Thursday, 2 February 2012

The Million Dollar Bra

Around the turn of the millenium I did some tech support work in Adelaide on a cruise ship docked there for some maintenance. I met a young lady on that job - I didn't know her well, or for that long either, but I liked her, and here's an experience I'd like to share.  I feel a certain connection to the Divine Feminine, and I'm also a single man in whose breast hope still springs eternal. So this story is partly about me, partly about average aussies, and partly about a young Aussie woman - and also partly about something rather special.

This young woman was attractive and slim and blond - she looked somewhat like Lisa McCune, and in my mind's eye she has the grace of Gigi Edgly in Last Train to Freo, the loveliness of AnnaSophia Robb in Bridge to Terabithea, and the spunk of Rapunzel in Tangled.

I thought she had a special something, a je ne sais quoi, a smooth and warm quality, a simple and comfortable niceness. To be with her was like having on your favourite comfy shirt that made you feel calm but manly. Her female friends would probably laugh at my fantasy image, but it seems that somehow I saw her best side. I'd like to think her friends had some of these qualities too, without realising it.

She didn't act like she was special or superior at all - just the opposite. She was in many ways a normal young Aussie woman, mostly friendly and nice, positive and often funny. Not perfect, not necessarily good at everything, not always successful. But she had what they call the 'girl-next-door' quality in spades. Remembering her is like those 24 years spent Living Next Door to Alice.

Perhaps her je ne sais quoi lay in what she didn't have. She didn't have arrogance, she didn't have barriers and heavy defences, she didn't slash at any man who might come too close, she didn't play games and faces. I obviously never had a chance with her of course, largely due to the age difference, (and perhaps a little, um, quality differential.) But that of course gave me the pleasing freedom to be openly warm to her - I'm old enough now to realise the magic lies mostly in the giving.

Not once did she choose to push me back, make it clear she wasn't interested - because it didn't have to be said, because we understood, and she wouldn't want to cut me for no reason. That is until the sad day I heard the ship was leaving, and in a strange whirlwind of panic I asked her out. She let me down gently "oh, that's very sweet of you - but no, I'm sorry". A lovely humane capacity for empathy and communication in a slightly awkward moment.

No doubt she would be embarrassed to hear herself described this way, thinking of herself as just a normal girl with her own issues and weaknesses and dramas, mixing it up with her hopes and dreams and assets. Nor would I want to pretend I was close to her or anything - I'm just a friendly old codger she worked with once - and I really like to write about nice experiences (and yes, the bra is coming soon - patience, grasshopper.)

But first - I too, have a dream. I have a dream that indeed this really is a normal young woman. The modern normal young Aussie woman.

Australia has come a long way in recent decades - in the way we have treated our children. A century or so ago - most children were chattel, slaves, treated like animals. Whilst there was much improvement by the 50s or so, a lot of children still suffered hell from an early age (and not just those in those terrible institutions.) Not to mention the smoking and the drinking of that era and earlier. Most children were beaten as normal procedure. Getting through childhood without major damage to the psyche was still a hundred-to-one shot.

But eventually - things changed with the 60s or so, and into the 70s and on. There was a sea change in our society in so many ways - sexual freedom, human freedom, more information, more open-ness, more acceptance of different things and people, and a better understanding of people, of emotions, and of children's needs.

So we stopped beating children, we learned how to damage them less, we moved on from Dr Spock, we had many parents who really tried to learn how to care and bring up good persons - which seems like an obvious norm now. And now we are starting to see children who were brought up by people who were not beaten and damaged as children - the second generation of decent up-bringing - with the third one coming along. I believe modern Australia is paradise, Australia is the New World - many of those tired and poor huddled masses dream of coming to Australia now. There are few places better than here for living and growing. This is where many quality souls are choosing to incarnate now, because this is where quality up-bringings can be found to birth into.

Perhaps that's the quality I saw - the normal Aussie girl, a decent normal soul who grew up what a fairly decent, normal, nice person should be. Not un-flawed, not perfect, but not critically damaged. Not that she's alone either - indeed I see many wonderful young people coming in now. I see children with amazing abilities, I see people who can see deep realities, and many who want to help others and just be a good person. This is truly the Golden Age, my friends.  (OK, OK, the bra!)

So, one day I wander into my friend's office on board ship, and she had on a lovely blue silk dress. Not in-appropriate for the office, not too revealing or provocative, no-no. But figure-hugging and attractive? Oh my Lordy, yes-yes-yes!

As I walked in with my friendly greeting, she responded with a happy 'hello', and she leant back in her chair, arms behind her head, big warm smile, eyes twinkling, hair gently swinging, open and pleasing. Now I don't think it was anything more than genuine friendliness - she was just being nice to a cheerful and non-threatening guy. Perhaps she just felt good about herself that day and just chose to glow, to radiate.

And the bra? Well, I don't really know much about bras - but there are obviously different types and qualities etc. - your basic everyday bra, your quality bra, and the special expensive French bra when you really want to knock-him-dead on Friday night.

And then - there is this bra.

This is the bra that Vulcan magically crafted for his lover Venus on Mt Etna.
The bra that Boticelli snatched away from her just before he snapped her picture on the Half Shell.
The bra that Helen wore which inspired a thousand ships to go get that pair back again.
That Cleopatra wore as she popped out of the rolled-up carpet in Julius Caesar's tent that day.

Not that the bra itself was obvious or crass or even revealed. In fact the bra was completely and utterly invisible - I didn't see the bra at all - nor any VPL either. Princess Di herself would have been impressed.

What I did see was this complete lovely young woman, dressed simply yet truly beautifully, arms open, big smile, pouring out warmth, a heavenly figure, and perfect breasts akimbo - in that million dollar bra.

Now, I've had some unusual experiences - I've travelled the planes, I've battled demons, I've stood in the Lightning Flash, and I've heard Mother Mary. And on this day a special little something happened too.

For a tiny flashing instant - the Glory of Venus herself shone down on me. I swooned - I swear to God.

My head filled with a rushing sound, my heart raced, my vision blurred, my knees started to buckle. I was overcome - not with desire or arousal - but with the pure bliss of the Divine Feminine - as the gates of heaven opened just a crack and the shining light of the Goddess burst briefly through.

But the moment did not last long, and as I recovered I was still quite wobbly. It seemed rather uncool to actually faint, so I surreptitiously leaned against the door as if the ship had rolled in a little swell, looked away and bit my lip, until that bittersweet moment of being fully back in the Earthly.

Thank you my Lady - there's a story for my glory book.

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