Telltale Tales



Telltale Tales


On the other side of the Lion's Gate, I look back through the many circles that make up me. I have pushed through some and rocketed through others, only to find more spirals pulling me ahead. There are some sparkling links to the past, others dull in the forgetting...the various phases of me overlapping.

I can't help but touch on those memories that have touched me, that swirl into my sphere. The young girl melds into the supposedly mature woman and visa versa. And I find the same questions popping up throughout my history, important or insignificant as they may be:

Can one be ravishing with scars? Does a mark jar a neck, a fair face, or a smooth stomach? Or are we more artistic because of our scars, our great work written into our skin?  

Could it be that the sensibility of the scar–that tenderness, that puffy redness–represents the sensibility of a person? Could someone ask about it? Maybe we are touchy, not wanting anyone to touch it, not wanting anyone to go there. But the visibility rests all the same–tattletaling some part of the tale.

Are scars the same as wrinkles, those furrows of the face that are telltale signs of character? Maybe the difference is that wrinkles push from inside of us, craving to be there. Scars can fold into a wrinkle, but originally they were cut into us from the outside. 

But how many outside events also caused a wrinkle to form–a repeated smile at a kitten or baby showing off  in laugh lines, or the creases in the forehead after a bout in hospital...


I am on the other side now, the baby who has grown. She has grown into her scars and creases. So, is she charming despite her wounds or because of them? 

That's what I want to know.



Photo: <a href="https://pixabay.com/users/joaomateus-2006989/?utm_source=link-attribution&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=image&utm_content=1198598">João Mateus</a> from <a href="https://pixabay.com//?utm_source=link-attribution&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=image&utm_content=1198598">Pixabay</a>


Text: Kristen Mastromarchi

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Through the Eyes of the Dog

Image
Through the Eyes of theDog Einstein stared into my soul the other night. He searched and searched until he was sure of something. Just what that something was I’m not sure of, but I do know he was communicating it intently through his gaze. Einstein has wide, soil colored brown eyes set on the opposite sides of his boxer head. He is not an avid barker, although he growls softly sometimes to get you to play. Other than that, he relies on the power of his eyes to pull you in. He holds you in them and to them until you truly understand him. Then, as if under a spell you open the door or fill his bowl with food. However, the other night I kept misinterpreting his gaze. I tried to get up, thinking he wanted more space on the couch, but that wasn’t it. More staring. His owner explained that for the most part he has cracked the code behind Einstein’s mesmerizing looks, although he was just as baffled as I was with Einstein’s constant eye connection on the couch. Then it came to us that maybe
Read more

Family Gratitiude

Image
Family Gratitude I woke up today with two ideas etching in my brain: the push to restart my blog and the the tinkling in my fingers to write down all I'm thankful for.  "Why not combine them?" I thought with serendipity.  The first and last thing that filled my mind was a given: my family. Memories started flowing in...my mom sleeping in a chair next to my bed when I was in the hospital as a little girl and washing my hair as an adult after my last operation. Dad and Linda dancing in a concert outside a hostel years ago after another operation...as well as this past month with brown leaves and swamp scenes from upstate New York whizzing by as they drive us all over, making sure my partner Armi sees enough while he's here. All though this whilrwind trip, Armi has been willing to leave his habits aside. He has even adopted some of Dad and Linda's, like expressing gratitude before eating. The emotion gurgled up to my eyes from somewhere deeper as Armi gave his birthd
Read more

Beach Walk

Image
Beach Walk I never truly noticed that the sand reflects the sky until today. I stopped in my sopping tracks, beholden. Yes, that's the best way to describe it– I was beheld by the sand mixing with the sky in tones of rose and baby blue. I was smitten by how the sand could hold so many hues–its own grainy sable, of course, but also grays and violets.  The wet sand formed a slate for the sky, but it also held many prints of feet or claws. I followed a zig-zagging display of three-toed tracks. At first I thought they must have been left by a seagull, but then I noticed pigeons weaving on the shore. Funny creatures they are:no rhyme or reason dictates their choice of direction. Do they suddenly change their idea or do they have no idea where to go? Besides the birds for company, there were also leisurely walkers like me carrying their shoes in one hand. A barefooted runner passed me by, planting the idea in my head to do the same tomorrow. Other than those in movement, there were also
Read more