One week plus with my tattoo

My tattoo has been healing nicely. The initial layer of inked skin has peeled off leaving the impression that I’ve had these symbols etched into my skin with a long piece of burning charcoal. I’m actually really digging it, and am glad I’ve had it done.

Some of you may know that I’ve been wanting a tattoo for some years now, the design and message of which was unknown to me, however. I expected after getting this done that I would be pleased with it. I didn’t expect, however, the effect it’s had on me.

These seemingly innocuous marks of ink have a weight — a solidity about them. I find myself checking my left wrist as though I were wearing a watch — it feels as though something tangible is attached to me. An echoing tendency to think twice about things that will affect my household has become ever-present, and I’ve realized that I’m a lot less likely to shirk my homestead chores. In short, my tattoo has become an indelible reminder of what it stands for. It is the symbol,  meaning, and literalness of that which it represents: family. Household. Skuldalið. All of that makes sense because that triptych of meaning is the ultimate purpose of runes.

Runes are an abstract picture of a people’s concept of an idea. Within each shape is found the sound, symbol, and definition of the concept for which they stand. Taken in of themselves, each rune is a kind of tiny poem. Wordless in its chanting, but as poignant as Haiku in its directness. When placed together, the effect is simply multiplied.

For me the result can be felt physically. The weight of my action, the talisman of the combined runes, and the meaning of the word they together represent will continue to live with me and inform my actions from here on out. All of which was my intent.

I didn’t, after all, get the tattoo to add to my collection or separate me from the pack. I didn’t get it to represent to the outside world some puffed up idea of my own identity. I got it as the talisman it’s become. The tattoo is a constant reminder of the joyful burden that is family, and because of that it is serving its purpose.

My new Tattoo

Skuldalið. Old Norse for "family" or "household" written in runes for talismanic properties.
Skuldalið. Old Norse for "family" or "household" written in runes for talismanic properties.

I got my first professional tattoo this weekend. I’ve been thinking about a tattoo since high school, but there was never anything that struck me as a permanent idea. Something that I wouldn’t mind embedded in my skin for the decades of my life I’ve yet to live. As I’ve grown older, though, some very relevant concepts have remained constants in my life. It is one of these constants that I chose to get imprinted on the inside of my left arm: family.

My concept of family, though, is nothing like the sociological sense of “nuclear” or “broken” or “alternative” that we hold on to today. Family to me is the idea that there are inherent obligations towards a certain set of people — obligations which go above and beyond the needs of other people.

Also, my perception of family is as one of the rings on the hierarchy of human experience. Being human requires participation in this hierarchy — at least it does in an existential mode of living — and it’s how I choose to live. The rings go from inner to outer in the following order: self, family, clan, neighborhood, village, town. Anything beyond “town” is a purely socio-political idea that doesn’t really affect humanity other than mashing us all together in one place. The six I’ve listed, though, coincide to our spheres of influence, from most influence to least influence. Each sphere, however, has more influence over the next one than the previous sphere does. For example, I have more control over myself than my family. However, a neighborhood has more control over a village than a family does.

This idea of a kind of concentric living is, as I said above, part of the existential experience. More importantly, though, it is also part of the human tribal experience and has been for centuries. At any point in human history, at any given gathering of humans, this kind of structure could be observed. It is in that spirit that I chose the concept of “family” for my tattoo.

The end result is nine runes (Sowilo, Kenaz, Uruz, Laguz, Dagaz, Ansuz, Laguz, Isa, Dagaz) that create a ritualistic presentation of the Old Norse word “Skuldalið”. Approximately translated it means “family” or “household”. I chose runes because of a closeness to my own sense of being, as well as a deep sense of connection to that aspect of my personal history. Runes are also used to elevate a word to a more potent talismanic idea.  A word written in runes is not just the word, but the idea of that word and the impact that it has on those who read the runes.

Family is everything to me. From that, I gain my own sense of well-being and foundation. I also define my family through my own actions. Ultimately, the world’s perceptions of me and of my family are one and the same. If I want my family to continue to thrive, then I must temper my actions against not only what is good for me, but also for my family. From there, the clan on out are also affected.

Skuldalið. Family. Household. My life.

The Revolution of Humanity

Almost 300 years ago now the original founders of the United States chose to rebel against an oppressive regime in order to secure the right of self-rule. No matter the men’s motivation — liberty, lower taxes, business, etc. — the goal is still a valid one: self-rule. When we talk about the right to vote, democracy, and liberty we are really talking about this goal. In other words, that human desire to be in charge of our own destinies in as much as we are able. The events in Iran over the past week demonstrate how that desire is not attached to a particular region or group of people. The desire for personal recognizance is deeply rooted within all of us.

When that desire is faced with some sort of inane, out-dated, illogical obstacle the level of anger and frustration mounts to a boiling point and no force on earth can quell the rage. There are only two options at that point for us: slavery or revolution. Iranians are choosing the latter.

It is with this frame of mind I watch events unfold from the obscure safety of my apartment on the sea, the vinyl train benches on my way to Boston, and my ergonomically-designed office chair. Out there in the world right now there are people dying — not to gain liberty for others — in order to gain what they believed they already had: the right to control their own earthly fates.  Let’s face it, that control is really all we have.

In spite of the theological debates, philosophical arguments, and “evidence” to the contrary, the only sure things in life are birth and death. The rest of it is up to us to do with as we see fit. In Iran, a theocracy made the mistake of pretending to be a democracy, made the mistake of offering up a pretend activity in self-rule. The Iranian people will not choose to be slaves any longer, it seems.

In our own history, a group of English citizens were also robbed of what they understood to be their rights under their king. Rather than settle for a fake existence, one of pretend autonomy, they opted for revolution as well. France. Africa. South America. Our own civil rights movement. Every location on the planet where an illusion of autonomy is placed over the eyes of people a revolution has begun. Human nature is autonomy.

As we watch the events in Iran unfold, as we read on-the-ground reports of daily fighting and dying, try to remember what it means to fight for something that is tantamount to the existence of humanity. This is bigger than a political theory, set of economic rules, a religious belief. This is as big as humanity itself. Iranians are launching a revolution just as we did some 300 years ago, as France did 200 years ago, and as people continue to do every day. Oil? Religion? This is far more important.

Our new kitten, Tucker

This is Tucker, our new cat. We just picked him up tonight. He’s about ten weeks old and just about as playful as he is cute. I don’t really have anything else to say about him, other than the announcement that he’s here. Oh. And that he’s god-awfully cute.

Danielle will get a chance to spend some quality time with him this weekend, as Gabe and I are headed to Vermont for some garden work.