Hanging baubles on myself like a Christmas tree, has never been my idea of attractive. Not for me anyway, who fidgets with anything too itchy or tight or binding on my skin. I find necklaces hot and sticky in summer and icily unyielding on my neck during winter. So for me to actually keep it on, it had better be worth the wearing.
In addition, I do not care about the cost or design of the thing. I am not much into wearing any jewelry, unless it actually means something. For Gods-sake, I am not much into life either, unless it means something.
In other words, the only chains I ever want to wear have to be worth their weight in significance. That goes for every facet of my life.
For example, for me the eternity symbol has always been the quintessential way of saying 'I will love you forever'. Forget the damn heart, it doesn't go nearly far enough... Love endures death...It has no borders...Love is eternal, or is SHOULD be...and that is what infinite means to me. A heart can be broken, but infinity cannot, because it transcends time and space and our simplistic human, short-term comprehension.
The necklace I just got, was from the guys section of Urban Outfitters. It was a sterling silver pair of boxing gloves, and it kicked ass. I loved it. It was my birthday present to myself.
I think I would have been a boxer if I didn't think one too many knocks on the head would make me stupider then I already am. I need every wit I own just to make it through the day.
Still, I sometimes dream of how it would feel to put on some boxing gloves and duke it out with a worthy, well-matched opponent. They would have to be a beginner too, lest I land up with no teeth, but substantial enough to make it real.
I would love to have a good old fight based on sheer strength, wiles and strategy. I want honest, sweaty, may the best girl win, sexy kind of fighting... The bruises and bleeding incurred would be so obvious, honest and even cathartic in that kind of fight... Everything is exactly what it seems to be, no lies, nothing but heart and soul.
I don't know why the idea of a bit of well earned bleeding can seem like such an accomplishment.
I cut myself last night with my sculpting knife. We were cutting heavy, gray slices of clay. It was strenuous work. Everybody had to actually stand up and lean on the knife to exert enough pressure to cut deli slim slices off the bricks of clay.
The project we all are working on, is going to be a fist. The clay slices are used to gradually build up the shape of a closed hand. Plane by plane, the fist emerges.
As I was working the clay with my fingers, I noticed a streak of blood on the rough-formed knuckles of my sculpted fist. I had not even felt the cut, and I really did not mind it. It seemed somehow fitting to have my blood streaking something I was actively creating. Art should draw blood-should it not?
Working with hands is so satisfying in some integral way. Fighting with hands would probably be the same.
For me, my new 'boxing gloves' necklace said all that and more. It was mostly to honor MY boxer. I sort of knew him long ago...not as a boxer, but as my Dad, and as an honest, super strong, gentle man who viewed challenges as further opportunity for growth.
I got it to remember his strength in overcoming the obstacles in his own life. He started out as the son of immigrant parents in South-Africa. The Benjamin boys would deliver milk to many neighborhood farms, and the strong, tall Afrikaans boys would beat up the short curly haired Jewish boys, just because they could.
Then the small Jewish boys learned to fight. The next time the Afrikaans boys tried to beat them up, they got more then they bargained for. My Dad though did not hold their past aggression against them. Once he made it clear he would not tolerate any more bullying, he made peace.
Two of the Benjamin boys would become boxers. Uncle Isaac went professional, and my Dad boxed all through college. He seemed to have boxed more for sport then anything else.
My Dad never hurt people without reason, but nor did he let people hurt him without defending himself. he refused to be a victim in any way, shape or form. If someone wanted to start up, he would beat them bloody, then shake their hand when they wanted to be peaceable again. He was innately gentle...but never weak. A worthy lesson to absorb.
I have his ivory and blue stripe University boxing blazer hanging in my closet. it is slowly disintegrating, as old cloth will. Everything returns to the earth in the end, so I will hold on to it as long as possible, then will lay it down when it is beyond salvation.
I don't truly need anything material to tell me about his burning, unflagging spirit. I don't need the necklace either, but I kind of like it.
