Lines on the face, tattoos of aging.
Life is proved upon the body
Like needle-jabs from a machine.
The older one gets, the more one is conscious of aging. We can barely remember childhood innocence and exuberance. We are surprised by the youthful vitality and unmarked face when we see earlier photos of ourselves. When we look in the mirror, we reluctantly acknowledge the aging mask. It seems that there is no escaping the marks of life.
Every experience that we have, everything that we do and think is registered upon us as surely as the steady embroidery of a tattoo artist. But to a large degree, the pattern and picture that will emerge is up to us. If we go to a tattoo artist, it is we who select the picture. In life, it is we who select what we will become by the actions we perform. There is no reason to got through life thoughtlessly, to let accidents shape us.
Whether we emerge beautiful or ugly is our sole responsibility.
Calla for Jan
by lisbeth west
© duckdaotsu 2005