The other night I once again fell victim to the attraction of the dome, particularly humanoid dome-like shapes. When in the vicinity of a human dome my right arm moves involuntarily towards the structure no matter the size, or disposition, of its owner …
Babies I’m sure you’ll agree are understandable. Should a baby’s head be nearby I instantly feel my right arm extending. My hand not satisfied until it comes to rest cradling the poor things cranium. Lightly stroking the warm bumps, the peaks and troughs, I continue totally oblivious to the reaction of the unsuspecting soul who’s only been in this world for a matter of months. In true meditative style, everything else drifts away. I’m oblivious to the mothers reaction, only aware of the soft warmth beneath my hand. The most recent time was last week at my Me Time book launch, when I got sidetracked by my friend (and fellow blogger) Shannons latest addition to her brood see shannons blog. But it doesn’t stop there …
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| thanks to christine (cbszeto) |
So too pregnant bellies. Also quite acceptable I’d ponder. Strangely though this only extends to a four month old belly. For some, so far un-pondered reason, an eight month swollen belly doesn’t emanate the same enthusiasm. Perhaps the sheer size and bulbousness intimidates the comparative narrowness of my palm. Or maybe it’s the way the bellybutton starts to protrude signaling the inhabitants imminent arrival.
I’m sure Freud would have an explanation … innate desire signifying an intense longing to return post haste to the womb, no doubt. As my phone beeps indicating yet another meeting, and my calendar blinks red, festooned with deadlines and appointments I have to concede it’s a distinct possibility.
But why I ponder, do I get the same reaction when spying a recently cropped adult male head?
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| Thanks to Thardy1 |
Businessman or skinhead, five foot tall or six, my hand extends to them all. At least I can’t be accused of being racist, ethnicity and socioeconomic background hold no weight, all receive a caress. To my shame even the immensely brave post-chemo soul isn’t safe once their soft regrowth starts to kick in. All domes have to be stroked.
Given this perhaps you can imagine my intense apprehension while in Melbourne last year where I spent three days in extremely close proximity to …
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| © The Ponder Room |
Thankfully I can report that His Holiness left Australia unscathed.
This was however in no part due to a new found ability to control my desire. Nor was it due to the bravery of the Dalai Lama’s security contingent. No I’d ponder it was mainly due to my overwhelming sense of confusion. The room you see was festooned with bald heads, monks from all corners of the world congregating in one space.
Actually if I ponder a little longer … I realise that while I may not be racist I may indeed be a baldist.
Over the years I, like you, have been conditioned through marketing to find the 5 o’clock shadow more sexually attractive than the clean shaven man. So too it would seem a completely bald head now fails to generate the same reaction as a stubbled dome. All I can say is thank goodness for marketing …. otherwise there could have been an incredibly embarrassing stage dive towards the Dalai Lama … at least the skinheads would have been proud.
2 Comments
Thanks Glennys
I too have a magnetic attraction to pregnant bellies and baby heads. I love their smell too. Babies, not bellies.
Since Number Three is decidedly more bald than my other two children, you are welcome to come and stroke her head for many more months.
Thanks Shannon that’s my latest addiction sorted then ;). Pleased you clarified that … was worried about you wondering about smelling bellies. Keep well