signposts and metaphors

Dear reader, self and sympathetic universe,

What a week this has been?! Countless self-discoveries, great boons and gifts balanced with difficulties and challenges. I am still far ahead in the balance of the positive so I am not one to complain. Life is still beautiful and one day I hope that someone else will walk under my window and greet me with a warm "bon giorno,m principesa!"

Until then, I will list some blessings:
new friends
new opportunities
more chances to concertize
new successes
valuable failures
renewed connections
travel to expand awareness and abilities
forged art practices
new growth in the garden
continual personal and practical weeding

And now on to the Signs and Metaphors...
The back story is that for a period of a decade now I have been in an active process of personal discernment. I feel that this is coming to fruition in this turning over from my twentieth decade to my thirtieth and ushering in a new wave of dedication, energy and artistic pursuit. I want to -- have wanted to honor this in some way for a time. Some kind of cultural ornamentation came to mind -- but whether a piercing, scar or tatoo...I was on the fence for over 10 years now. Until a month ago --

The tatoo found me. I was drawn to the bearer as well but there was a message in the tatoo. Unfortunately, the symbol only spoke Greek so I was S.O.L. for over a month trying to decipher the message. The symbol also was sneaky, so by the time I translated the message, it took another week to recognize that the message was an inversion. I was further perplexed as I misinterpreted the reference point of the tatoo. The original, symbol says, literally "brothers" whereas the message to me was the compliment -- sisters. But then that started me thinking about my sister and my friend "sisters" and other frames of reference. It was only today that it dawned on me that the universe wanted me to remember my forgotten sisterhood -- a group of women joined in intention, path, and artistry. In my isolation from the fraternity, I had forgotten so much. I had forgotten beautiful ceremonies, idea-clad women, and songs of idealistic triumph and unity. I had forgotten, in my loneliness and trials, that I am not alone -- that others share my convictions and drive for beauty and truth. And then I knew what I had to get -- my symbol speaks greek as well -- to keep these sisters closer to me and more present in my awareness. What better to mark my thirtieth year than a symbol to remind me of my sisterhood, etched into my brain, more or less.

In my life, I never thought to scar my pristine skin with any kind of permanent mark -- heck! earrings even give me trouble on occasion. However, other things and people have taken great liberty in leaving permanent marks burned into my psche. This is a mark of my choosing. That act for me is powerfully symbolic, liberating and healing. How poetically ironic -- using a scar to heal. I don't want to forget any part of my story. But I see this as stamping a chapter closed and sealing within its pages a load of pain, hurt and injustice. This book can go up on the shelf because I'm writing the next chapter now and I want to physicalize my moving on through this permanent sign. The permanence reminds me that while I cannot erase parts of my story, no matter how painful, I can absorb them and I have taken these into the fabric of my being...and I am still beautiful, still whole, and simply more complex.
And so on Friday, I will go and make my mark, or rather, bear theirs, to signify that I am part of a greater chain. There will be a place I can physically touch -- a visual touchstone -- when I am lonely, afraid, faltering, or ashamed and from it will flow the strength and courage of women over a thousand strong: my sisters. It will bear our colors and our sign. I have never felt more sure of something in my life...and never more excited to bust out a true confession at the next family holiday gathering!