Bernadette’s Rainbow Adventures, Part 4

Tattoos and the woman with translucent skin

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4 , Part 5 , Part 6 , Part 7

When it comes to tattoos, I will tell everyone the exact same thing I told my knuckle-headed kid sister, Beatrice; “If you positively, absolutely, must get a tattoo, at least make sure it is done by a shaman.”

That’s my advice and my philosophy in a nutshell.

By the look Beatrice gave me I suddenly knew that she already had gotten a tattoo and she was only asking my opinion to gauge my response before she showed me the damn thing. Kid sisters are so stupid!

I crossed my arms and looked off into the distance as though I were waiting for some ethereal phone call.

“What’s so bad about tattoos?” asked Beatrice as she turned her head to the side and batted her unusually long eye lashes while simultaneously scratching her slight, almost non-existent chin. I’m convinced that Beatrice is not related to me, that there was some mix-up at the hospital. We are far more different than night and day.

Like marriage or getting a pet, getting a tattoo is not something to be considered lightly. It’s a permanent mark on that very sacred vessel that is our body. Remember what I was talking about in regards to the prism and the light and how the light, as it goes through the prism, turns into a rainbow? Well, our skin is one of the crucial main organs of our body. Yeah, it’s an organ. The very great Rainbow Patroller, Yamachiksi Kumara-o, called our skin the prism of our being. Light, most notably sunlight, lands upon our skin and enters through that prism into our physical vessels and as it does so it creates a rainbow. We are that rainbow. Let me repeat that, we are that rainbow! After all, we’re like 90% water so why wouldn’t we create a rainbow?

So why the heck would anyone want to smudge up or smear or disrupt in any way that prism that enables light to enter and flow through our being? Light that gives us life? Seriously, why the hell would anyone do that? Our bodies are sacred vessels. Our skin is a sacred organ. Our skin is what allows the light of our Source to enter our physical vehicles in order to give us life. Everything that imprints itself on that sacred organ of the skin, colors and impacts the light passing through it. It creates a template that casts shadows upon the light you are receiving.

Humans tend to try to boil everything down to good and bad, right and wrong, black and white, Democrat and Republican, gay or straight, young or old, us or them….. etc. I prefer to step out of that simplistic thinking. Whether a tattoo is right or wrong, good or bad, is irrelevant and missing the point. The important thing is what the tattoo is saying, what it is imprinting upon the template of our being. What is important is how the light is affected by the tattoo as it enters your being through that very sacred organ; your skin.

How on earth can anyone take something like that lightly? What your tattoo says is something that you stamp onto the template of your very existence! It colors and shades every drop of light and life flowing through you from your Source. How on earth can anyone go to a tattoo parlor, look through a catalog of generic designs, and then say, “I want that one?” Is that how much care we give to the programming of our reality? Is that how much love, honor, and respect we have for the outrageously incredible vehicles we have been blessed with? Is that how casually, non-creatively, and nonchalantly we create our realities?

In my severe opinion, 99.8% of all tattoos are instigated for the wrong reasons. So many tattoos men get are just notches in their bedpost. Or they are emblematic of the angst, anger, and confusion in dealing with their gender in a time when gender dynamics are drastically changing. When men want to say something but they have neither the balls nor the vocabulary to say it, they get a tattoo.

Women are even dumber. We will accept a ‘branding’ on the skin just to feel wanted, needed, longed after, adored, and loved. We will sear our skin before realizing that all those things are our own responsibility. Instead of wanting to “BE,” we want to belong. I say, ‘Be short.’ Be short and concise. Know what you want, know you’ll get it, and know that it is already yours. True tattooing involves no ink. It is written in the life we live.

To me, all tattoos should be original creations of art. No two tattoos should ever be identical. To me, originality and art are the two most important considerations when it comes to tattoos — along with the very important spiritual reasons. Every little aspect of a tattoo design seriously affects the mojo that passes through it. Don’t get a tattoo until you’ve had a supreme spiritual epiphany about it. Don’t get one unless you are moved with every fiber of your being to emblazon that very specific and meaningful symbol upon your very being. Don’t get it unless you are willing to live with the spiritual consequences of it for the rest of this life.

I admit it. I’m not terribly fond of tattoos. I see them as sacrilegious, an affront to God, a testimony of self-hatred and self-loathing. To me, tattoos are nothing but graffiti on one of the most sacred temples in all of existence. Who would do such a thing?

