But what about simply celebrating them? We spoke to five people — two women and three men — who love breasts and the women who have them. Here are their sweet, funny and surprising thoughts….
Al hamdulilah we had a wonderful journey of days of Breastfeeding!! I was living in a myth that everyone does with joy and happiness. But the truth is I am gifted that I was given a knowledge by almighty through my parents to learn more about it and to research about the basic scenario.
I try to be very intentional and inclusive when referring cancer. Many don't subscribe to the belief that they are a survivor until they have actually been declared free of any disease. And I always include the caregivers, because they are as much a part of the cancer diagnosis as the person diagnosed.
This unique duality has been recognized throughout time. Minoan Snake Goddess figurines, found in an archeological site outside of Crete, depict a goddess and priestess with tight bodices that accentuate their bare breasts—adorned with a sacral knot—the most important Minoan religious symbol that portrays holiness. Our founder, Julie Elliott, actually visited the Palace of Knossos in Greece, on the island of Crete, where she learned of their priestess matriarchal society. Jasmine is considered an important breast remedy as it promotes the connection between mother and baby and the production and flow of milk.
You are almost as generous as when I nursed my baby, spraying delicate needles of bluish milk into her fierce mouth. They are wicks, eager to be lit. Breasts, you buzz like hives.
Thanks Ladies. Glad to have shared my poem with you and pleased you enjoyed it. Annej, I will look out for the Ode to a Titty.
The month of June is a very emotional edition for Dance Writer. You may have noticed our logo is pink to help raise awareness and show our support for Breast Cancer organisations. As part of our charity campaign, we are hosting a dance charity gala on August 4 at Gasworks in Melbourne that proudly supports the National Breast Cancer Foundation.
Dear little box of noisy meter, dear tiny drum of daily duty, dear small black lunch box for a leprechaun, how much time we spend together, you and I. How many early mornings at the dining table, sunlight streaming, baby dreaming, house still, asleep and quiet beside your rhythmic thump a-thumping? How many miles to and fro we travel in our daily mission sisters in arms, or chests, rather, to sustain a tiny blinking being with what I plant and you harvest.
This post was contributed by a community member. The views expressed here are the author's own. You run your hands over the scars and it doesn't feel the same underneath, not like it did before.
You were late: I wondered for ages whether you were actually going to arrive, as I longingly looked at Tammy Girl crop tops and watched as other girls developed melons overnight. And just as I was considering faking your arrival with ye olde faithful loo-paper-down-the-bra trick, behold, you turned up. I seemed to take after my mother in every other way, and that lady wasn't short of a mammary or two.