|Cancer survivors;Martha, Sharon and Brandie.Courage and beauty embodied|
What I have learned is that we are made up of scars. Fabulous, awful, cutting and dangerous scars that connect us. Connect our stories and our alone. Scars our bodies weave. Scars we weave.
Knit them gently, oh, so gently. Let them be a landscape. Delicate embellishment. These scars that connect us. Never knitting them so tightly we can't breathe. Or making a tomb of them. Never knitting them into a casket of fear and longing. Knit them gently. So we can pull a tendril here, or there. A thread of seeing. A thread of knowing. Of "I see you" and of the telling.
Let us be a landscape. A Story. Let us sing of longing and desire and pain. Sing loudly. Sing boldly. Intertwine these scars ever so delicately. Press them into our skin, our spirits with love. Let the sediment sift down in between so the scars don't define us as much as our stories about them. Let these scars illuminate strength... fortify fragility with the knitting together.
|Inspired by Andrea Gibson poem, "Birthday".|
We are not at war with this world. With it's stories told upon our skin. Our scars are not battle wounds. They stretch with our coming and going. Becoming silken threads. They float with us as a trail of braided wonder. Touch them. Yield to them. Feel their ridges describing this terrain.
Our craters and lumps, our tears and engravings, the gaping holes we try to fill that scream of longing not met. That meteorite impact can't be filled. Except with wonder. And maybe occasional chocolate. Look in awe at this skin carrying cells. Broken and vast and whole all at once. Own this terrain that is ours.
This fearless wonder of a machine that has not yet taken us out of this world. When it does, I hope our scars are soft and perfect and woven so gently we can breathe down into them.
Let them be a cradle to carry our stones and eggs and beautiful things. Let them be an ark to carry our iron, our blood, our dreams. Rocking inside that boat of scars, across the voyage of forever. Our star-stuff embodied in broken flesh.
Flesh that walks like a flash on this sphere before morphing into other star stuff. Cocoon ourselves in this scar-boat carrying us across the vast. Love it; every cell is art, stories, earth, and salt. It's varied forms were never meant to last.
|"500 Reasons to Love You"|
*Credit and thanks to Keith Dixon Studios for photography.
Art available at Ren Allen, Artist online gallery.