Archive for March, 2008
love, hate, truth & grief
I hate that my body is not mine. I try to claim it by my own markings. However the marks of motherhood were carved into my hide, my body forever altered by a young man who is, was and will never be mine to love. He doesn’t know me. I don’t know if I’d recognize him on the street. Perhaps we’ve passed each other a hundred times. Perhaps.
When we met, I refused to touch him, so I’d never even know the softness of his skin, or the essence of his new energy. I don’t have his signature to feel in space to seek and find. I wish I could communicate the feeling of emptiness I have from his absence. Often I feel as if he’s the keystone to my being, without him I am not free standing. I need him to complete me, so that I can also love another.
The idea of handing over the deepest love of my life, a love I will carry to the grave, relinquishing it for someone else to nurture, giving and separating myself from that deep primal blood connection has carried on through my life. The idea of separation, has both prevented me from ever loving so very deeply and it has enabled me to give over everything I have, so that I am an empty vessel, spilt over every day. The idea of totally independence from another’s love has protected me from connecting to love that has the potential to hurt. It protects me from reaching out for fear of having to give it away again. Never to be seen, or even recognized in passing.
Time and time again through my life, it’s been proven to me that love is not mine to hang onto, it comes and goes taking huge chunks of me with it. It is temporary, if i don’t give in to it, it won’t injure me when it is torn from my body. I’m desperately afraid if it happened again, my life would go with it, I don’t think I could tolerate the grief of losing another.
The scars on my body remind me daily of my capacity to love to give, to surrender and offer warning to not do it again. If I don’t love to that level again, I’ll never hurt again.
The tattoos I have given myself show my attempts at reclamation of my fate and of a show of force to my destiny. My body! Mine! Mine! Mine! My bones and joints tell me differently, my scars tell me so. My body is not mine. My body is a vessel for love with an infinite capacity for agony. I try to manage it. I try. I find time and again, regardless of my efforts, I continue to suffer from the torment and discomfort which remind me that I am indeed transitory.
Woman with still life
The Farm will be available for public viewing for the Month of April debuting at the Belltown Art Walk (2nd Thursday) at the Form/Space Atelier 2407 1st Avenue Seattle, WA 98121-1311
Opening April 10th 2008 =)
She was a fast machine, she kept her motor clean
She was the best damn woman that I ever seen
She had the sightless eyes, telling me no lies
Knockin’ me out with those American thighs
Taking more than her share, had me fighting for air
She told me to come but I was already there
