In modern society our bodies have become more than mere temples. They are demigods; declarations of our willpower. Some people tackle their “imperfect” bodies with feverish determination, with clenched jaws and bunched fists. They demand change and they’ll be damned if they can’t turn their sack of flesh into Angelina Jolie, Scarlet Johansson, or whoever else is de rigueur. They jog, cycle, climb stairs - these all take place on stationary equipment in gyms that smell of granny farts.
My favourite category of body-battler is the collection of people you see on TV ads. They declare how they’ve lost x-amount of weight (usually about the weight of a baby elephant), by sitting on their wobbly behinds, eating whatever they wanted to (i.e. creamy cakes, Coca Cola and cheesy pizza) and simply drinking some revolutionary tablet/ tea/ shake. I recently watched an interview on Carte Blanche with one such woman. She raged against the slimming industry and all their false promises. She had battled the bulge for decades only to discover that the only way she could achieve permanent results was by eating properly and doing exercise. Well, duh…
I admit that I too cast a beady, judgmental eye over my naked body from time to time. But sometimes I look at this thing in the mirror with complete objectivity: It’s basically an elongated, hairless (for the most part) blob, with four appendages and a round ball on the top, sprouting grass-like filaments. How did we ever manage to equate this thing with beauty?
This realization really hits home when I’m busy with basic body maintenance. When my nails are firmly fixed to the tips of my fingers they seem to be a thing of beauty. Bring a nail clipper into the picture and it’s a different animal altogether. As soon as a nail clipping jumps free from my finger, it becomes the most repulsive thing on earth. I’ll carefully gather the clippings with rubber gloves and tweezers and throw them into the bin with a disgusted grunt. Yet, one clipping will always manage to escape my eye and inevitably end up in my bed sheets. The first night in bed after such an event is like a scene from a horror movie – it’s as if a whole crate of rattlesnakes and Freddy Krueger had been set free under my duvet.
Still, nothing quite beats the raw terror of unclogging the shower drain. My thick mane of blonde locks has received many complements over the years and has become a source of personal pride. The downside is that I shed hair like a mangy dog every time I take a shower. The sight of the clogged drain fills me with intense fear. I avoid the unclogging task for as long as possible. When I find myself standing in 6 inches of water while showering, I finally surrender. As soon as the first slimy strands emerge from the drain, my gag reflex kicks into gear. It’s a hair-raising experience, both literally and figuratively.
Clearly the logo "My other body is a temple" is true for all people. The "other body" just happens to be a figment of our imagination; an ideal we strive towards or a fantasy image we have of ourselves. A bit of separation anxiety, caused by a nail clipping or a drain-clogging hair plug, quickly puts an end to such daydreaming.
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