scape

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For attending a Christmas themed burlesque show, sparkle and glam were on hand. This wintery white, fringed dress with crocheted accents is a favorite.  The ensemble is most welcoming of curly hair (again!) and the ever appealing red lip. Single large hoop “silver” earring.
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I procured this stunner at a yard sale in Toronto. The French accented woman who so kindly brought it out to me from her indoor stash firmly schooled me that “no, you do not wear ze bra wif dees dress.” She also told me that she’d had it altered on several occasions, but could never quite achieve the right fit for herself. I thanked her profusely for selling it to me, and that I would be duly pleased to wear it. In response to my earnest thanks, she cooly surveyed the excellent fit, and several times pronounced what I gathered to be her highest accolade: “Zey weel all be so zhealous ov you.”
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The very low cut on the back of the dress is quite elegant. The fringe reaches only to mid hip, letting the classic sheath cocktail cut assert a measure of the demure, reaching to a few inches below the knee.  Also, I wore it with blue suede combat boots, both to avoid being too precious, and because I walked to the event!
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I don’t often wear mascara, but in homage the false-lashed burlesque culture, I did highlight one underlash. I like to interplay a handful of small asymmetries: hair to one side, one earring, one eye.
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The did eye a bit closer.
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The glittery weave of the fabric includes the spaghetti straps, which function a bit like jewelry in and of themselves.

Throughout my life, falling asleep has shown me to be a prolific dreamer.  I consider this one of the great fortunes of my existence, and am grateful that the vast majority of my dreams are fascinating, enjoyable, and perhaps I should just say fascinating again.

When bad dreams do come, I mostly meet them with confusion – like there’s something I’ve forgotten to attend to and now there’s a jarring of the narrative that is unacceptable, but nevertheless happens.

I woke from one of these recently, involving the losing track of children to a departed train, and was very frustrated and disturbed not to have been accorded any resolution or dreamworld remedying of such dread.

In retrospect, I recognize waking up from a nightmare as a gift: giving deep appreciation for the reality of waking life as truly teeming with the highest blessings.  Mainly, the profound relief of opening my eyes to the house that contains my family, together safe and intact.

In this instructive dance between realms, even good dreams function to alert us to the wonder and intensity of a waking life that can be experienced with just as much freedom and intensity of mind as is found in dreams.  After all, the consciousness and personhood that is present in a dream about flying springs from the very same mind that greets the waking day.

Perhaps the deep, bodily relaxation of sleep eases our entry into a lived awareness of wonder, and accessing those gifts is a matter of freeing the constant presence of that dream life.

Maybe that’s what meditation is for?  Which may also explain why the best part of yoga has, for me, always been savasana/deep relaxation/ corpse pose at the end. Practice perfects.

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