During the last few days two stories have swept across the www which I am sure has brought many a smile to many a reader. Both of these stories revolve around the use of natural products to enhance either the inner or outer body, and in summary can be seen below
- Eating clay is good for you, according to at least one celebrity, as it detoxifys the body and binds all the things in your body which are bad for you which are then excreted as poo
- Want to get rid of all those pesky wrinkles and laughter lines, cover your face with bird poo and you might even hear a nightingale sing
I’m not kidding, these are real stories, and celebrity endorsed treatments; ask Victoria Beckham, and Shailene Woodly. It is true that in the first instance
- your poo apparently smells like gun-metal( maybe a familiar smell in some parts of America),
- that the source of clay needs to be chosen with care, (London Clay Phew!), and that
- the benefits of consumption are questionable
and in the second instance
- Why just nightingale poo, why not other seabird guanine secretors as well
- How is the poo collected, as does it have a use by date and
- Why in Gods name would anyone want to smother their face in poo
what really worries me though is the underlying need within so many of us to either improve upon or fight mother nature. If we walk down any high street what do we see. Gone are the ironmongers, the general merchandise stores, and increasingly all the butchers, the bakers, and, one might assume the candlestick makers. Now all you see are dream factories, all of which promise you eternal youth, perfect exteriors, and a slice of beauty and comfort beyond compare.
Get you hair done, your eyes, nose, teeth, and, of course your skin. Get things pierced, tattooed, sucked, plumped up, and lifted; and once all this has been done, lie back on your ergonomically designed recliner in your feng shui designed living room, and rest your perfectly manicured goldfish nibbled toes
Why do we pursue such dreams though? Are we afraid of growing old, as many would say, are we simply afraid of really seeing ourselves as we truly are? Are we so lacking in confidence and self respect that we cannot sy to others around us that we are as nature intended, with every wart, bump, and boil on the side
Don’t get me wrong though; I’m not again corrective treatment for cases of disfigurement, burns, or certain genetic conditions, as any relief possible should ideally be always available, but I simply cannot understand why, under most other circumstances, we are so desperate to chase such cruelly deceptive dreams.
Very day, when I am working, a sea of bodies pass in front of me. Some plump or obese, some slim, and some anorexic . Faces smile or frown at me. Old and young faces, pretty and plain, and faces with such innocence or those who are weighed down with problems of their own. But are not all such bodies and faces unimportant compared to the mind within?
It is true that some us do not have the perfect body shape, just the right skin texture, or eyes that sear into everyone’s soul, but then is that so important. It is equally true that, in comparison with so much life around us, our sensory senses are almost nil, but again is does that matter. We have such superb bodies, such brilliant brains, and minds capable of dealing with the most complex or problems or opportunities, so maybe it is time to ditch such narcasistic fetishes, and, just for once to accept who we really are, both mentally and physically, so as to be at peace with ourselves and life around us, and thereby begin to live life to the full.
To end this post on a lighter note though. I have plenty of soil in my back garden if anyone fancies a light snack or nibble, and if anyone desires some additional protein, then snails, slugs, and other such protein rich supplements are in abundant supply. As regards avian cream, may I recommend a trip to the seaside to gaze lovingly up at a seagull, or a visit to a heronry. I both cases supplies of such products are both free and in copiously abundant supply.
Lets all raise our voices in song though, and what other song can there be than A Nightingale sang in Berkley Square. Did it sing though, or did it just poo. You decide!