Susan Bordo’s Unbearable Weight Is A Masterpiece

The Hard Surface Of The Stone Is Impervious To Nothing In The End. The Heat Of The Sun Leaves Evidence Of Daylight. Each Drop Of Rain Changes The Form; Even The Wind And The Air Itself, Invisible To Our Eyes, Etches Its Presence. … All History Is Taken In By Stones.

Ordinary Women Attempt To Change Our Bodies To Resemble A Pornographic Ideal. Ordinary Women Construct A False Self And Come To Hate This Self.

We Are The Bird's Eggs. Bird's Eggs, Flowers, Butterflies, Rabbits, Cows, Sheep, We Are Caterpillars; We Are Leaves Of Ivy And Springs Of Wildflower. We Are Women. We Rise From The Wave. We Are Gazelle And Doe, Elephant And Whale, Lilies And Roses And Peach, We Are Air, We Are Flame, We Are Oyster And Pearl, We Are Girls. We Are Woman And Nature. And He Says He Cannot Hear Us Speak. But We Hear.

At The Museum A Troubled Woman Destroys A Sand Painting Meticulously Created Over Days By Tibetan Monks. The Monks Are Not Disturbed. The Work Is A Meditation. They Simply Begin Again.

Before A Secret Is Told, One Can Often Feel The Weight Of It In The Atmosphere.