There are some things you just don't want to mess up. One of those things is getting ink. Tattoos are pretty common nowadays and it doesn't look like that will change any time soon. I've seen heaps of tattoos where colossal mistakes in spelling have been made. What do you do when you're the one that makes the mistakes? And just to be fair, was it really a mistake in the first place, or was something bigger at work here?
Editor Needed: All Inquiries Accepted
I actually had to sleep on this blog before I was prepared to bare all to the world about my 'mistake'. Before I get into what happened let me just say that I have always noted that I need an editor. I make ridiculous mistakes because my fingers don't type fast enough for my brain at times, or after writing and rereading, my eyes are exhausted and I just can't see the typos. I'm also not feeling the need to explain myself...I just like to. Someone will get something from this mess, they always do.
That being said, let's proceed with the humbling of my ego.
In 2014 I was invited to be a speaker at a gathering of women of all Nations in Manitoba. It was an incredible honor and opportunity. I met some of the most amazing women there. We spoke into the wee hours of the night, in the middle of the pouring rain, near a fire, in the bush, on the rocky shore of the lake as butterflies landed on my shoulders, head and back to have a rest. It was, quite possibly, one of the most heart opening and stripping experiences of my life on the individual level.
Before I spoke, someone who is now one of my closest confidants and friends, gifted me a staff that was to give me strength and courage as I spoke, connecting me to the Earth. Crafted and gifted to me by her, because of who I am and what I have been doing these last 6 years. Because as one woman put it, "I was proving to be a clan mother of my nation', the White Nation naturally. The Natives of this land speak of the four nations, Red, Black, White and Yellow. This gathering was the second of many that were planned to be hosted by all Nations over the years. I only ever went to the one, as a speaker and as a student, to share, observe and learn.
Many different events before, during and after this gathering both created within me and destroyed within me. I have never written about it. It was never time. Perhaps now it is. Be aware that not all I am about to share is sunshine and roses. There are some harsh things that transpired in this time and some huge lessons. Not every lesson is pretty but every one is magical to me. Some of you simply won't read this and probably shouldn't as ways and reasons are made up in your head to not take anything away from such blogs. This blog may not be for you.
The drive was a long one to get to the gathering. It would take me over 30 hours to drive myself and 3 others to Whiteshell, Manitoba. A place considered to be sacred by many. The powers of the space were not lost on me, but I digress.
I was told I would be sharing the responsibility of driving but that turned out to be false when an elder woman driving with us who was perfectly capable of driving decided she would 'let the white girl take care of the driving'. The was the first of many racial comments that would be thrown my way, by this woman over the course of the 9 days: 3 to drive there, 3 to stay, 3 to drive home. Numerically, this excites me as my favorite numbers are 3, 6, 9 and 12 and they always have held special meaning.
While driving there I was with 3 women, 2 were mixed white and Native women and the older woman was Native. The 2 young women were wonderful and we bonded immediately. They taught me songs they had learned from their tribes and made sure I learned them so I could sing them along side them with confidence. We sang them in the car on the way, through the amazing landscape of the drive through Northern Ontario, and I learned so much about them as people, as women, as new friends..
The elder woman was wonderful to me until she found out that I was a speaker at his gathering. Some of the things she approached me with verbatim:
These may seem like mild things but the hatred and disdain this woman showed me continued to grow through the drive to the gathering, getting progressively worse on the drive home, which in reality could very easily have endangered all of our lives. Trust me when I say that the drive from Southern Ontario to Manitoba isn't exactly stress-free....the transport trucks alone between Dryden and Kenora are enough to make you cry on a dark and rainy night with moose crossing out of nowhere or scattered bits of them were strewn across the 2 lane highway.
