Sparkling woman, golden tones. Her husband on his way.
Sipping tea we spoke. Golden hair, golden cheeks, rosy skin, and under one sleeve, a surprise: a black plastic bracelet. It calculates her calories.
Energy in, energy out. Yes, but people are not empty scales.
Weight we don’t want is like angst we won’t drop; what is held onto escapes our view.
The glowing rose and her husband listen to each other as love does.
They remind me of a film from the 80’s, Bliss. Terence Stamp plays a sex therapist / violinist / guru. His character speaks to the delicate and gross nature of the human body, and how one person can be the best medicine for another. I love how he impersonates the energy of healing– and debunks the guru stigma.
In Bliss, he’s a guy who mastered something well enough to teach it. Nothing else. In fact, his work requires a void of cultism.
Isn’t a common discomfort around wise people the way in which their very existence proves our ignorance? And our potential? And our responsibility? Isn’t that good news?