This is a long post. It was sparked by my rejoining weight watchers and receiving a compliment by an elderly gentleman on Sunday. Come with me now, as I testify.
I can't quite trace where it began, but somewhere along the line, I became unaffected by my appearance. I can tell you that concern for one's appearance was not encouraged where I grew up. Too bourgeois.
There was also the issue of my intentional separation from others. Of course, this began around age 15. I used my punk and feminist energy as a tool to slice others out of my life. It is rather liberating, shaving one's head, running around all crazy thrift store clothes. Looking all feral and Bjork. Again, I was beholden to no one. It is a power, this punk. But, it is a false power. A power to push away, to divide, a power rooted in the devil of selfishness and anger.
This type of power attracted the appopropriate people. Mostly thugs, confidence men and psychopaths. They had no prospect or way of sustaining a place in my life. I didn't realize it at the time, but I had created a complete and self-reproducing chaos. Which was part of my plan, to be a total anarchist. After all, if no one is in your life, you have no laws, no rules of engagement. There was no love there, no caring, no grace of God.
Eventually, my need for isolation faded. And I found this man, this Mr. Hall. I quit smoking for him. During our first week of courting no less. I began to feel his love. I began to heal. And I shed so much weight, so much anger and chaos. I felt the power of love, I began to strike the devil down.
I feel whole these days. This allows me to dress and behave like a full grown and attractive woman. This attractiveness, this care of and tending to what I look like, is healing. It is changing me. I use tools to further my pretty. These tools include a wonder bra, a heated eye lash curler, stylish clothes, and weight watchers. They are powerful, these tools. As powerful as the hand of providence. Can I get an Amen ladies?
This is where the rubber hits the road, so to speak, in this post. After all, all this talk of my outside means something very real, to the inside of me. And the inside of me, had a triumph recently.
Last Sunday, I went out for pancakes. I put on make up, intentionally. I did look good and smiled a lot. While we were waiting for our table, a gentleman of 70 years sat beside me. "I thought sitting next to you would improve my appearance" he said with a wink. He was resplendent in his pastel driving cap. His camel hair coat and wing tips were most fitting for a man of his vintage.
I was tickled by all of this. I did not feel automatic danger. There was no automatic bristling of my bones.
I was further warmed by the fact that his wife (also in her seventies) and their kids and grandkids were milling about. This is a nice man, I thought, paying me a compliment. And I received this as it was intended, warmly.
And I feel secure with all this healing. I feel the power of who I am. And now it's my turn to spread the good word. To shout out the joy of pure health.
I am healed Lord! Hallelujah! I CAN WALK AGAIN!!
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