After I was gifted the staff I went to sit and listen to the other speakers until it was my time. Everything I had planned to say had disappeared and I suddenly felt like I was there for a much different reason. I felt like I didn't want to discuss the colonization of Europe, or the loss of our true ways. I didn't want to stress any of that, as much as I wanted to show how similar we all are. I wanted to show that long ago, we, the Europeans were some of the first peoples to be conquered. Of course we warred with ourselves, but the true destruction of our tribal ways did not come from our petty, local wars. It came from something much more ego driven and sick with the desire to conquer, to change, to control. Rome was a mighty force and none could escape it's claws, especially the combination of church and state. No different than that which has happened here in North America, although much later and after The European Tribes were well conformed by their obvious Roman Stockholm Syndrome.
I spoke about racism within our own 'white' culture. I am a mixed European girl. I grew up on a street filled with pure blood Europeans. I was the mutt, the dog, the unclean. This is what I was called at the tender age of 4 because I had no identity culturally. My father ignored his Welsh/Scott roots and only recognized his maternal Hungarian side while always stressing to me that we always follow the father's side in genealogy. That has to be one of the most ridiculous things my father had ever said to me...might be as there were a few things he said that were just too ridiculous for his state of intelligence in my humble opinion.
To the other pure blooded Europeans, I was nothing but a bag of messiness with no point. I was beaten by children, abused by adults, teased and tortured even sexually violated becasue I was treated so carelessly and as if I didn't matter. All because I couldn't speak one of the languages I was blessed to come from. Truth be told I spoke fluent Slovak until I was 5. My father put a stop to this because he could not understand the language, just as his Welch/Scott father had done to him when my grandmother wanted him to learn her native tongue Hungarian which both she, her twin sister spoke with their mother and other siblings whenever they were together.
I remember certain sects of European culture refused to mix with others...I can remember one mother, upon meeting me when her son brought me home, looking in disdain when she asked me my heritage and she heard my answer. She actually said to her son, "She is not pure, you will have dogs for children", in her thick Southern European accent.
I explained the abuse I suffered at my father's hands which was very similar to the abuse that children with residential school parents had inflicted upon their own children, minus the sexual trauma. But that didn't escape our nation either. We had priests for that, or the victims of the priests who knew no better than to do it to those younger than them. I didn't escape that as many of us didn't. I had listened to one woman speaking about her father and how he had beaten her and her siblings and the things that he would say afterwards out of remorse and hitting her because he loved her. It was no different than what I had experienced, but the reasons were different, the traumas were different. But were they really that different?
I spoke about how we are seeing exactly what happened to the European tribes by watching what was done to the Natives of this land. I expressed that it was so long ago that we don't remember and have assimilated well. This is the thing about the White Nations...we have assimilated well. But this is another conversation to have. We can open up a discussion for that at another time, when it doesn't take away from the point of the story. We may have assimilate well, but when you look at the average life of this Nation, you see the deterioration and demise of our spirituality and souls...again, another time.
During this talk I held myself up with the staff. I remember how difficult it was to speak but that I kept talking, (others that know me well just laughed out loud...I heard you ;) ) through my shaking body, in the rain, while my voice, though loud, trembled.
I remember the looks on the faces of the people in the crowd. I remember the elders that felt my words and accepted them as truth as well as the ones who denied them and looked at me with disdain. I remember some members of an amazing group of white women who cried uncontrollably with me as I spoke. I was saying things that no one dared speak. I was telling truths that no one wanted to be the first to share. I was relating us all. I had this desperate need within me to share the fact that we are all the same underneath it all. We have always lashed out without knowing the truths. I cannot stand in the mistakes of my ancestors and take responsibility for it all. I can only work at healing myself and that which was done to me while making sure I do not repeat those mistakes, those abuses, those harmful ways that could have destroyed my spirit, that have destroyed so many other spirits.
I wanted to bring us together in a way that would be universal at this gathering for one moment of heart-space. To recognize that in this human emergency we are in, none of us is the victim of the other. We are all victims and our own saviors. We all need to claim our rights as the powerful beings we are. Together.
We need to stop pointing the finger at the other crying foul.
The talk was received well.
During the rest of this weekend I was able to watch people that were said to be leaders, use their ego to control situations while true healers mucked about just healing as they would. I carried a basket of salve with me almost everywhere I went some days or just a pot because those mosquitoes! Wow, were they ever hungry!
