Let’s Talk About Breasts Baby, Let’s Talk About You and Me

I didn’t know how I was gonna pay my rent this month. But I have been listening to a course in miracles “thirty day miracles” program on financial abundance. (Check it out at http://www.miraclesone.org) It has been invaluable in its capacity to sooth my anxious mind and help me keep an expansive divine perspective. A couple of days ago, I found this picture of the Hindu goddess, Lakshmi. She looked kinda sad and neglected, so I found a regal, silver frame that I happened to have lying around (Sounds silly, but I really did.) I dressed her in it. I surrounded her with a couple of Ben Franklins, an assortment of crystals, some pretty moss, a single candle and a stick of incense… She looked exceedingly pleased in her new queendom. The next two days, I got calls from especially fantastic clients, who both ended up extending their sessions by a half an hour! Wonder Woman! (I was gonna say, “man”, but I thought what does “man” have to do with anything I’m saying? So I substituted “Wonder Woman” instead. It is meant as an enthusiastic exclamation.) I know, it sounds too good to be true, but prayer and magic are real, after all. I’m stoked. Jai Maha Lakshmi!

I’m at Mykael’s café today. This guy is sitting at my favorite table, the window table. He has this big, killer notebook. He writes in it with a simple bic ballpoint pen. He looks really absorbed. He has a nose ring. He just flipped through the pages and I saw all these quickie sketches intermingled with writings. God, I would LOVE to have a browse through the interior of his externalized mind. Not because he’s gut wrenchingly captivating… but because he’s alive and he’s investing himself in exploring the place where his interior and exterior worlds converge in one special notebook, and that’s just fucking interesting, period.

My latte foam was extra profound today! Just a footnote~ if you looked at the pictures on my camera phone, you would see that mostly I only photograph three things. The third most photographed thing is ROSES. The second most? MYKAEL. And the first= the foam on my cappuccinos and lattes. I HAD to photograph my drink today because it was a rabbit, rising up out of a lotus flower with angel wings! I have had this

Errrrrrtttttt. That’s the sound of brakes screeching to a halt, because I just thought of something much more important to say. You’ll have to wait to hear about my latte foam brain child, okay?

I want to talk about breasts. And body image. I have two resplendent friends, Mr. and Mrs. X. Last night, they told the best story I’d ever heard, literally, figuratively and biblically. Fasten your seatbelts, folks. Goes a little some’m like this: Mr. X went to a “snuggle party” (actually I think they said “cuddle party”, but I much prefer the word snuggle to cuddle. Can you dig it?) He asked Mrs. X what her boundaries were in terms of him “playing” with miscellaneous foxy ladies. She said, “If you start to get a hard-on, that means it’s time to redirect yourself.” (Those were my words, BTW, based on their recount) He concurred. Later, he came home and proudly reported that he had sat in the hot tub with a hot woman on his lap and he had blissfully fondled her breasts, all without getting a hard on! (Can’t you just see him… beaming like a little boy who’d just caught his first fish?) Mrs. X was neither amused nor inspired by this news. In fact, she was hurt and pissed off. She felt that he had covertly crossed a boundary.

Just in the mere recounting of the story, Mrs. X’s feelings resurfaced, and since the Xs are incredibly generous, courageous and transparent people, they gave Mykael and I the honor of witnessing them as they revisited this intimate space of ouch and yuck. Mr. X said his “hot tub ho” had “amazing” breasts. This stung Mrs. X, because in her experience, her mister never gushed with that kind of enthusiasm over HER breasts. Uh-oh. Trouble, right?

Breasts. Earlier in the very same day (yesterday), I happened to have been hanging out topless with a different girlfriend and a guy. He complimented her breasts (which are indeed sumptuous jewels) and immediately she responded with, “I’ve always wished they were smaller and that the areolas were darker and smaller.” He said that in his experience, women are never completely satisfied with their breasts. In that moment, I yearned to fully accept mine. Mostly, I dig ‘em. Sometimes I wish they were just a teense bigger. But fuck… what a waste of time. (I’ve also put on a slight coating of squish in the last few months… Nothing profound… just enough. And I actually really love it. I am a woman, for fuck’s sake. Women are supposed to be squishalicious. And I’d way rather focus on feeling strong and healthy and connected with myself from the inside. You know, feel my energetic flow, baby! I still have that insane program subtly running me that women’s bodies are supposed to look like emaciated teenage boys. Crazy. Plus, most of the women that Mykael is attracted to are the bony ones, so I do feel like even if I love my modest, womanly squish, he won’t. Now, intellectually, I know that my body is MINE and nothing is more important than self love and self acceptance… But…

That’s what I was wishing for Mrs. X, too. She was wanting Mr. X to express his appreciation of HER breasts in that oh-so-tense moment… But she was not getting what she wanted, which is no surprise, because generally, throwing around your pain and wrath is not the most prize-winning way to get what you want in life… But she was doing her best, considering that when a
(Ahhhh, I see myself in everyone. No wonder I feel crazy sometimes… that’s a vast notion of self… sheesh.) when a vortex of insecurity and pain (and hormones?) sucks one in… it can be debilitating. Trust me, I’m an expert.

But strange that I had two breast inadequacy incidences in one day, right? All I can think of is that God wanted me to blog about it. God wants me to reveal to you, the only REAL commandment She intended to decree~ Thou shalt love thine breasts exactly as they are and aren’t.

I didn’t say anything as Mr. and Mrs. X frolicked hand in hand through their personal field of emotional landmines. But inside, I just kept wishing that Mrs. X would love and accept her body completely without needing validation from her man. I wish that for all women. In fact, I think if a genie exploded out of a bottle right now, and granted me a wish, that’s what it would be. Another facet of my experience during the “uncomfortable breast incident”, was that I was feeling really grateful that I didn’t have “mainstream stereotypically amazing breasts”, because if I did, I would have felt guilty and ashamed of them in the face of my friends’ uncomfortable exchange. I guess I have felt guilty and uncomfortable about having a sweet body before… when I’m in the company of a friend who is overweight.

It’s tricky… as a woman… Women who let their light shine blindingly, the way it was meant to… must have to face the uncomfortable feelings of inadequacy, jealousy and comparison that their success and radiance must often solicit in women who don’t feel as amazing about themselves. I guess it could be like that for men, too… but I am addressing the wounded feminine right now. Also, the feminine is so empathic… so what a full time occupation it must be, to feel other women’s inadequacy and illusory brokenness and continue to stand tall and shine, and see that same empowered reflection in her sisters, even when they are not feeling it. God, I’m excited for our collective healing to carry us ALL to an empowered, self loving place! From now on, I’m gonna throw caution to the angel’s breath and dinosaur bones and love my breasts and my body just as they are! After all, at the end of the day, they are JUST BREASTS. And at the end of some day in the future, they will just be worm food and stardust again.