You move like someone who’s never questioned their right to have a body. To exist, to breathe, to take up space. I’ve been watching you all night. It’s not arrogance, like the rich people. It’s not the hard, elegant gesture, like the Angels. It’s just—solid. Sure. As if you’d never learned to look down on anyone or bend to someone who looks down on you. Oh, I’m jealous. When I look at you, I feel so jealous I could cry, or hate you. But I don’t. I would like, just once in my life, to be in a place where everybody stood and moved and walked like you.
Starhawk, The Fifth Sacred Thing