I got to see how pride stepped in the way of connecting for some, while those with open hearts embraced everyone. I saw controlling women try to steer people into their webs and that most just didn't fall for it. My eyes were opened very wide during this gathering.
One of the worst examples of controlling I saw was when one courageous woman was meant to stand up during the White Rose Ceremony and speak her truth and the truth of her Ancestor. She was ready, you could see it in her eyes. She was ready and she was humble but you could see the fierceness in her eyes by being given the opportunity to announce her truth and put souls to rest. One who felt the need to control looked over her when it came time for her to speak and I watched as her spirit dropped. It broke my heart. Of course it did not discourage her on the whole, but in that moment, it was the worst thing someone could have done. Especially in a time and ceremony for lifting our voices. I thought I had a great bond with the controller of this situation. All I saw after the glitter from the weekend had left my eyes, was control and aggression in the most passive of ways. Which is something to be said of this movement of Spiritually lead women. You really have to be wary of those who are ill with New Ageism. The ones who don't talk about the negative and ignore it. The ones who are far too much air and not enough earth for their own good. The ones living a lie so they don't have to see where they actually are in life.
I was invited into three sweat lodges. One was for a naming ceremony. I was gifted the name White Horse Woman by one of the coordinators who was incredibly controlling and insecure about her position. Another elder was sitting in the sweat and was also involved in listening to Spirit whisper our names to them. This one elder went to tell me what she received from Spirit, when the coordinator of the gathering interrupted her and told her that she had been gifted my name before the weekend and that only she could name me. This woman had praised me shamefully in front of others, making me incredible uncomfortable. She was talking me up as if I was special. 'The Amazing Cari-Lee' she called me. In my own right, standing in my own flesh, sure, I'm special...but to the rest of the world, everyone I meet...I am no more special than anyone. This felt wrong then, the naming of 'me' in sweat. I could not accept it, I knew it to be wrong. She was absolutely coveting my naming as her power. I vowed to see and learn and realize that this name was not mine, it was something entirely different, something to perhaps learn from but to not take on as my own.
In other sweats I had experiences just as powerful. I do not see the naming sweat as something bad. It was a chance for me to see things truthfully as they were. It was like I spoke out in my talk...even in the Red tribes there are those that do their own people, same as the White tribe have done to their own, the selling out of our ways, our lands, our cultures. This was one perfect example. She had shut down her own Red Nation Elder for her ego and control.
Later, at a time when it was most needed, I was gifted another name that felt far more appropriate to me: Courage From Beneath. This name I carry in the steps I take and the breathe I breathe. This name fits me well and I thank the sister than passed the message onto me. She is the very same sister who crafted my staff.
During the last two sweat I was gifted vapor-like smokey visions of White Buffalo, standing in the North, with a black star on it's forehead. I was showered by tiny blue lights and white lights and euphoria as I have never felt it. There was power in this that left me forever changed.
After my speech, the elder abusive woman told me how she was so proud of my talk, 'so long as my own people lifted me to my position'. You see the passing of or gifting of the staff was symbolic of what you give to a Clan Mother. And even though she did not know it, it was one like me, so mixed in race and culture that gifted this sacred object to me. Who was I to have such a responsibility? Who was I in general to be there in the first place? Just who do you think you are, Cari?
Honestly, in it all I was just me. I didn't and still don't think I am anyone special...except to myself and the people who truly know and love me. Just as they are so very special to me.
