Whispers and Words

It is just a place I laid my soul

anna jones photography

 

Can’t you see the beauty in everyone?

The beauty in the way people wear their skins, some skins are worn loose and fluid like a summer shift, the soul is alight within and the skin barely a vessel and more a sail by which the sun and wind blow it across the sea.

Some people wear their skins like armor. All muscle and contours. A steel wall, a brick facade, layer upon layer… something bricked up over and over again. A safe well hidden within the walls of a hundreds of layers of poured protection. Someplace far away from the surface there is movement and love… but how does one get in or out?

Some people do look trapped in their skin, all tension and pulling. So wound is the skin to the soul as though the body were a sprung trap, and thusly having harnessed a soul to itself it holds so tight, so tight. Anything can spring the trap, a defense against the physical world. A set trap against it all.

The skin and the body cannot trap anything really they are merely a vessel, a delicate, beautiful vase full of holy water and radiant tulips, brushed red lips left pursing for a kiss that is about to come. A fulfilled dream and an open boat floating through this life. Coming and going in its own time. The body forgets and pretends to be the oar, the steer, the way. Instead of the container.

It need not matter how we wear our skins. Each is so unique and stunning in it’s development and fashion. The pallor and tones. Birth marks and freckles. The way we hold or release, that we are sometimes brick and sheer gossamer simultaneously. A vast conundrum of possibility and potentials all wound tight and let loose, all sprung defense or affable allowances. From one moment to the next, and none of it is wrong… it is the way we wear our skin. Our beliefs wearing us, draped over as shoulders, knocked knees and alive.

Watch the way we wear our skins… mine is wound tight now in my shoulders…caught holding my breath for half my life . I see now and exhale, again, and again. I learn to let go. And make space.

 

Photo Credits: Anna Jones Photography 

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