My Butt

My Butt.

In recent months, there is a craze sweeping the movement arts of Sangha Space.
A butt craze.
Inspired by the Sridaiva yoga posture, students of tango and (select) yoga classes are encouraged to engage in movements that allow for natural spinal alignment.
In our everyday movement, we have been taught or shamed into keeping our pelvis’s tucked; Sridaiva challenges this practice. Part of the Sridaiva posture involves bringing attention to our butts, insisting that a healthy posture demands for our butts to be out and proud.

At first, this was pretty challenging for me.
I mean, it’s my butt: a forbidden fruit—a tempting, thick, juicy, voluptuous fruit—a borderline erogenous zone (which, in a sex-negative society, means that visibility of one’s badonkadonk is a big badonkadon’t).

I have, what may be known as, a large butt—a … rather round rump
My posterior’s pronounced presence seems to give people some sense of entitlement—that my body is somehow more open to public appraisal.

As such, I’ve grown to be defensive of my butt. Aside from having a family of caboose-clutchers, my buns have been brushed while on public transport by snickering fists behind my behind; talk of tapping my tuckus has touched the teeth of shameless men in my company; and my ass has been grabbed in the crowded, faceless hallways of young academia.
These experiences have all brought me tremendous awareness of my keister.

I have ambivalent feelings about my butt.

On one hand, it seems almost shameful to let my booty be so … bodacious. In a society where beauty is thin, and women are valued by their beauty, it is difficult to find self-love in a large butt. Every poorly-fitting piece of lower-body apparel reminds me of the ‘junk in my trunk’ (as if a packrat resided there).

Yet now, in the close-knit quarters of Sangha Space, we’re learning to glorify our butts.
A tap on one’s tush is either affectionate or educational, not the seemingly, exclusively, self-satisfying experience I had once known the action to hold.

I’d like to think that, after having come upon this realization, I may be able to start loving my butt.
It’s funny how one’s fanny can cause one to fancy thoughts of combined disgust, lust, and political discourse. Through attention to our bums can come healthy life-practices of posture and self-love.

Alliteration and butt-puns momentarily aside, I would like to present an equally-witty New Personal Mantra:
The next time you bring awareness to your gluteus maximus, remember that your cheeks are sweet, and the mass of one’s ass does not determine the volume for value of its beholder!


  • Pamela

    • Jul 15, 2014

    Best blog post to date!!!!

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