After this experience I drove back home, I was excited and tired and a little irritated by the truths I discovered that I wasn't prepared for. It was difficult to drive to be honest. I was tired and emotionally exhausted. If I had my way I would have snapped my fingers to bring my family to me and we would have just stayed together in Whiteshell together for a week or more. I missed my husband and children so very much. I wanted to hold them all, lay in our family room and just talk, sleep and hold each other. I wanted to share everything with them...I had so much to share. The Elder woman did her best to push my past my breaking point and at one point with only 10 hours left to drive she managed to crack through my shields and I somewhat lost my cool. I am very much about respecting my elders, until I see they have no respect for me or manipulations are under way. I will bite my tongue as long as I can and this woman tested me to the point where all of her negativity was being absorbed in me. I ended up vomiting and crying in the bathroom on one rest stop, trying to find out a way to make this stop. But it wouldn't, so I had only one thing left to do. I had to stand up for myself....I might not have had to do it quite so loudly but I did it. My breaking point was when one of the girls was trying to phone her mother, her elder, and the Elder woman started shouting to me when she knew full in well I could not hear her and that she was being disrespectful of the young woman talking to her mother. We had all known from the 50 hours of the drive we all had experienced, that I couldn't hear well when the women spoke from the back seat. I asked the Elder woman to just wait a minute until the other girl was finished speaking to her mother. She instead yelled at me bitterly that I was disrespectful of my elders. I didn't give up yet, I wanted to try one more thing. I was vibrating, I was so angry. I couldn't win, not that I was looking to win, but I was looking for peace. Driving under this kind of stress wasn't good for anyone. I was sleep deprived because no matter what amount of sleep we got she would wake up at 4-5am and begin talking to herself loudly making sure we all got up. There were times I got into that car on 2 hours of sleep while being chastised for not getting us to the gathering soon enough or a hotel or place to eat. The entire situation was ridiculous. I couldn't do or be anything right or good in this woman's eyes.
My last attempt was to ask the girl in the passengers seat to light some Prairie sage that had been gifted with my staff to bless the car, cleaning the negative energy. The elder woman decided to immediately put down her window, making it so that the smoke went from the passenger side, right out the back. That was my breaking point. I'd had enough and yes, I very angrily and desperately let her know. It was like she was my constant test and I felt like I had failed immediately after. With much reflection, self-respect and kindness I realized I had to speak up for myself and my challenge from that point on would be how I was going to do it more productively, without the anger and venom. So thank-you to the racist, angry Elder woman from Six Nations who wanted so badly to sabotage my growth and happiness. You opened up room for more than I imagined and I have been healing well ever since. It's been a slow process and one that I am very grateful for.
Less than a week after the gathering, I found words written on a post I had made on Facebook with a picture that I found long before the gathering. Self-prophecy for what's to come. I find I do that to myself with some of what I read or even write; a lot of it actually. It is all wonderful and means so much, but I truly have no idea just how much it means until something happens in my life that I relate to the words.
It was then that I decide to get a similar image tattooed on my body from the post, to pay homage to my experience, to who I am and to what I was becoming. Women Who Run With The Wolves is a book that has been like....well....bibliomancy to me in the most powerful sense. I have very often, perhaps with my Mercury in Gemini as my nature, put a book to my head, any book, and closed my eyes while asking for guidance. Sure enough I open the book to a random (not so random) page, drag my finger gently across the page until I stop and almost always, the perfect answer to my query is provided. Women Who Run With The Wolves has been much different than this however. I purchased the book in 2010 on the advice of a friend. (Thank-you, dear Luna) It sat there until the moment I needed it, 2 years later and has been that way with me ever since. I haven't finished the book as it's not time. Every time I am attracted to the book, I don't deny it, I read until I can't or don't need to read anymore and then I rip myself apart and put myself back together. Or perhaps it is the book that rips me apart. Either way it is healing and necessary and I am thankful beyond words for the things that help me to heal myself and strengthen the archetypes within that serve my greatest purpose.
And now we can concentrate on the present.
All of These Words To Share a Mistake?
Bare with me. I'm setting it all up for the maximum relevance in this all.
So I honored my ancestors at the gathering and I made connections where before there was only disdain. Regardless if this one elder woman attempted to destroy my experience, she couldn't! She could only damper moments and teach lessons for which I am forever grateful for. I understand why she is the way that she is and why she had to make me feel small. You see, after we entered the gathering and finished setting up the tents, we were sitting in a circle with my travelling companions and the women who were setting up and coordinating the event. The one coordinator who was very meek and mild asked everyone a couple of questions that she wanted us all to answer: 'Who are you and why have you come to this gathering?
