hair, from a spiritual aspect
Buddhists believe that you burn a lot of karma by shaving your head. I wish I had the guts to do it. Just shave off a whole life of karma-accumulating episodes and start over. I have a problem with hair, anyway. I know it keeps me down, spiritually, to have this ongoing obsession with my hair.
My trouble, in a nutshell, is that I have non-descript hair. It is not a distinct color. It is not particularly shiny, while not being altogether dull. It is not curly and it is not completely straight. I say this and my friends will say, "Of course not! You have lovely hair. You have perfectly fine hair." Or as the boyfriend says, "You HAVE hair so why are you complaining?" The bottom line? My hair is very normal and yet I don't want to be a very normal person. I want to be a highly descriptive person, from the head down. This has nothing to do with hair and everything to do, I suspect, with expressing the Julie-soul trapped inside this average person with the average hair.
I think of the time and energy I have wasted worrying that my hair looks like utter crap, that it is too long, that it doesn't suit me. Added to the stringiness and unmanageability is my hatred of hair maintanance of any type. I don't even like to comb my hair. Combing is frought with a lifetime of bad detangling memories. When I was little, once a week, my mother would wash my hair in the kitchen sink, apply a liberal dose of "cream rinse" and then start the process of working out the tangles. It hurt and it took a long time. I sigh loudly when I know I must wash my hair. It is not an impossible chore, but it is like unloading the dishwasher--a necessary evil.
I have had long hair most of my life because, like the extremely non-Buddhist metaphor of Sampson, I have emotionally associated my hair with some sort of power. How this notion took root, and what kind of mental soil it is rooted in, is beyond my powers of self-discovery. Although I'm sure some of it has to do with the fact that every man in my life, from my father on, has told me they prefer long hair. Long hair = feminine and attractive. A pox on all of them!
And furthermore? In my personal mathematical system, long hair = youthfulness. Long hair = casual hippy-chick attitude. Long hair = California, while short hair = Midwest, and god forbid I should be labeled Midwestern, despite living my entire life here. Am I trying to associate myself with something I think I *am* or dissassociate myself with something I feel I am *not*. Is this way too much pressure to put on a hair style? Yes, my friends, it is.
I had very long hair again until a week ago, when I went berserk in the heat and had it cut off above shoulder level at the first cheap hair place that could take me immediately. Not a huge deal in most people's minds--it will only grow out again. But the emotions associated with losing my long hair always take me by surprise. I don't look like myself, or at least who I tell myself I am. I won't be completely happy until it grows out again, although I am easing into ease with the shorter cut. I'm trying to be zen about it. It does not matter, I tell myself. It simply does not matter. It is cooler. Much cooler.
I love short hair. I have friends with the cutest, most attractive cuts you can imagine. I envy their lovely short, easy care hair. But really, what I envy is their courage to just cut the damn stuff off and be done with it. I'm telling you, hair is a ridiculous obsession with me. I need a karmic sweep.
My trouble, in a nutshell, is that I have non-descript hair. It is not a distinct color. It is not particularly shiny, while not being altogether dull. It is not curly and it is not completely straight. I say this and my friends will say, "Of course not! You have lovely hair. You have perfectly fine hair." Or as the boyfriend says, "You HAVE hair so why are you complaining?" The bottom line? My hair is very normal and yet I don't want to be a very normal person. I want to be a highly descriptive person, from the head down. This has nothing to do with hair and everything to do, I suspect, with expressing the Julie-soul trapped inside this average person with the average hair.
I think of the time and energy I have wasted worrying that my hair looks like utter crap, that it is too long, that it doesn't suit me. Added to the stringiness and unmanageability is my hatred of hair maintanance of any type. I don't even like to comb my hair. Combing is frought with a lifetime of bad detangling memories. When I was little, once a week, my mother would wash my hair in the kitchen sink, apply a liberal dose of "cream rinse" and then start the process of working out the tangles. It hurt and it took a long time. I sigh loudly when I know I must wash my hair. It is not an impossible chore, but it is like unloading the dishwasher--a necessary evil.
I have had long hair most of my life because, like the extremely non-Buddhist metaphor of Sampson, I have emotionally associated my hair with some sort of power. How this notion took root, and what kind of mental soil it is rooted in, is beyond my powers of self-discovery. Although I'm sure some of it has to do with the fact that every man in my life, from my father on, has told me they prefer long hair. Long hair = feminine and attractive. A pox on all of them!
And furthermore? In my personal mathematical system, long hair = youthfulness. Long hair = casual hippy-chick attitude. Long hair = California, while short hair = Midwest, and god forbid I should be labeled Midwestern, despite living my entire life here. Am I trying to associate myself with something I think I *am* or dissassociate myself with something I feel I am *not*. Is this way too much pressure to put on a hair style? Yes, my friends, it is.
I had very long hair again until a week ago, when I went berserk in the heat and had it cut off above shoulder level at the first cheap hair place that could take me immediately. Not a huge deal in most people's minds--it will only grow out again. But the emotions associated with losing my long hair always take me by surprise. I don't look like myself, or at least who I tell myself I am. I won't be completely happy until it grows out again, although I am easing into ease with the shorter cut. I'm trying to be zen about it. It does not matter, I tell myself. It simply does not matter. It is cooler. Much cooler.
I love short hair. I have friends with the cutest, most attractive cuts you can imagine. I envy their lovely short, easy care hair. But really, what I envy is their courage to just cut the damn stuff off and be done with it. I'm telling you, hair is a ridiculous obsession with me. I need a karmic sweep.
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