strength,

my reluctance to stretch up and out and fill space

my worry that I am simultaneously not enough and too much

I am a beautiful, capable woman, and let me emphasize how big and strong my heart and body are by sharing with you that…

I am vulnerable.

Esjay

Esjay – USA

/in /by

Cold hard metal against my shaking hands, the tip-toeing dancing pads of my feet. I was excited and happy. Thankfully, I had the warm rush I was counting on. Teeny tiny vibrations. Everywhere. Like bounciness at the atomic level. I imagined the billions of electrons in and around me buzzing and bumping around, greeting each other excitedly to create warmth.

I was distracted by my quivering jaw, the twisting and tightening cold against my skin, all surfaces of my body exposed to the elements. I had a strong and sensible desire to be warm again. But I wouldn’t dare let this moment be stolen by the weather. No, this was too special a time for my thoughts to be occupied by such predictable and familiar sensations…I wanted to dig deeper to discover what was hiding beneath it. So I focused. Focused on emitting that happy hot excitement to the surface of my skin to rise as steam and beam from my eyes.

Tingling all over, I pushed past the cold and saw the beauty of my setting. Rust and red. Bare iron and the remains of its red paint shield. Function and form. One day, this wheel scooping water, the water pushing the wheel. My wheel, rotating still, on this old relic of energy capture. Still doing its trick, it pulled me right in.

I felt honest. Before, during, now. Why share in this bold manner if it isn’t honest? But how to honestly convey all that I am in one frozen image, one interview, one essay? I’m relying on trust. Trust that what I’m sharing is relatable. Though I find moments of ecstasy experiencing what I believe to be my uniqueness, I find comfort and connection, something like “a reason for it all” by discovering my similarities.

What a gift. To be open and honest and have others relate to that honesty; to feel connected to another’s spinning, twirling, radiating insides. Giving of yourself plainly so you can be plainly received. Not expected, but a pleasant surprise. Like life. I never could have imagined what an amazing experience it is to be alive.

I was smiling, not just for the camera, but inside. Looking around, a flock of birds in the sky, tangled vines in the trees, water rushing behind me. Focusing on bark and branches, the grubby surface of the worn metal, specs of green, whisps of clouds, craggy boulders…and then letting my gaze go fuzzy, seeing nothing more than my inward smile. Smiling now with the sheer joy that I can see. And be seen.

Seeing my image captured, I felt immediate acceptance. Like what I imagine a mother might feel upon first inspection of her newly born child. Instantaneous love and compassion for this being, though they’ve just laid eyes on each other. I didn’t see what I had imagined I’d see. I appeared different than the me I dress in the mirror, the private me. I thought of the Odalisque, not an image I ever associated myself with; the softness, the classic femininity of a past era. But in a single moment all is unchangeable. All is as it is. Frozen. There would be no changing form before we continued on. No way of transforming into the image I recognized in my minds eye. No, I wasn’t going to see anything different in the end than what I was seeing right then. I accepted that. Quicker than self acceptance has ever come to me. This instantaneous feeling was the biggest lasting impression of the embody experience. My utter acceptance of me. My physical form made of my vibrating cells, my spinning thoughts and pulsing energy giving shape to this body; revealed on a red wheel.

Grace

Grace – USA

/in /by

I’ve been disconnected.

I spent my first 25 (or more) years completely out of touch with myself and my body. I had no confidence, but I can’t really say I had poor self esteem or a poor body image. I had no sense of myself at all, and essentially no awareness of my body.

I wasn’t witnessed by my parents. They didn’t see me because they couldn’t. My mother’s severe depression and insecurity coupled with my father’s continuous anger and clinical narcissism demanded that I fill the role they needed for their apparent well-being. My role was to be perfect and well adjusted, and to focus on them. I needed to ignore and hide all my needs and emotions so that they could function. Since they couldn’t witness me, they weren’t able to reflect back to me the beautiful, imperfect, complete person that I was. I hid, and I lied, and I replaced the truth of my humanity with the appearance that I had a well-rounded grasp of every aspect of my life. Unfortunately, I hid all that I was from myself as well. I was unbelievably disconnected, unable to witness myself internally and completely disassociated from my body.

I grew up in South Florida so there was a lot of skin visible pretty much everywhere. I viewed it as vain and shallow, and while I was completely ignoring my body I was also priding myself on the fact that I was well adjusted enough not to participate in the objectification of women. I knew that societies’ standards of beauty were an unrealistic joke. However, I foolishly thought that even recognizing my body would somehow mimic the shallowness I wanted to avoid. I felt completely separate from my body. I sometimes found myself staring with confusion in a mirror, not really knowing who I was looking at. There was a sadness and longing there that I didn’t recognize as I just told myself that I was evolved enough to know that my real self had nothing to do with my body. Again, I wasn’t witnessing myself as human.

And then I met my husband. He taught me to love by seeing me… loving me… and allowing me the space to commit errors and be the complete, imperfect person that I am. Slowly (very slowly) I’ve learned that I’m human. Yes, my essence (our essence – the essence) is flawless love, but, I am also human. I am imperfect. I have flaws. I make mistakes all the time. I’m selfish and I hurt other people. And that’s amazing. It means I’m alive and I can understand other people. And while I’m alive as this imperfect, beautiful human – I have a body. As I’ve become more aware of myself, and my human nature, I’ve become more aware of my body. My senses are more alive. I see myself as beautiful and sexy, and sometimes as ugly and worn. I notice my physical imperfections and they feel normal. I feel like my body is mine. I’m beginning to see my image, and regardless of my assessment of that image, think “Yes, I am her. That body is me. I am that person.”

I am starting to connect.