My answer was that I had come to learn and to share and that perhaps there were reasons I had come that I wasn't aware of yet. I was bewildered by being asked to speak in the first place. The coordinator smiled softly at me and bowed her head after making eye contact with me and the other women answered in kind. When the Elder women answered the question she began to speak of her accomplishments and of how important she was in her community. She spoke of all of her schooling and awards, her tireless community service she toiled at and the many people she was responsible for 'saving'. This elder woman went on for much longer than any of us had and you could see in the elder coordinators that they were not impressed at all by this 'patting of one's own back'.
It was very apparent that this boasting and bitter Elder felt slighted and that she felt I had no place when she had contributed so very much. It wasn't me that she was upset and disgusted with, but the lack of recognition that she was getting for all she felt she was. She wanted an award for her doings, she wanted to be celebrated and couldn't understand why she wasn't, whereas I was not sure how I got there in the first place.
Her reaction to me had absolutely nothing to do with me at all. It had everything to do with a lacking within herself. Whether she was not being recognized in her own community or was being disrespected, I do not know but it was quiet clear that it truly was not me that was her problem in all of her reactions and sabotages.
Everything that transpired from travelling to and from the gathering changed my life. I was strong with the sense of who I was, what my gifts were and who I was becoming. I was realizing my responsibilities in this life and I was a little high from it all, I won't lie. I decided to get the tattoo of the this beautiful wild woman who was both life and death, creator and destroyer, life-giving and deadly, all at once. I felt the words I had found all that time ago and the woman in the photo was an archetype I could fully relate to. The wild antlers on her head, the emerald jewel upon her third eye, the skull in her beautiful hands with the green mossy growth all over her shoulders where she carried the bulk of her medicine. I made it clear I wanted it to be different than the original art in her own way, a different face but the same idea. The picture above is what she has looked like for over the past year. It was a big deal for me. I asked to smudge the tattoo artist before he performed his art and he was only a little reluctant to agree. He pretty much put up with me and my ideas. After her outline was done I began to see the artist in a different light as he began to spew racism everywhere due to the climate against Muslims and immigrants. He would never touch me again after that. He was, however, a reflection of the Elder woman.
This was good though and necessary. I had more trials to go through in order to get to where I needed to be before I continued with this art. There were so many lessons for me. We were taking on the raising of someone else's child with our own, then realized that child's parent was someone our family was also raising. I was teaching a teenage girl how to take care of herself because her mother abandoned her, her father had no clue and the grandmother was a drunk. The girl had no idea how to care for herself. She had been free-bleeding and hiding clothes before she was throwing away. She was absolutely ashamed of the fact and the father had no idea nor did he act in anyway so as to help her...or any of us in the house for that matter. Both myself and my husband did everything we could to help this broken girl and her father. How do you teach people to love and respect themselves? It was obvious that doing it by example alone was not enough. We struggled financially to help them at a time where we had very little, our marriage suffered trying to give to a man who had no idea how to raise a daughter nor act as a team player in the household, who was in no way capable of contributing to a family and who was looking for a free-ride. While we attempted to teach and heal a family, we were being drained and losing that which was healed in us. It was like we were on a constant slope of regression. The lesson of giving and not receiving and being careful of who you allow in, regardless of your good intentions or desires sunk in deep for us all. If the other party does not give as much as they are receiving and need to be reminded how to work like a team, the venture is pointless.
