[bodies are not temples, but canvases: and dry erase ones]
Temples are erected and sacred, but they are built by one group to be used, decorated, and enjoyed by another group, separate from the builders. On their own, they are simply a pretty thing to admire.
Canvases are slate clean. What the artist chooses to do with it is completely unique for each 8 x 10.
Canvases are created to be decorated. Our bodies are decorated, for example: scars. On my upper thighs from a stray piece of wire on a van seat. Or different scars; from a steel table in Spain, or a leather seat in Carolina, these are scars I chose. I chose their design and their coloring and placement. There are invisible scars: a softer part of my arms and hands where I chew nervously. Invisible lip prints, finger prints, et cetera
Temples let fingerprints of its anonymous users graze lazily on its skin over and over again–but my skin will remember every hand that touches it just as vividly as the first time; can a temple internalize that?
I do not know much about architecture, but I do know this. A temple cannot be rebuilt by one soul alone. A canvas can be repaired by one hand. The way we treat our bodies is in our own hands. The way, and the power we have to paint our canvas is in our own hands.