When I went round he was still in bed, and he asked me to help him get up. That meant helping him to get dressed, and the experience led me to ask yet another question of myself. Why do I have such a difficult attitude to the human body?
It will come as no surprise to regular readers of this blog that I’ve never been able to get enough of young women’s bodies. They’re something akin to the Holy Grail to me, and yet all other examples are deeply obnoxious. There’s no way in which I could ever have been a doctor, a nurse, a paramedic, or even a carer. Bodies and bodily functions are anathema to me. After helping my neighbour to get dressed this morning, I felt nauseous over lunch. And I remember an incident when I was about eight or nine. My uncle was a quadriplegic and lived in a home for the disabled, where we used to visit him once a month. On one occasion a young Downs girl came over to our table and kissed me on the lips. I felt sick for two days afterwards, and I don’t think I’ve ever fully recovered.
So what’s wrong with me? Why is my attitude so polarised between one form of body and all the rest? Is this contrast something to do with the cause of the problem, or merely a symptom? And does it explain why I find the signs of my own ageing so difficult to come to terms with? I look at the lines around my eyes and the first slight hints of looseness around the face. I’m aware that my skin, tendons, ligaments and muscles are less elastic than they used to be. My muscles are undiminished in size, and they’re still moderately strong, but they don’t have the endurance they used to have.
I know that none of this should bother me; I know that I should be above that sort of concern. But it does bother me because the condition of corporality bothers me, and also because I know that the one form of body which I’ve always enjoyed is no longer available.
I suppose that’s why I’m so interested to hear of certain notable instances of young women marrying much older men. TS Elliot’s wife, for example, was a beautiful woman of thirty when she married the sixty six-year-old poet. Maybe women are inclined to be so much more mature in what they find attractive. If so, they have my envy and my admiration.
4 comments:
I can understand Jeff. I think that anything that can be considered as less than the perfect ideal of youth and strength, will always confront us with our frailty and mortality. I'm sure none of us wish to consider our disintegration but that's why the spirit has to be strong, to shine through our material condition.
Hang on! I'm not THAT old yet. Frailty! Disintegration! The shining of the spirit can wait a bit longer! Bring on the dancing girls, I say. Lets see which bits haven't disintegrated yet.
Only kidding (?) Thanks Mel.
Interesting! From my own perspective, artistically, having done countless countless countless hours of nude figure drawing, with models of all shapes and sizes and colors and ages, I am fairly desensitized to all of it. Although young, shapely bodies are beautiful in their own right...I have to admit, I much much much prefer older, aged bodies as a subject. While a young woman's body is nice and simple and stands to signify all sorts of wonderful things, it's almost, well, bland really....the entire anatomy of an aged body is so much more interesting, at least for me. Especially the hands.
I don't know many people who are very comfortable with the idea of their body aging. Thus we have all sorts of ways to try and avoid it....plastic surgeries and hair dyes and exercise programs and miracle foods and medicines and creams as far as the eye can see. I think it's a bit sad, though I can't say I'm completely comfortable with it myself-I have yet to learn that.
You're absolutely right, McC. The point of the post was to admit to a personal 'phobia' that is wholly unjustifiable.
And yes, there's something rather sad about feeling the need to hide the signs of ageing under creams, hair products and so on. I wouldn't do it. I think that if you feel young inside, it shows to certain extent anyway.
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