Faint Heart Never Won Fair Maiden. Fair Maiden, "tabula rasa", Ain't Worth it Anyways.

“I am a canvas of my experiences, my story is etched in lines and shading, and you can read it on my arms, my legs, my shoulders, and my stomach." ~ Kat Von D

Permanence.

/ˈpərmənəns/

Noun.

Origin:  1400–50; late Middle English, from Medieval Latin "permanentia."

The state or quality of lasting or remaining unchanged indefinitely.

Permanence.

If you're like me, that definition just made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. It might feel like a cool breeze just ran down your spine, making you shiver just a little - even sitting in bed, curled up in your favorite blanket.

Yet maybe, maybe you have this little twinge in your heart. Some weird pain. It's probably just a bit of gas, you tell yourself. But that's just how you sugarcoat exactly what you know.


Grief.

"Good Grief". ~Charlie Brown.

Some days are lost causes. You chalk them up to being Peanuts Days. You tried to kick that football, but the Lucy of fate always pulls it away at the last minute. And you can't talk to your therapist about it, because that football-pulling meany Fate is your five-cent therapist.

I'm not good at talking about grief. In fact, I'm really bad at it. This has been a long winter, and it has revealed this weakness of mine most thoroughly. I've watched many of my friends try to deal with it. Losing your friend, your sister, your mother, your daughter, your grandmother... I've just listened, no words to say, awkwardly reaching out to give them a hug. Holding back tears when they hug back. I've tried to deal with it on my own. I've had friends try to help me. And yet I sit silently next to them at the bar, mumbling something about the Bruins, stirring a sweet cocktail that I've no desire to drink. Zombies express more feelings for a cauliflower. But I appreciated that anyone would be willing to sit next to me at all in such a state.

Grief.
Permanence.

Isn't it the oddest thing? If I dislike grief so much, you'd think I'd be okay with permanence. If nothing changes, nothing can hurt. But if nothing changes, what are we supposed to feel? Are we supposed to be okay with every day being the same as the next, formulaic and routine?

If nothing happens, no one can leave me.
If nothing happens, everything can stay.

If nothing happens, nothing really means anything.

Let's blend together our fears. Let's put grief right in with the permanence. Let's throw it in a big ol' needle, cause what is more terrifying? Let's get our experiences tattooed all over our bodies, all over our souls. We are just a canvas for impermanence to change permanently. We cannot go back. We keep moving forward. Let's be raw, open and honest -- allow people to judge us for what they see, what we show. Let's tell stories about our images, our battle scars. Instead of keeping it bottled up, let us wear our hearts on our sleeves.

Perfect, fair skin... quilters say that "only God is perfect", so you must leave mistakes in the work. Even if they show on the outside, we record our imperfections with the needle.