I believe in Tina Turner, Patron Saint of All Those Who Help Themselves, the forceful, the all-female, earthly embodiment of the power of personal responsibility. I embrace Tina Turner as my North Star in the quest for courage, integrity and freedom of spirit. I pray that, by her example, I may learn not to be afraid to be everything it is possible for me to be…even though, at the ripe age of 53, it is rather late in the day to be starting out on that endeavor.
Consider the legs of Tina Turner. They do not mince; neither do they pose. Not for Tina the girly stance, with one knee bent in. She who could so easily get by on the beauty of those legs stands, for us and for our validation, as a rock of agelessness. She stands on those two pillars as though they were steel girders going right into the floor beneath her—and there is no teetering, no matter how high the heel. She is never off-balance. So nobody can knock her down, ever again. Tina said no to that. Nam myo ho renge kyo, she said to victimhood. She saw that black pit, victimhood, opening up before her, and she defied it. She stood up to it. She began chanting, and the chanting grew louder and stronger, and her god heard it. He helped her claw her way out of that pit, helped her find the strength to reclaim her soul, her very SELF, and to stand on those two legs and OWN the space she occupies. He took her by the hands and helped her pull herself up, out of the Valley of the Shadow of Death. And that is why, if you could touch Tina Turner’s arm, you’d feel the muscle and sinew just beneath the sheerest layer of skin. And when she raises those arms to sing PROUD MARY, you will never see jiggle. Tina Turner’s upper arms will never jiggle.
Yet there is nothing preserved about Tina; she’s not petrified—ossified—calcified like those lesser mortals who reach a peak of celebrity and cling there desperately, using whatever cosmetic procedures it takes to retain a hold on the graven image of their youth. Tina Turner is real, made of flesh and blood and heart and guts—not plastic!
And how female, how marrow-deep woman is Tina Turner? She does not have cleavage. Her sexuality is not about cleavage. Tina Turner does not need cleavage. You can feel the ferocity of her womanhood in that voice that comes from someplace that has nothing to do with vocal chords. If a uterus could sing, it would sound like Tina Turner.
I believe in Tina Turner, Patron Saint of All Those Who Help Themselves, the forceful, the all-female, earthly embodiment of the power of personal responsibility. I embrace Tina Turner as my North Star in the quest for courage, integrity and freedom of spirit. I pray that, by her example, I may learn not to be afraid to be everything it is possible for me to be…for it is never too late in the day to start out on that endeavor.
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