Eutony. Some words just roll around your mouth like a well-loved piece of candy – sweet and pleasant – a delight and a treat. There’s dazzle, for one. And delightful, for that matter. Tummy is a yummy word. And raspberry. But the best word – actually phrase – is salon de belleza. It’s Spanish for beauty salon. I learned it in junior high or maybe high school. From its introduction to me to now, I like to roll it around in my mouth. Long and slow–salon de belleza. Of course, a Spanish speaker would say it much faster, but I like to linger over all those vowels. Linger – now there’s another word.
Sadly, I don’t have much opportunity to work salon de belleza into daily conversation. Pity.
I like the word envelope. Not envelope. Envelope. And then there’s the verb envelope. Autonomy is fun and anthropological uses all the muscles in your face – I’m convinced of it though I have no proof.
Mirror mirror on the wall, show me a secret, not if I’m short, not if I’m tall. Mirror mirror on the wall, Give me the insight to love, to love one to love all.
They used to scry with bodies of water – peer at their reflection until their psyche, or the spirits, were revealed and spoke to them in the language of prophecy or riddles. And then mirrors were used.
Something happens when you look deep into a mirror. Deep. Beyond the reflection. Beyond the need for a hairbrush. Beyond the application of lipstick.
Gaze into your looking glass and see what you can see. Alice stepped through. You can too. There’s another world in there. It may look like this one or not. Animals might talk. So might trees. The dead might gather with messages of love or ones of warning. You might see a secret path and the way out of a problem that wasn’t there before.
Perhaps the glass will waver and mists swirl. What do you want to learn from the mirror?
I want to learn that my body is a small part of who I am. That beyond my body, into my innermost being, there exists purpose that goes beyond pain and limitations. That my body is temporary and my spirit eternal. I want to realize that though my body is failing, I am not. I am well along the path to wisdom.
My innermost self, the me that I protect from this place called reality is not the illusion. The refection is. The Bible says Through a Glass Darkly.
Yes.
You must look closely. Gaze into your eyes. We’ve been told they are windows to the soul. We can see another’s thoughts in their eyes. Witness their emotions even if we don’t know why, even if we don’t understand why. We can detect anger. Impatience. Love. Joy. Boredom. Eyes reveal.
Look at your own. Fall into them. Beyond the color – blue, brown, green, hazel. What do your own eyes tell you?
If you see pain, love yourself more. If you see anger, love others more. If you see impatience, give yourself grace. If you see joy, give it away. If you see resolve, follow through.
I’ve mentioned, at length before, that I love men. I think they’re adorable creatures, especially the ones who are comfortable in their skin. I like men who can be tender and soft, funny and uproarious, sober and serious. I like a man not so full of himself that he can’t play restaurant with a toddler or hold my pink purse when I’m digging through my suitcase looking for something at the airport.
Give me a man so secure in his masculinity that he doesn’t have to wear it like a sheriff’s badge to keep me guessing at his motives. Or to keep me in line.
I’ve been blessed with good men in my life. A father who didn’t hesitate to shed his Marine Corps officer’s uniform to crawl around on the floor with kids, an ex-husband who found the funny in just about everything, and a boyfriend who is simultaneously strong and tender.
There are good men everywhere.
Many men are feeling as if they are being attacked. As if masculinity is being attacked. It’s not. It’s toxic patriarchy that women are complaining about. The same brand of masculinity that tells men they can’t cry, can’t be tender, can’t show a gentle side. This is what we are against. We are wildly in love with men who can escape that trap and just be themselves.
I am a hedonist and AND is my favorite word. But I don’t think there’s as much of a conflict between desire and contentment as we’ve been led to believe. Contentment is not the absence of desire.
I am, in many respects, very content. I love my home, my friends, my boyfriend, my dogs, my job, and my calling in life. I want all these things and I work hard to maintain these relationships and duties. There is a desire to maintain this contentment. It took me a lot of years to achieve this state of being.
W. Va. Fur and Root 