This is an original work that may not be
reproduced without the express permission of the author. To contact
Shane Steinkamp, please use the form at the bottom of this page.
This work is available for publication.
This piece works rather well as a piece
of performance art, if you're brave enough to be naked in front of a crowd
of strangers...
THIS IS MY BODY
We arrive in the world from the miraculous vessel of the womb and
quickly take our place in the forward march of humanity. If we stop for a
moment and turn a visionary eye back, we see that we are the product of a
startling paradox: we arrive in this world through our mother's womb, and
her through her mother's, and her through her mother's in turn. Looking
back, all of humanity folds back into a Great Spiraling Hallway of
Parallel Mirrors; wombs in wombs in wombs. We are an echo that repeats
endlessly from a single beat of an ancient drum. The sound of the drum is
'WOMB, WOMB, WOMB…'
Racing this hallway backwards to the beginning, which came first; the
mother or the womb? Was there an Eve - be she wife of Adam or no? No
matter. The hallway of mirrors ends not there, and goes back further, and
whether we rose from the soil by chance or were formed from it by unseen
hands, a simple truth is plain: The first womb of mankind is Mother Earth
herself. Even she, in turn, was born in a way from the womb of the
universe.
Beyond that birth we cannot see. From what womb the universe born? We
cannot know. The drumbeat seems to originate here. The Universe is our
Greatest Grandmother of all. Through her pangs all the myriad worlds
became her children, and grandchildren in turn were born to them. Each
child in turn passing along just a little bit of the original seed first
passed on eons ago. Each echo reverberating down the walls of the Great
Hallway of time.
It does not do well to dwell too long on the Original Mother, and so we
travel back through the Great Spiral Hallway and arrive again in our
bodies, which have - through untold mothers born from the universe itself
- come out of the Earth to walk upon it, and give thanks.
Through this singular realization, we stand with bare feet upon the
Earth and declare to one another, "This is our body.", and there
is nothing more sacred, more holy, or more miraculous than our body. If
our bodies were formed out of the dust of the ground by the hand of God,
then we are truly a miracle. If our bodies arose by chance, and against
all chance, then we are a truly a miracle. It makes no difference.
This is my body.
This is no metaphor. This is the reality of our flesh. Warm, feeling,
and alive.
This is our body; Emerged from our mother with a bloodline stretching
back to the beginning of time.
In this body I discover another - my wife - and this too is my body;
and through the intimacy of this one flesh, we give thanks.
This is my body.
In time I hold in my own naked arms my own naked daughter, unlocked and
grown from the box of her mother's womb with the key and the seed I
brought with me from my mother's womb - a box unlocked by my father's key
- and I know and say aloud, "This is my body." Flesh of my
flesh, and bone of my bones.
A womb born of a womb, a natural daughter and a divine sister, and I
looked at her and knew that the seed had moved from us to her - another
mirror aligned in the Great Spiral Hallway.
We sit, huddled together warm and naked, flesh to flesh, my wife, baby
daughter, and I, and we know without saying, "This is our
body.", and there is nothing more wondrous than this. Flesh of our
flesh, and bone of our bones. The very bosom of God would be a cold and
lonely place in comparison.
How strange then, and sad, and cruel, and unimaginably evil it is that
we wrap our warm, living, sacred flesh in cold, dead rags and hide our
bodies away and say that they are shameful, and vile, and sinful, and
ugly, and obscene. How strange, and sad, and cruel, that we take something
that should be cherished and instead abuse it, lock it away, and try to
pretend that it does not exist. How strange and sad that we take something
sacred and call it profane. How strange it is that we are ashamed of our
greatest treasure when our only shame is that shame: The shame of a lie
that someone told us about ourselves.
OH! Cruel master! What have you done with the child of your mother?
What have you done with the sacred garment you were born in? Wicked child!
Do you really believe that you can be weaned from your Mother the Earth,
wear a ragged disguise, and pretend that you are not her offspring?
This is our body! Hands, fingers, toes, arms, legs, bellies and backs,
nipples and breasts and buttocks, penis, scrotum, anus, vulva, vagina,
womb. This is our body. Holy of holies. Sacred of sacreds. To lay our
hands on our bodies is to touch the original Temple of the Divine.
Give me your hand! That's right; come along. It's just a little way.
