Souvenirs Of A Past Never Too Far Away or Scarred Memories

Sometimes, when he is concentrating on something, the scar that Beloved has just there seems more prominent and I want to run my finger across it, not to erase it because I rather like it, but to soothe it.

Beloved would tell you if it didn’t involve a great deal of needles, he’d have the scar removed, which would be a shame because then it would leave me with one less thing to day-dream about when he is a thousand miles a way. I used to wonder exactly how he got that scar, just there above the eyebrow like that. It took a lifetime before he’d even tell me what had happened so I used to dream up ways for it to have occurred.

He got it when he was under the age of ten. He and a group of friends climbed up to a roof of an old building and as the adage goes, what goes up must come down and so he did, falling all the way to the stone floor below. The fall resulted broken bones, open wounds and what a river of tears. It also meant ages in the hospital recovering and more than a few permanent reminders that he cannot fly.

Over the course of his life, Beloved has acquired additional memories in the form of scars and such. When he is in a good mood, he is more likely to tell the story behind those scars; some of the incidents are more incredible than I could ever come up with and others are far more mundane. He has a small, almost perfect circular scar on one of his feet and a huge jagged scar that reminds me of a lightening bolt on one of his upper arms. I’ve traced each one of them at some time or another as he told me how they came to be.

Perhaps it isn’t the scar so much as the memory it ties him to that makes him want to have it removed. Beloved doesn’t talk much about his childhood and I suspect he has decided it neatly into the “good” things and the “bad” things that happened as he was growing up. A sister once told me that after the accident there seemed to be more “bad” tBhangra “good” in the family household.

I know that even if he were to have the scar removed, the memory all the baggage that comes with it, would still be there. And that’s a pain that time cannot fully erase, just as my finger cannot fully soothe the scar.


Demonizing The Desire To Be Equal

Adam demanded that his first wife play a subservient role to him and when she declined to do so (and left) Adam asked for a new wife. He wanted a partner who would be an improvement upon his first in that she would be subservient to him. His wish was granted and Eve came into being.

His first wife, Lilith goes on to be portrayed as a demon, vilified as a woman who failed to know and keep her place. She becomes the thing of nightmares, her stubbornness and pride in being equal costs her everything. She becomes a figure who spends eternity eating children, those who are the very sign of hope, innocence and that which is good in life.

One can argue that Adam had no right to insist that Lilith become subservient to him as they were created equally and therefore both subservient to God. One could also argue that because of Lilith’s own stubbornness she brought upon her downfall. Ultimately the story of Adam and Lilith is a story of greed, both parties equally desirous of ultimate power to the point of being unable to comprise with each other.

The need to cast off the yoke of oppression or to fight from having the yoke of oppression placed upon oneself is no less of a struggle these days than at any time in history. Be it the oppression of women, the oppression of religious groups, oppression based on social class or race, these struggles play out every day somewhere around the world.

While modern woman may not be asked to eat children, she is no less vilified for seeking the same power as her male counter-parts. The stories we tell may be different, but she never comes out looking good and always seems to be justified as in the wrong. Change the gender for someone of a different race, religious view or such and the story is all the same. We tell these stories to explain why it is okay to do what we do to each other. We focus on our differences, ignoring those myriads of similarities and justify our behavior accordingly.

If I were asked to make the sacrifice as Lilith, that of freedom to be equal versus being lesser but able to stay “golden” I fear I too would choose to be a vilified. Because like Lilith, I’d struggle to understand why I should be less than another who is not so different from myself. Frankly I’d struggle with that even if said other individual was that different, because am I not worth the same as any other person? In my market regardless of color, race, gender or religion we all have the same value unless we do something as an individual to alter it. Yet as I go out in this world I must remind myself not everything carries the same set of measuring scales that I use, not everyone values the individual and rather may find the collective more important. And to these people I too am a demon.

A Simple Question, or Is It

Who are you?  Describe yourself.  These are easy things to ask of a person.  Being on the other end of the request isn’t exactly that simple.

Who am I?  Well I may be the name my parents gave me, but that’s just a name.  Perhaps I am the title I own where I work.  But it’s just a title for what I might do.  I am somebody’s child, someone’s grandchild.  I’m a lover and a loved one.  I am a daughter, a life partner.  I am a giver and a taker.  I a’m healer and a torturer.  I am a motivator and a complainer. I am a worker and a slacker.  I am the sum of my experiences, but only in how I tell those experiences.

How do you describe yourself beyond how you might baseline standards?  I have two eyes, two years and one nose.  Two arms, hands, legs and feet.  I have ten toes, eight fingers and two thumbs.  Sure we can get into eye color, Beloved swears when I’m in a mood I have the same color eyes as the North Sea after a storm.  We can get into hair color too.  But those are all subjective things really.  How do we see short?  Average compared to what?

