It doesn’t matter what she looks like.
Nor her plumes
Not her shape, nor even her size.
Her age irrelevant her skin unrealised
When she looks eye to eye and speaks her beauty blooms!
For once her petals open it is discovered
Woman blossoms when she feels beloved.
– Manly, Australia.
I wrote this poem about an American woman I met on a dive off a beach near Manly. She was there with her elderly father, who accompanied her on a holiday she was clearly excited about.
The popular standard of beauty is pervasive and grips us all. I am not free of it even though I reject it. So I noticed with my first impression that – by those standards – she would not do well.
But then, she smiled. And she spoke. And almost immediately, not a single one of those measures mattered any more. She felt so beautiful.
Of course all of us who resist being shallow people know this is a truth. But that was the quickest, most decided pivot the beauty programming had ever made in my mind. Observing her, and her father, I realised why – and deep down from my own experience as a woman I knew my epiphany to be true.
She is a woman who is loved – and she believes it.