Magic Marker

I wanted to talk about tattoos.

Specifically my tattoos. I haven’t really displayed or documented the art I’ve decided to permanently scribble on my skin. And I never was really someone who thought they’d have tattoos, not to mention many tattoos.

I currently have my entire right arm covered in various pieces. Some of these pieces are somewhat connected, others are individual one-offs.

However, it’s all really connected, right?

And that’s what I’m here to speak to. The connection of all these seemingly disparate pieces, acquired slowly over time (about 8 years) to create something that reveals more of a flowing storyline rather than a static synopsis .

To say the word tattoo is to utter change,
To accept and receive change is a difficult thing.

The paradox is that these tools (it’s a spiritual tool/teacher in many ways if we’ll allow it) are often seen as permanent. But nothing is permanent, not even tattoos. It’s a magic mark, the tattoo. Because it becomes one thing, then another; never staying the same. After even the first day, a tattoo begins to peel and shed from it’s original form. It morphs it’s being. The color settles and fades, becomes darker and richer. The tattoo begins to look different than the original. It fades over time and sometimes the canvas stretches or shrinks. The essence is the same, but it’s changed.

The meaning becomes something else entirely as well. The reason you received it originally has most likely changed, or at least it should have. Give yourself permission to change. Allow yourself to become a new version. Even someone you hardly recognize.

Tattoos should be marks of grace we look at with kindness and empathy and compassion. At our former selves that have brought us to this current moment we’re in, as we speak of former selves we inhabited. I speak this way, not to be provocative or woo woo. These are the only words we have.

Something probably like, “I don’t even recognize that person anymore” or “That feels like a lifetime ago”.

These mini deaths/rebirths are a gift. It’s a reboot and an upgrade from these other previous selves. I don’t mean to diminish or lessen those earlier stages of being or thinking or loving or giving or receiving. They were what they were and for someone now, it’s what they need. (Often the most difficult part about letting your old self die… is wanting everyone else to kill their egos, too) It is what it is. We cannot rail against these former selves too much because it was useful. It helped you. It taught you something, no matter how cruel it felt.

At 21 years old I walked into the home/studio of a friend of a friend, there to have my first tattoo indelibly branded on my body. I was attending college at BIOLA, a conservative Christian college in LA, and by best friend Nick came with me. In fact, I think it was all his idea. He was getting a tattoo also.

What did two Bible majors, raised deep in the OC Bible Belt of America, decide to engrave on themselves that fateful day?
Nick got a black outline of a paw — like a cartoon paw/claw to capture the image of the verse he linked to it — Genesis 3.12 ; God makes a covering for the two newly-shamed humans he just created and told to abstain from the yummy tree. At that time, he read and decoded a selection of biblical text that meant God would cover over the sins of his people, a covering of grace and forgiveness of sin. For him, and many others, that meant protection from torture and promise of heaven. It meant he was on the right team. He understood how the game was to be played. Nick was reminding himself that he was covered by God— his sinning ass was covered. He was assured so much he needed a tattoo to prove it.
We were pretty into being “edgy” Christians that played by the rules but knew how to push the envelope. We both were studying bible with plans to land youth pastor jobs out of college at popular evangelical churches.
The tattoo I got was of a key. Outline and some shading. Across the front of my bicep just above the crook of my elbow on its opposite end. About the size of a lighter horizontally. It represented a few things. For one it was the outline of a key that Nick actually gave me. I had the idea from a verse in Revelation 1.18. I got the Roman numerals for 66.1.18 — LXVIII . I . XVIII.It says, “Fear not, I am the first and the last, and the living one. I died, and behold I am alive forevermore, and I have the keys of Death and Hades.”
At the time, as a twenty-one year old kid, with a life of ministry in his foresight, I thought a tattoo would be a cool way to christen the advent (see what I did there?) of my journey. I liked the assurance of holding death itself. I wanted to be reminded daily and increase my chances of landing a wife.

