Reality and Tattoos
Truth consists in the mind giving to things the importance they have in reality.
I wish I could take credit for that quote; I can't, it was from Jean Danielou. I came across it a few weeks ago when I was thumbing through "The Ragamuffin Gospel," trying to find peace for my burning mind. Sarah always said that the "what-if"'s aren't real. Why is reality so hard to actually see? We live in it, you would think we would know it. Maybe we don't live in it. I mean, most of us. There are some who do, but maybe most of us just live in some reality we have created. it's easier that way. Finding truth and finding what is real is like getting squeezed until all of your breath is gone and you finally collapse in a purified little heap. I guess you are stronger after it, though-- that seems to be the consensus from those who have gone through it, anyway.
I was told tonight by my best friend that I have grown up so much in the last six months. He should know. He saw me as a high school senior, my purity ring proudly on my left ring finger and my little heart all in shambles. He surprised me with visits my freshmen year of college when I was scared and lonely, as so many freshmen are. He painted me a flowerpot that killed whatever was planted in it, because of all those nasty paint toxins. He purposed to me in his mom's bedroom, where he had hidden the ring under her bed. My neck hurt, I was crabby and forgot to say yes, because I was so excited. He saw me sipping my first champagne on our wedding night and he got so pissed at me in Oxford that he convinced me he had called the cops on me for domestic disturbance (i sat outside waiting for them for 45 minutes). He held my hand as I cried, watching on the sonogram machine the place where our never to be born, twelve-week old baby had been. He told me he was so proud of me as Daniel screamed in newborn fury. He listened to my confused, wandering thoughts about God, pot, exercise, disappointment and heartache this spring. He supported my decision to go to school. He listened to me cry and he said everything that could have ever been said to make me believe he loved me as no one else in this whole green earth ever will. Why must we hurt others when we hurt ourselves? He should know if I have grown, he has been at my side since I was a child.
So I am waiting on my tattoo. I will still get it, and I know exactly what I want and where I want it. It will be a symbol for me, a place to work towards. I wish I could take credit for this idea as well, but it was given to me tonight. Wait until you can see the beauty in your life, wait until you can see the beautiful thing that you are. Wait until you can know your profound value. Not in the way that it is now, when you get a note from a dear friend who swears you are an "immutable soul, like a constellation of stars burning brightly forever" and you know it's true, but you cry, because it hurts to realize how far that is from how you feel.
I will get it. A lot has changed this weekend. Truth is clearer tonight.
I wish I could take credit for that quote; I can't, it was from Jean Danielou. I came across it a few weeks ago when I was thumbing through "The Ragamuffin Gospel," trying to find peace for my burning mind. Sarah always said that the "what-if"'s aren't real. Why is reality so hard to actually see? We live in it, you would think we would know it. Maybe we don't live in it. I mean, most of us. There are some who do, but maybe most of us just live in some reality we have created. it's easier that way. Finding truth and finding what is real is like getting squeezed until all of your breath is gone and you finally collapse in a purified little heap. I guess you are stronger after it, though-- that seems to be the consensus from those who have gone through it, anyway.
I was told tonight by my best friend that I have grown up so much in the last six months. He should know. He saw me as a high school senior, my purity ring proudly on my left ring finger and my little heart all in shambles. He surprised me with visits my freshmen year of college when I was scared and lonely, as so many freshmen are. He painted me a flowerpot that killed whatever was planted in it, because of all those nasty paint toxins. He purposed to me in his mom's bedroom, where he had hidden the ring under her bed. My neck hurt, I was crabby and forgot to say yes, because I was so excited. He saw me sipping my first champagne on our wedding night and he got so pissed at me in Oxford that he convinced me he had called the cops on me for domestic disturbance (i sat outside waiting for them for 45 minutes). He held my hand as I cried, watching on the sonogram machine the place where our never to be born, twelve-week old baby had been. He told me he was so proud of me as Daniel screamed in newborn fury. He listened to my confused, wandering thoughts about God, pot, exercise, disappointment and heartache this spring. He supported my decision to go to school. He listened to me cry and he said everything that could have ever been said to make me believe he loved me as no one else in this whole green earth ever will. Why must we hurt others when we hurt ourselves? He should know if I have grown, he has been at my side since I was a child.
So I am waiting on my tattoo. I will still get it, and I know exactly what I want and where I want it. It will be a symbol for me, a place to work towards. I wish I could take credit for this idea as well, but it was given to me tonight. Wait until you can see the beauty in your life, wait until you can see the beautiful thing that you are. Wait until you can know your profound value. Not in the way that it is now, when you get a note from a dear friend who swears you are an "immutable soul, like a constellation of stars burning brightly forever" and you know it's true, but you cry, because it hurts to realize how far that is from how you feel.
I will get it. A lot has changed this weekend. Truth is clearer tonight.