I also suffered or was gifted with the truth and the loss of two women I truly adored and thought were friends/sisters but who I came to discover, were only using me for my gifts. Whether those gifts were just my time or actual things of material value or medicinal value. I had given everything from my experiences, advice, tips about how to avoid certain issues as they dove into certain arenas I had already jousted in, to just my full attention and friendship. One had attempted to destroy my spiritual experience and had spiked my drink at a festival. I hadn't even thought it was her to be honest. I couldn't imagine it until I had let her know that someone had spiked my drink. Instead of being a loving and caring friend, she acted like I had done something wrong and then became defensive and abusive to me. Why would she do that if she was innocent and wouldn't a real friend be concerned for my well-being and not her own ass, if she was innocent? You see I am not a 'partier' who enjoys synthetic drugs.. She wanted someone to play in the rave scene with her. She had fooled me into thinking the festival we were going to was sacred. It fell on the next full moon and I saw it as a sign. The gathering of women was on the last full moon. How fortuitous! When I arrived I came to find a lot of younger adults and older teens and I will say I felt out of place. This was not my scene. I saw nothing but kids experimenting and destroying sacred rights. Drumming and calling on things they had no control of. This was not fun for me, and try as she might, I refused the chemicals she wanted me to join her in. Much like the previous gathering I was shown truth and it was uncomfortable. I was not like this woman. We were very different, with different values and goals. We had different ideas of what self-respect and love were, what loyalty and faithfulness were. I couldn't fool myself anymore, with her after that.
The other woman was a slow killer of over 2 years in her grooming and manipulative ways. Beware the green-eyed monster. She was methodical about what she wanted to be in my life for and what she wanted from me. I had this nagging in my heart the entire time we were friends but I made several excuses for my instincts, especially after what I described in the situation above. I was left stripped and mentally and spiritually I had taken a huge blow. No one realizes that from Saturday to Thursday after that 'rave' I couldn't cope. I was locked in my room the entire time, coming out only occasionally. I couldn't handle sounds or lights. It messed me up more than I have ever publicly admitted. I was worried at one point that I would never be the same. So yes, I had trust issues and those issues lead me to doubt my instincts.
In July my father passed away after years of push and pull between us both. I'm still not quite ready to go in depth about this, but I am sure I don't need to. I was denied access to him by his wife. I was in a space I didn't understand as I had spent the last 3 years preparing for his death. I had fooled myself into believing that I would cope just fine. But this was not the case. Regardless of any past abuse, the truth was that I was my father's biggest fan, and I wanted nothing more than to reconcile with him even though I knew that no matter what I did it was never going to be mine to reconcile. I wasn't ok. I was losing my soul and my mind because I didn't know how to breathe anymore without it hurting. I had no desire to be in my kitchen or anywhere really except for the backyard where a beautiful crab-apple tree accepted my tears and and my angry fists pounding the earth where it was rooted.
At the time, I was on my way completely out of the 'alternative journalism movement'. I was really seeing it for what it was and I wanted nothing more to do with it or the people who were forerunners within it. Fakes, frauds, abusers and gurus all trying to make a buck or stir and play on people's emotions. There are some wonderful people in this movement, just not many who are real people who have integrity and walk their talk..
My father passing solidified my decision and I decided that I need to back away from everything and just concentrate on my family and that my time with the movement was over and I owed it no quarter. There were also some weird things going on that I couldn't explain and felt like I needed space from everyone, not that anyone was to blame for the weirdness I was experiencing but I felt like venom was being thrown at someone and I was being hit with the debris for simply being connected.
On the Friday of the Blood Moon I asked this 'sister' for time to myself and instead of looking at the past month of my life and understanding...or even the culmination of the last 5 years and this last month being my breaking point, she instead went into hysterics when I asked for space after I had lost my father. Instead of giving me what I needed she screamed abandonment and proceeded to demonize me to everyone who would listen while going to each person who I had ever had issue with to cause me harm. All this right after telling me how much she loved me.
Walking away from both of the women was actually very easy for me to do regardless of the pain it caused me. I saw them so abruptly for exactly who they were that I couldn't possibly justify it to myself to stay in their lives or keep them in mine. I knew and still do know, that I am worth more than their petty vampiric energies and resource sucking. It was time to have the pack circle around the den and close up the entrances. It was time to fully go within.
So I did and when the time was right, an artist I respected and appreciated came into view to begin completion of my wild woman.