The tattoo hurt like hell. The guy was an amateur artist and had done a bunch of work on our mutual friend. Plus he was cheap. I think I paid like $60, it took him about 40 min. and it was bruised for a few days. Now having had a lot more work done since then, I know how that tattoo experience was less than optimal. I know things now that I didn’t know then. I was 21. I’m 30 now. For one, the bruising, swelling and bleed-out of the ink after settling in over a few weeks were all things I experienced then that I haven’t experienced since. It was a different deal back then. Also, it hurt differently the first time in a unique way that I haven’t experienced since. I also learned that I shouldn’t look at the tattoo in real time as the skin is bleeding and I’m visualizing the discomfort I’m experiencing; I learned I lose wakefulness/ pass out easily when I do that sort of thing. But I learned something, didn’t I? It helped me. I allowed it. And. I’ve gotten more since then. And I’ve learned something each of those times.
All my tattoos are certifiably Christian, too, if you were wondering. I only get religious inspired tattoos. My tattoos are also Hindu, Buddhist, agnostic and atheist. They mean things to me. And they meant things to me when I first got them. In fact they mean something new every day. Some days I believe in what or why I got them for, other days I’m filled with doubt and unbelief. That’s the magic of them, though. They shift shape and create new meaning on the aging skin they rest upon. They actually draw meaning out of and into me. When I question them, they question back,

“Who are YOU?”

The beauty of the tattoos I’ve chosen is that they’re mine and ours simultaneously. Because the stories behind the tattoos and reasons for my getting them are universal symbols and things we all, whether aware or not, are seeking for. Things which perennially ache within us. There’s a weightiness to them.
I have six varietals of floral art on my body. Trees and peonies at the top, a rose, a dahlia, and some poppies in the midsection of my arm, and a lotus near my wrist. Originally I got the middle three within a year and a half to remind me of a phase of life where the imagery of Garden, original goodness, and Intimacy with/in God was something especially meaningful. And it still is. I still think the essence of who We are is good and true.

I remember after I felt this the first time with my first tattoo. When I first got it, it meant security, right thinking, and a closeness to God via Jesus. Over time, as it was my only tattoo for some time, it began to mean something different and I even considered getting it removed, and if not that at least covered over. I wasn’t embarrassed by the tattoo really (it wasn’t my best tattoo I’ve ever gotten…). It was more that my heart and spiritual landscape was shifting. Shifting gears. Into something that, not until later would I really see, I would learn to incorporate into my new lenses for experiencing God. Now it shows me my beginnings and reminds me of where I’ve come from. The key means something different now. I see a key that we all possess, which is Christ himself — Christ energy. And it’s a key many spend their lives in search of to unlock all of these secret doors and mystical rooms. It’s the thing you think will access Divine Wisdom. It’s the tool you believe will make you happy. What if Jesus is not the only one to possess such a thing which he uses with/toward those who seem to agree with him always and have remained most truly devoted?

That’s the catch. And it’s right there. Its all over — you can’t earn something you already possess. The thing you seek is that which you already have been gifted.

My second tattoo was done in Portland by a proper artist, Zak, at a shop owned by a guy who also worked at the same church I did. He specializes in neo-traditional/ classic tattoo work. Bold lines and classic art — flowers, skulls, and animals are some of his specialties.

I wanted a rose for a few different reasons then and i suppose the reasons still persist — because I believe(d) that there’s a Place we all originated from. A place of beauty and wonder and simplicity. A Garden-type place that isn’t a proper place at all, not like the way we think of places typically. This is more of a heart space, a location of the soul.

My intention was to add flowers to this garden on my arm. First a rose, then a dahlia, lastly poppies. Then I added some peonies to my shoulder with another piece. The rose is also a nod to Portland, the City of Roses. The dahlia I just thought was pretty. The poppies were a nod to California, my own place of origin and a place I deeply love. I’m still tryin’ to get back to that garden!

These flowers use to remind me of where God and humanity existed in a non-fractured/castrated state. A place we’re all, whether consciously aware or not, trying to get back to. That garden of eden represented a place free from error and pain and difficulty. Now I see the garden as a place that has and always will exist in the hearts of those who allow it. Those who practice love, generosity, benevolence, curiosity, wonder, self-sacrifice, self-care, and peace will naturally inhabit and summon this ancient garden. They’re privy to a mystical foliage-filled heart space. The flowers remind me of what my true nature is, and they encourage me — speak to me, even — toward things that are Garden-like. Of course it’s easy enough to in one moment look right at your own arm that’s symbolic of the presence of the Divine and still, the next moment, treat myself and others poorly. Quickly forgetting. But then again, like magic, they remind me again. Because they won’t let me forget too long.
They’re part of me.