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FALL 2008

All For One, And One For All
By Ariella K. Forstein

We live in a society that tells us to be independent. We learn to "Speak for ourselves." We are taught that to be heard in this world we must know how to fend for, and defend ourselves. We seek out and pay therapists when we need help and guidance, and we become therapists because so many people need help and guidance. We live in neighborhoods, yet separate ourselves from our neighbors vis-à-vis our own yards, fences, security systems, locks, double locks, pad and chain locks, dogs who bark at strangers, and knowledge that it may not be safe to walk alone after dark.

~~I LOVE walking alone after dark!~~

We e-mail, we text and we call before we just "pop by" to say hi. We open up our planners (or Blackberries) and pencil in time for our loved ones, our friends and our relationships of all sorts. Some of us are blessed with family and friends close by, while others have to take the price of gas into consideration before going to simply "hang out" with friends.

What is this model of living to which we all "on some level" have unconsciously subscribed? It is part of "the times," but then don't we create our own times? My friend from Israel invited me over last night, and I responded with "it's late, let's just talk on the phone." "That's the American way," he said, and it bothered me to be labeled as subscribing to a specific way… but he is right. If he lived walking distance from me I would have hopped in for a bit, and would have enjoyed the walk!

So rather than getting down on myself, I realize what currently is. I then see what I can do to change my patterns in order to live a more communal lifestyle, even though I currently live alone as an independent woman.

I am learning to be vulnerable and that it is OK to express weakness, and especially in those moments to ask for support. I have beautiful friends, "brothers and sisters," who would do anything for me. I have a family that loves me powerfully and unconditionally even though I have decided to follow an unconventional artist path and lead a life that is so different than theirs. I can call out to these people because they create my community.

I am greatly influenced by my travels in Ghana, West Africa, where each village had a Queen Mother and King Father. The Queen Mother acted as the village therapist, helping the people sort out their problems. The King Father dealt with judicial issues in the village. Families helped raise each other's children, and when there was a birthday, the whole village celebrated. While their communal structure certainly isn't perfect, they have something there: COMMUNITY!

I have gotten to know my neighbors and while one helped me repair my bicycle the other day, and the other insisted that I pick herbs from her garden and eat breakfast in her garden now and then. We all also share a compost bin.

Rather than thinking of having gatherings, I'm actually planning get-togethers with friends, old and new. And when I'm "in the area" I'll just stop by my friends' places. So I'm creating my "times," and my community. I invite you to join in my community, and powerfully step forward in your own. What community structures inspire you? What do you want from those around you, and what can you offer your friends and neighbors? Who do you know already, and whom would you like to meet?

Rather than "each man for himself," how about each man, woman, child in communion with, and in support of one another?

If you would like to share community stories, or dreams of your ideal community, please write to: Ariella@theray.org 

SUMMER 2008

Marilyn Monroe Had It So Good

By Braden Kuhlman

I was a skinny, average height girl. I took ballet for 11 years and was very active as a swimmer and tennis player. I was even called “bony butt” and often complimented on my lean legs throughout secondary and high school. I also experienced the snide remarks about my “mosquito bite” size breasts, being asked if I had band-aids to cover them. Then I got “lucky.” I had my first period at age 13. My tiny breasts became small and started growing. I started taking “the pill” at age 16. By the end of high school I had a B+ cup. By the end of college I was the definitive C-D I am today. I was a partial late-bloomer. But, wow, how happy was the male population along the way!

No sooner had I acquired said breasts and a sigh of relief, than the thighs appeared (gather all yea mothers while reading this to relish the days before your birthing hips). When you pray to be many things as a young growing girl, you do not pray to be big in any area but one. And, to this end, I began to grow. As my breasts grew, my thighs grew. Sure, I heard and read and well understood my primal function in life; to one day have children. What they do not tell you about this birthing need is that around your own growth comes the rather “stunted” view of our society’s body ideals. Thereby allowing your own sense of self to dwindle instead of bloom.

I went from strutting my front stuff to figuring out how to handle the chaffing of my thighs. I resented getting older. I longed for the days the boys called me “bony butt,” because of course with the larger thighs came the padded buns. Those same boys stopped flirting with me for being the best “leggy” girl around. It hurt. Where, once, I could flip through magazines and feel myself wearing the models’ outfits, I found the mere idea of going to the dressing room to even try something on a total embarrassment. To boot, my waist remained small. Some of you may be thinking, “how’d she get so lucky?” To me this was simply another hardship fraught with one clothing designer after another creating wears, where if your middle was a small, so were the pant legs, which meant I was lucky to get things over my knees, never getting to secure the button for a look in the mirror.

When one first encounters strife with the body there is a typical psychological routine as I see it: ignorance, realization, effort, denial, dealing, courage, affirmation and affection. In my case it went something like this: I continued buying size 4-6 pants/skirts for years. I would not try them on at the store. I just brought them home to find I could not fit into them and was subsequently too embarrassed to exchange. Finally I began to buy my real size. I also began to try everything to help my thighs shrink: diets, starving, laxatives, running, jogging, walking, aerobics, spinning, yoga and sex (I even considered liposuction). I pretended my larger thighs were not a hazard to my beauty (yet dated a few bad men who sadly reminded me exactly where my fat was during our argumentative moments). Despite these things, I finally remembered that I was not just two thighs, and that there was a magnificent body attached, with great breasts, an amazing brain, a big heart and much more. To help solidify this I started to stand up for myself by embracing my assets and using them to my advantage. As I began each day I gave myself a pick-me-up by looking at myself in the mirror – eyes to eyes – to tell myself how beautiful all of me is. I make an effort to remember to take care of, and love myself truly and honestly, no matter what I look like, or what anyone else says.

At age 33, I write this to you still having had no children, and therefore still having no societal “excuse” for my thighs. I am able to feel sexy. I am proud to include this picture of myself to show you and share with you my honest size – my thighs. I am akin to one of my photographic favorites, Marilyn Monroe. She sure had it good- living in an era that glamorized the voluptuousness she so splendidly displayed. And, I am blushing to write that I feel I fill out a cat suit costume better than any other friend I know.

Va-va-voom!