Art by Ted Dunmire and Beth Holyoke.

I recall (or dreamed?) reading a passage in Clarissa Pinkola Estes’ book, Women Who Run With The Wolves that seemed to be saying: The universe is contained in the body.

All I could find were these lines from Chapter 7 (Joyous Body: The Wild Flesh):

“The body is like an earth. It is a land unto itself. It is as vulnerable to overbuilding, being carved into parcels, cut off, overmined, and shorn of its power as any landscape. The wilder woman will not be easily swayed by redevelopment schemes. For her, the questions are not how to form but how to feel.”

Maybe it doesn’t matter whether I literally read that the universe is contained in the body. Maybe the brain doesn’t need to find it.

Maybe it doesn’t matter because the idea is there anyway, somewhere, in my body.

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