Posts Tagged: body talk
(body talk #11) Bodies I have known: let’s start with the women. My grandmother Helen was born in 1906, but she was always old. She was old the way people in old photographs look old — the shape of her
(body talk #9) I want to write about orgasm, but the words keep squirming on the page. I write something and it flops around making sad wet noises, looking for someplace to hide. I can write about orgasm fictitiously, hypothetically,
I stumbled across this quote by Eckhart Tolle the other day: “When you no longer believe everything you think, you become aware and realize that the thinker is not who you are.” I feel both liberated and banished by this
Lies My Body Tells Me (a list-in-progress): 1. I have cancer. Why does my back hurt? Must be the tumor on my spine. Why are my hands so papery? Cancer sucking me dry. Why am I so tired? Definitely cancer.
I recently learned of an interesting study by Amy Cuddy, a social psychologist known for her research in nonverbal behavior. (Click her name to see a video. I know, I know, it’s 20 minutes long, but if you’re currently looking
(continued from here first, here, and here.) But usually, I have no idea what my body is saying to me. This fact is alarming by itself but the converse is true, as well: I’m oblivious to what it’s telling about
(continued from here first and here second.) Whenever I write something on the back of my hand I remember Susan because when she saw those ink-stains she’d always point and roll her eyes. “Nice ink,” she’d quip.“You are such a
(this is a continuation of this post) I remember a few occasions when my body made a declaration, when it elucidated something as clearly as if it had spoken in a clear and urgent voice. When I started teaching, I
I once had a small wart on the fleshy part of my right hand. No one could see it but I could feel it. And I did: whenever I felt nervous I’d press it with my thumb, worrying the wart.