Saturday, November 30, 2013
A friend of mine gave me a luxurious silk robe for my 46th birthday.
At first, I thought it would just be a beautiful wardrobe item to wear at home. But it has become more than a work of art that dangles on the wooden paravan behind my bed.
At night, after a long day of toil, I wear my birthday suit instead of pajamas. I practice a beauty ritual of bathing, followed by moisturizing my skin with softly-scented lotions and oils. Some nights, it is lavender. Other nights, citrus scents like lemongrass, bergamot and ylang-ylang perfume my soft skin. If I'm feeling frisky, I'll resort to my trusted nutmeg.
When I first wore the robe to bed and let the silk touch my flesh, I felt a kinship with the fabric. Something magical happened. In the absence of a lover, I felt loved. I felt enveloped, swaddled in some kind of gentle sensuality. I felt embraced by a sense of peace, as if God was holding a tender bird in his hands.
The robe caresses me. The robe gives me sweet dreams about love, lightness, joy and well, perhaps a naughty thought here and there.
The robe has become part of my meditation ritual -- the one I practice in my bed, which is a tantric sacred space, even when no other body lies next to me.
When I awake at sunrise, I remove the robe and hang it back on the wooden paravan. I face the day naked but soothed. Never raw.
Every woman should enjoy a robe such as this, even when she sleeps next to her beloved. Or even if she sleeps alone.