These are all stories we tell ourselves. All of it. The heartbreak. The childhood. The identities. The things we’re good at, the things we lose, the places we find joy, all of it. All stories. Every last drop is a story we tell ourselves.
Except the body. The body speaks only in memory. In song. Except the body, which cannot lie. There are no tales to weave here. Only an unraveling of what is already whole and perfect and older than we can imagine. These are all stories we tell ourselves, except the body.
Tag: embody
On Food
We sit by the ocean, sunglasses on, blessed down to our toes in sun. Hibiscus beer gives off a rosy glow from our glasses. The waitress places two metal trays in front of us, covered in salty, greasy fries and grilled fish sandwiches. There’s nowhere on earth as joyful as my body when I take the first bite. Flaky white flesh, tomato dripping with ruby juice, tiny green morsels of lettuce, covered with delicate layer of tartar sauce, and drizzled with juice from a bright yellow lemon slice. It seems impossible, but it’s really happening. I’m here, with you, and I’m in my body. I exist. I love.
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Thank you so very much. Your generosity and support really make a difference.
Thank you so very much. Your generosity and support really make a difference.
Thank you so very much. Your generosity and support really make a difference.
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Siena Facciolo 