Back To The Mistake: We're Now Full Circle
The artist did everything I wanted him to do. Randy coloured in everything exactly as I wanted it and yes there is still a round three to get to. I will add that he is from Bali, Indonesia so the next part, as far as he is concerned, it's all on me, absolutely.
After I had the outline done on my arm, I had a huge inspiration to write the poem GrandDaughters and record it for YouTube. Much to my surprise, these words were felt and heard far and wide. I received emails from all over the world thanking me for them. In particular, a message from the UK about women who were having some of the words tattooed onto themselves. What an honour! So much so that I was inspired to do the very same. How fitting that I could have these words written, with this wild woman with antlers that I saw myself as in so many ways.
So after Randy had finished colouring the woman (for now) I asked him for one more thing, to add these words which I wrote on an envelope, sitting right in front of us both:
I am the granddaughter of the withch you could not burn
Yup, I totally wrote that. Not only did I wrote that, but I looked at it several times, both on the paper, and my arm....I could not see the typo. I am the one who corrects other people's mistakes, I have editted other people's works for years. I used to charge a price both in highschool and college to edit essays and short stories, thesis' and so much more. Ya, me...the one who spelled 'witch' with an extra 'h'...yup....people 'paid me' to correct their mistakes. I have a 4th year University level English and took 2 years of journalism. My friends call me a grammar Nazi. That being said I still get the odd email telling me a spelled something in a blog or poem the wrong way. I go blind with my own works. This was a bit more than blindness though. What ended up getting written on my arm was:
I am the granddaughter of the withch you could no burn
Aha! This mistake was NOT mine, but it's one that makes perfect sense when you do one thing: add a European accent to it. The addition of a 't' at the end of 'not', was an easy fix. Whereas, the fixing of the word 'witch', not so much!
The artist felt horrible and my ego was smashed to bits. Holy humbling Batman!
Randy worked at making the word bold and what ended up happening was a emphasis put on the word most important to me in this. It was like I could hear my grandmothers and grandfathers laughing around the table with and at me. I was raised by people who spoke broken English all the time. I still have stammerings and stutters that reflect that fact. I ask my husband to 'close the light' and he looks at me with a raised eyebrow every single time. I have no good reason for looking at a word spelled wrong and only seeing it spelled right. Fairies in my eyes!
The kicker in this though is that the way that was paved for me, by my grandparents, made me the strong woman I am today. I carve out my way strongly and boldly over the foundations they left for me.
As I told the story to a friend last night, as I was applying my salve to new ink, he looked at me and smiled and asked, 'But was it really a mistake Cari, or did it work out exactly the way it needed to?'
We laughed and after he left I cried a little and spoke to my grandparents. I laughed as I scolded them for playing tricks on me. I told them it wasn't funny, but really it was and it is. Maybe I should be embarrassed by my folly, but I'm not. I think it's funny. I think it's a gift and that I live my life by symbolism. Everything happens for a reason and no, I'm not reasoning this away to satisfy my pride. I'm ok that I messed up. It brings me comfort when I think of why and how and what the deeper meaning for me is. Again and with more strength, I repeat:
My Ancestors, they paved the way for me to be who I am today...I am graddaughter of the wihtch you could no burn. Say it with me in a thick Slavic accent and laugh with me and shed a tear as I do. It's a beautiful thing, this life is. Were surrounded my magic and messages, if one has eyes to see and ears to hear.
Healing is needed and soon enough, there will be a round 3 with this tattoo for shading and touch-ups. For now, like the last time, I heal, I learn and I grow. What more could I ask for and what more will I learn before the next time the needle and ink meet my flesh?
Author: Cari-Lee Miller
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This blog space is like a diary to which consent for my writings/feelings/expressions, is never needed or asked for. This is my space and if it brings you uncomfortable feelings, feel free to look no further and keep to the spaces that do you no harm.
I am a seed burst forth from its shell. I have mingled and fought in the dirt. I am ready to kiss the Sun. *CLM
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