Let's go down and visit our mother. No! No! No hat or coat. Let us go down
undisguised; and perhaps, though she has not seen us these many years she
will recognize us and let us suckle at her breast. Come with me now, my
hand around your waist, and walk with me and I will point out for you the
body of your mother. Walk with me now, and perhaps you shall repay the
same service to me in due time. No! No! Off with that foul habiliment! Do
you think that I speak in allegory? Do not let your mother see you in
those vile rags! If you wear a disguise, she might not know you! That's
right… Off! OFF! ALL OFF! Do not be a stubborn child.
Stand atop this high place and let the wind caress you lovingly.
This is your body.
Leap from here and plunge into a deep clear pool.
This is your body.
Lay on this cool grass while the raindrops kiss you in your entirety.
This is your body.
Sit in this waterfall, and be truly free.
This is your body.
Stand upon this beach - each foot in a different world.
This is your body.
Fling yourself into this raging sea, and feel it rock you gently.
This is your body.
Walk along this shore - a ribbon of starlight.
This is your body.
Lay in the sand exposed to the great eye of this sun, and feel it warm you
deeply.
This is your body.
Witness this sea of grass - dancing - and dance with it.
This is your body.
See how these lilies of the field grow. They do not labor or spin, yet not
even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these.
This is your body.
Swim in this sky blue lake and feel the water tickling every part of you.
This is your body.
Taste deeply this cool river.
This is your body.
Wander in this desert - a parched and thirsty place.
This is your body.
Observe this forest - a vast ocean of green.
This is your body.
Smell these trees - Children of the Universe grown from different seed.
This is your body.
Raise your arms - like their outstretched branches giving thanks to the
sky.
This is your body.
Listen to the rustling laughter of these leaves - and laugh with them.
This is your body.
Sleep upon this ground - the very flesh of your mother.
This is your body.
Confer with these cacti - silent sentinels.
This is your body.
Be cut by these thorns, guarding the face of beauty.
This is your body.
Stand beneath these clouds - icebergs in a crystal blue sea.
This is your body.
Listen to this rain - a chorus of droplets on your skin.
This is your body.
Lie down in this stream and let it wash through your soul.
This is your body.
Watch this fire - a common magic - transmuting the elements.
This is your body.
Catch these snowflakes - Icy tears shed for the memory of creation.
This is your body.
This is the Song of Souls.
This is our body.
The Earth itself is Flesh of our flesh and Bone of our bones.
Sing with me now and our mother will sing with us.
This is our body.
Let us weep in the wind, swim in the sky, dance with the rain, make love
with waterfalls, speak to the sea, roll in the dirt, rejoice in our
laughter, and celebrate the poetry of our lives.
This is your body.
This is my body.
This is our body.
How can you be ashamed?
Now then, come a bit further. That's right. Walk with me. Not far now.
There is another place to show you. See here, this man, old, haggard, and
frail? This is our body. See how nature deals with us in the end? Like a
mother leading a sleepy child to bed; playthings scattered on the floor.
See how it ends? All mother's children must sleep. You too, my friend,
will go down to bed one day, and you will be lost to the dreamtime. Would
you like to see your resting place? Come along then. It's just a little
way. Ah! Here we are now… What's that? Why, yes, yes this is the path we
just walked, and here is where you will come to peace. The hills, the
vales, the woods, the lakes, and the rivers are the ornaments of the great
Tomb of Mankind. The circle of life is also a circle of death. The Earth
is one mighty sepulture and you will slumber in its bosom with all your
brothers and sisters before you. This is your body. Your mother will
recognize you then and say, 'This is my body!', and she will grow you up
again as the grass you walk upon now.
So live now! While you have time, before your mother calls you to bed,
play! Do not go about in cold rags filled with dread and shame - there
will be time enough for cold rags when they sew you in a sack and put you
in a hole. Do not go about in cold rags! Run rather - run! - naked -
literally and absolutely naked in the sun upon the grass, and laugh, and
breathe, and dance. This is your body. Do not hide it from the face of
your mother.
This is your body!
The whole race is a poet. Do not let your verse be sad and cruel.
This is your body!
Perhaps now I have put you upon the road, and now you must travel it
for yourself. Now I depart, but if you look for me, I can be found. I am a
child of the universe, and this is my body - and yours too. Sacred of
sacreds. Holy of holies. Do not let it languish like an unseen treasure
wrapped in cold rags, but take it out from time to time - as often as
possible - and celebrate it. Celebrate it now.
Say hello to mother for me.
***
Shane Steinkamp - January 11, 2004 |