I suppose, when you get down to it, it can be as complex or as simple as you want.  But I’m not sure where the line is to meet in terms of doing justice to the question.  How do you handle the simple surface questions that are far deeper than we thought if only we wish to explore it?

A Sign Of What?

In my line of work signs and symbols are just part of the daily landscape.  Some of the symbols and signs are easier to determine than others and a great deal is open to conjecture.  That’s part of the fun in my job, when I’m fortunate enough to be able to examine and consider these various markings.

So you’d be forgiven if you think that I’m good with all signs and symbols.  Even Beloved assumed I’d be able to see a sign from what we found at the backdoor and then on the flagstone path.  But I’m not good with nature, not really.  So when we discovered four spiders outside our backdoor, Beloved asked me what it meant.

Okay so at first then jumped back first and then asked me about the significance of the number.  Now in some studies, four represents the sacred four directions, balance and harmony.  I’m not certain that’s why there were four spiders on our house, just outside the back door.  I’m also no expert in spiders, but I figured the house must be ideal hunting ground for them.  I hazarded a guess that there was a decent amount of whatever  it is they were consuming and thus good, plentiful hunting had brought them close.  To be honest I’ve never seen four large spiders together before, save the pet store where you can buy big, hairy spiders for pets! 😮

And when Beloved stopped on one of the flagstone steps and peered down, I saw what had caught his eye.  Three rather large slugs, one was doing something that appeared to akin to waving it’s antennae at us.  In some studies, the number three represents completion and perfection.  Think along the lines of the trinity if you must.  Not that I’m comparing the three slugs to the trinity, but rather the sacredness of the number three.

Now I know nothing really about slugs, so maybe they get together in large numbers all the time.  Maybe we had a slug family of a father, mother and child slug.  No clue really.

If we lived n different times, if I was a shaman perhaps then I’d be able to make sense of the signs nature was providing us.  The spider, after all is known as a creature of creation and in some societies it was grandmother spider who saved/created humanity or the earth.  I’ve never found what the slug symbolizes other than laziness perhaps.  But to me, these signs and e symbolism behind the animals is nothing more than nature at our house.  Thankfully not inside the house! 😊

To Beloved these signs from nature are not good.  He sees nature coming this close in what he refers to as “gross” numbers as a sign that soon they will be in the house.  And to be honest on of the spiders was awfully close to sneaking in the door.

Now im with Beloved in not wanting them in the house, but I’m not seeing any signs showing the end of times.  Then again I could be wrong since I tend to work in theory and not reality!  I also tend not to seek out symbols and signs in my every day life so I could be missing all sorts of stuff.

If you have any ideas about the spiders or slugs, please share with me so I can share with Beloved and avoid his desire to stock up on water and food.😐


He tugged at his hair, creating a slightly messy peak. It wasn’t in the name of fashion or trends that he had done this. Beloved frequently tugs at his hair right there when he is thinking deep thoughts. I’ve been told he has done this since he was a small gap-toothed boy.

I walked over to see what had his mind in turmoil, but it appeared to be a fairly innocuous book about early history. There were no other clues or items near him to create this response so it must have been something in the book.

As I debated asking what was on his mind, he looked up and caught my gaze. A slight frown was also on his face, deep deep thoughts indeed. I offered him tea, which he politely turned down.

I came to stand behind him, gently rub in his shoulders, feeling tension in them. I decided to just go for it and ask what he was thinking. He sighed and said the book made him wonder how much of the history we learned in school was true and how much was myth. He was wondering what would happen of nations realized they were founded on fiction, not truth as they know it. And from there his kind had made a small skip and a wee jump to wondering about individuals and their personal histories. He wondered how much of what people are told about their families and who they are is true and what is a wish or a slight bend of the truth. He mused that it would probably shatter most people to the core at some level to know all they ought they knew about themselves was not true.

And for there his mind took a darker turn, a turn towards wondering about his own history and who he was based on how that history defined him.

As I rubbed his shoulders I wished I was rubbing those dark thoughts from his mind. I told him it didn’t matter to me what was fiction or fact of his family history because I didn’t fall in love or lust with that.

Of course history is written by the victories, it is written by them and for them. It allows them to define themselves as they wish to be seen and allows for a sweeping up or hiding of that which they don’t like as much. This isn’t anything new and it isn’t anything that is going to just go away ever. The key is in knowing the truth lies somewhere among the stories, between those lines, hiding somewhere among beginnings and endings.