Let’s just suspend our good judgement here for two minutes and entertain the odd notion that a woman’s power resides in her hips. As if power could inhabit one segregated area of our physical bodies. Y’know, hypothetically. Just roll with me here.
If this fantastical notion were to be true, that a woman’s power (read: center, truth, divine source, creative energy, deep wisdom) lives in her hips, then wouldn’t it also be reasonable to suggest that women might desire knowledge in accessing said power from her sacral region? Like, wouldn’t she want to know how to move her ass to activate that charge? And not for other people, but just for herself. To feel that confidence in her body. To transform and heal her life. To stoke the fire of her creativity. Not just own the Ferrari, but drive it. On the autobahn.
I’m not saying, shake your booty = save the world. But, maybe I am.
Because, again, this is purely hypothetical. Right? Riiiiiight?
Because looking around I see a LOT of attention being paid to beauty and form and delicacy and muscle tone– yoga, spin class, barre method, ballet, running, cross fit, etc. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that. BUT, what bothers me is I see precious little time spent on unlocking that wondrous booty. With all its ability to speak volumes of joy, softness, sadness, longing, lust, rage, tenderness and freedom– the booty gets very little face time. (Now that was funny.) The way I see it, a woman’s hips have their own complex magic that gets tucked neatly behind countless layers of shame. (not funny.)
This leaves me a bit sad, a bit perplexed, and strangely feeling like there’s an entire half of a planet that has forgotten where their power lies.