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Crushell Rowe

Updated: Oct 19, 2020


In the last weeks, I have done nothing more than packing and packing and packing, living in a constant transitional state. Transition means going from one place to another, thus certain movement is implied and at any given time there is an end.


So, a constant transition? When you are packing a life you are neither here nor there, you are floating in a stream of nothingness, waiting on the bridge between two worlds.


Your home disappears day by day, it looks less and less like your home, losing density -the beautiful density of you- as you pack, like a domestic osteoporosis. But the house is just your mirror: you are dissappearing, and hoping to appear, to be manifested, to become flesh somewhere else again.


In this floating state in which your mind is constantly moving forward and backwards, checking things to build in the future and things to cancel in your past, in this state in which it would be so easy for your life to loose all density and disappear, some grounding is needed.


And I have found the grounding in the two magnificent pillars of the world that are Russell Crowe's gladiatorial legs, glorious solid legs.


Yes, I have a crush on him, a complete immersive teenager crush on him. And while the world talks about the second wave of Covid, I evade myself from the world of boxes and uncertainties by allowing a second wave of Crushell Rowe to infatuate me again*.


But this time things are more sophisticated:

My masculine side is aligning me again with values that I have lately neglected from my life. And I don't mean chopping people's heads or disembodying opponents. I mean strength and honor, loyalty and respect, authority and transformation. No more bullshitting.


My feminine side is obviously attracted to how these legs look under the skirt and how he screams and grunts (nah), but also at the soundness, loyalty and determination of Maximus, which is an inherent part of his appeal for me. Groundness. That is what I want beside me.


I learn from films, I am inspired by films, and sometimes, when there is so much noise outside, I find shelter, my animus and my anima in a film.


I thought I was going to write a humorous post about my infatuation with Russell Crowe, and I have ended up writing a panegyric about stoic values, Jungian lessons on the unconscious mind, and well formed tibias... A traumatological post (from bones, not from dramas).


 

* First Russell Crowe crush: 1997-2000

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