There Is Always A Time To Make

What Always Seems Miraculous Is When Aesthetic Necessities Yield An Insight Which Otherwise I Would Have Missed.

To Make Love Is To Become Like This Infant Again. We Grope With Our Mouths Toward The Body Of Another Being, Whom We Trust, Who Takes Us In Her Arms. We Rock Together With This Loved One. We Move Beyond Speech. Our Bodies Move Past All The Controls We Have Learned. We Cry Out In Ecstasy, In Feeling. We Are Back In A Natural World Before Culture Tried To Erase Our Experience Of Nature. In This World, To Touch Another Is To Express Love; There Is No Idea Apart From Feeling, And No Feeling Which Does Not Ring Through Our Bodies And Our Souls At Once.

But Still, The Other Voice, The Intuitive, Returns, Like Grass Forcing Its Way Through Concrete.

Telling A Story Of Illness, One Pulls A Thread Through A Narrow Opening Flanked On One Side By Shame And The Other By Trivia.

Susan Bordo’s Unbearable Weight Is A Masterpiece Of Complex An Nuanced Thinking Not Only About A Significant Problem That Faces Women But About Our Culture. A Very Valuable Book.