Deep within you, whether you are aware of it or not, is your primal need for breast. It is part of you; It was born with you. It has been with you for millions of years.
When you emerged into the world of air, hunger came with you. And linked to hunger was the remedy for hunger, already known to you. You had, at birth, the skill to guide yourself to it by touch, by smell, by warmth, by sweetness. You had, and still have, internal, ancient coding to find the breast and suck.
'Find the breast and suck.' This message sings in you, in every one of us, from birth to death. It says: 'Find the breast, source of nourishment, source of contentment.' It urges: 'Find the breast, where hunger ceases, where you are one with the mother, one with the pulsing heart of the mother, at one with Breast / Heart / Mother / All.'
The breast is bliss. The breast is enlightenment. The breast is the emblem of our most sacred aspirations. The Madonna holds the infant to her breast. Ka'aba (Hajar-e-aswad), the holy rock of Mecca, is known as the Mother's Bountiful Breast.
Breast is nourishment is life is sun is round and warm and full. A simple drawing of a breast is the symbol for Sun, nourisher of all life. And life is sacred, so breasts are sacred, so women are sacred, holy, whole. Always and everywhere women's breasts have been honored.
Has anyone ever told you that your breasts are holy and sacred and moving with the energy of life? Has anyone ever told you that your breasts are a source of power? Has anyone ever given you permission to love your breasts, touch your breasts, adore your breasts? Has anyone encouraged you to honor your breasts and all women's breasts as life, as the support of life?
Were you allowed to suckle at your mother's breast? Have you ever received, ever given, nourishment from your breasts? Have you drunk from the breast of Mother Earth? Have you drunk from the wild springs of the Earth? Taken bites of plants still rooted? Spilled warm, raw milk into your mouth? Have you put your mouth up the source and received fulfillment, ecstasy?
Do your breasts have a story? If you ask, they will tell you. Do you remember when your breasts emerged? What were you feeling about them then? Excited? Eager? Awkward? Embarrassed? Angry? Tender?
Do you remember the first time you felt your breasts move as you ran? The first time you felt your breasts float as you swam? The first time you stood in the shower and watched the water arch out over your breasts and waterfall off your nipples?
We are the Ancient GrandMothers and our breasts are ancient. Perhaps you find them ugly. See how they drift yeaharningly toward the Earth, lower with every passing year. We smile knowingly; We know our breasts contain a power that is resilient, flexible, supple, easy, and impossible to restrain. Whatever the whim of fashion says our breasts are to large or small, pointed or flattened, with cleavage or without, padded or bound, accented or obscured, it matters not to us. Our breasts fall free, untouched by current notions. The power of our breasts is the power of life.
The power of our breasts is the power of every woman's breasts. As our breasts are life, so every woman's breasts are life. And this is true of you, too, GrandDaughter: The power of your breasts is the power of life. Your breasts are sacred.
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