Monday, 9 March 2015

My reason for my tattoos



I love my tattoos. No really, I absolutely love them. Everyone gets tattoo's for their own reasons. Each as individual as the artwork on their body. The reason I got mine was not for just the artwork. That's why I started in my back. It was a personal reason I got my tattoo and for me alone. It wasn't that I was hiding my tattoo, it was just a very personal thing for me. I got my first one just after my daughter was born. It is an angel on my right shoulder blade with it's sword stuck into my flesh. It was to act as a gargoyle of sorts to my body. Protecting my right side from damage from what we thought was a stroke. The next tattoo I got was when I was diagnosed with MS. I had it drawn up as a Gaulish Christian warrior wrestling a demon. (Gaulish part was homage to my German ancestry.) It was from Ephesians 6:10-18:

Finally, my brethren, be strong in the Lord, and in the power of his might. (11) Put on the whole armor of God, that ye may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil. (12) For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places. (13) Wherefore take unto you the whole armor of God, that ye may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand. (14) Stand therefore, having your loins girt about with truth, and having on the breastplate of righteousness; (15) And your feet shod with the preparation of the gospel of peace; (16) Above all, taking the shield of faith, wherewith ye shall be able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked. (17) And take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God: (18) Praying always with all prayer and supplication in the Spirit, and watching thereunto with all perseverance and supplication for all saints

Each piece of the tattoo was carefully drawn to represent this piece. The warrior is engaged in close hand to hand battle with the demon, it's face twisted in a painful grimace. The demon is over powered by the warrior's shear strength and it is being forced to it's knees, it is overcome and overwhelmed by the warriors strength. No weapon is being brandished, it is more of a battle of wills and strength than of skill at fighting. It takes up about a quarter of the space on my back.

Other tattoo's on my body represent hurtles I've gone through in my life. The most noticeable tattoo is the one in the picture. It is my cherry blossoms (and the tiny maple leaf which I would hope doesn't need explaining). Most people just look at it like a beautiful piece of art work, which truth be told it is. This piece more than the other pieces represent me. It is in part homage to my Japanese ancestry. These piece was done by a Japanese tattoo artist. (Thank goodness not in old school Japanese method though). The cherry blossom is a symbol in many cultures, all of which are applicable in my case. In Japan it is called Sakura, in China ying hua. In both cultures it is prominent in culture and has completely different meanings. In Japan it represents the beauty, fragility and fleetingness of life. The blossom blooms so quickly, smells so sweet and dies so suddenly. This is my life, even though I'm encumbered by MS my life is short, but beautiful. In Chinese culture it represents all things female and feminine, beautiful and powerful, and of sexual liberation. Considering I'm a female, and lesbian it's kinda of appropriate too. In the Buddhist religion it symbolizes wisdom and enlightenment something that I strive for daily, but always seem to fall short. It is is reminder to be wise and seek wisdom.

All my tattoo's have deep meaning. Probably the number one reason I put a lot of them on my arms where people can see them is so that people can see them. For those of us who are facing (or potentially facing) a severe disability you probably understand. I have watched as MS decimates someones body. Watched as a bright, educated, and strong individual was made a prisoner of their own body. Their body atrophied, and left them unable to converse in conventional means. People who didn't know this person spoke to them as if they were an infant. Spoke to them as if they had never gotten an education, lived the richness of life, or had traversed the path to adulthood. If my body is to become my prison, if I am unable to care for myself and require the 24 hour care from another, I want them to know I lived. I want my body to reflect that I had passion and hope, dreams and ambition and that I lived life as fully as I could for as long as I could. I want my body to be able to tell the stories that I may not be able to vocalize. I want them not to speak down to me, but look up to me that I fought long and hard and speak to me with respect.

There is lots more work that I want done to my body, so little time and so little money, but I do what I can. My story isn't finished yet.

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