I am a lover of art. I’m one of the first to drool over a great piece of art. But 99.8% of the tattoos on humans today are not art. It is graffiti. On the extraordinarily rare occasion when I see art on a human body in the form of a tattoo I can appreciate it, but that is almost as rare as seeing an Ivory-Billed Woodpecker. Humans get tattoos for all the wrong reasons. While we are busy imprinting our physical bodies we can forget to imprint our love upon the skein of time and space. It’s a substitute without substance. It’s graffiti. It’s an expression of emotions rather than feelings. It’s a result of resistance to our Source rather than surrender. It’s an emotional urge rather than a profoundly felt spiritual desire. It’s a beard for our mute true self. It’s a distraught and confused kid with a can of spray paint. It is self-mutilation.

My dim-witted kid sister, Beatrice, thought she could lose her virginity by getting a tattoo ‘down yonder’ and then using the tattoo to lure horny guys down there. My Daddy once bought a bag of nails that was smarter than my sister. Beatrice will be 40 years old before long and she’s still playing the dumb virgin with a tattoo card. Men keep running. She just doesn’t get it. She’s such a twit. She spends her whole life trying to get laid and the harder she tries, the less it happens.

“I’m serious, Bernadette!” she yelled. “Before you get all judgmental on me I want you to see it.”

With this, Beatrice undid her jeans and pulled them down. Then she pulled down her panties. “Look at it and then tell me what you think.”

We were both standing and looking at each other in the face. My peripheral vision told me that she pulled down her pants and panties but I hadn’t actually looked down there. The last time I saw my sister ‘down there’ was long before she ever entered puberty. Heck, it may have been as long ago as since I last changed her diaper.

Looking into Beatrice’s eyes I could tell that she was damn serious. She really wanted to prove me wrong and she really wanted to show how mature she was. Slowly, I knelt down and looked directly at her naked crotch. I immediately noticed two things…..

First, I noticed that just outside of her auburn pubic hair was a tiny tattoo of a kitty cat. I couldn’t believe it but it was remarkably cute. It made me smile.

The second thing I noticed was that Beatrice’s pubic hair was auburn. Mine was black. WTF? I took this as further proof that we were not related; that some mishap surely occurred at the hospital.

“Bernadette!”

How on earth could we be related? No one in our family had auburn hair? Just what kind of freak was she?

“Bernadette!”

“Huh? What?” I stood up and looked her in the eyes.

“So what do you think of my tattoo?”

I smiled, “I think it is really, really fucking cute.” I had to be honest.

Beatrice smiled and batted her ridiculously long eyelashes.

And then I thought to myself, “It’s too bad no one will ever see it.”

Yeah, yeah, I know…. Here I am bad-mouthing tattoos all the while a cartoon giraffe is tattooed on the outside of my left calf. I am surely the worst kind of hypocrite. Hey, that’s fine by me.

But can you see the difference? I went on a Rainbow Quest, was painted by a band of 40 jungle warriors, and I danced with the famous Serengeti Rainbow Patrol giraffes and somehow — mysteriously and magically — ended up with a tattoo on my leg. To this day I have no idea how the tattoo got there. Can you see how different this is from picking out a design in some three-ring binder in a tattoo store? I mean, can you see how outrageously and radically different this is? Can you feel the difference in energy?

I only have one other tattoo and I can’t talk about that. Suffice it to say that, like the cartoon giraffe on my left leg, it just came to me. I seemed to have no say in the matter. Sometimes when cartoon figures come nothing can stop them. They are just there in the morning. And nothing is ever the same. Know what I mean?

Like I said, our skin is an organ. It amazes me how so many people abuse their skin. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. After all, people abuse their other organs just as much. How many people abuse their livers with steady infusions of alcohol? How many people abuse their lungs by smoking non-organic, additive-laced tobacco? How many people abuse their eyeballs by working in bad lighting? How many people abuse their hearts by withholding love? Humans are a very strange species. I can’t think of any animal who abuses its own organs like humans do.

I try to love all my organs. They seem to function much better when saturated with love and mojo. For our skin to be healthy it needs lots of sunshine (on all parts). It also needs air. It is very, very important to be naked for long periods of time. This is not only important for the health of our skin but also for our mental health. I avoid letting anything touch my skin that is not natural. I never use pharmaceutical creams and ointments and I never wear make-up. Deodorants and antiperspirants never, ever touch my skin. I try to avoid touching any metal to my body. The only jewelry I ever wear are certain mojo objects and these are all 100% natural materials. Wristwatches, beepers, or cell phones are not allowed in my electromagnetic field.

On my hair I only use pure giraffe milk shampoo and conditioner. I realize this makes it technically impossible for me to call myself a true vegan, since giraffe milk is technically an animal product. Oh well, I guess I’m not technically a vegan then because I will use nothing else on my hair. Seriously folks, there simply is no better shampoo and conditioner on the planet. It’s true. If you don’t believe me then try it. I dare you to use giraffe milk shampoo and conditioner for one full lunar cycle and then not thank me from the bottom of your heart. Giraffe milk shampoo not only cleanses the hair without taking any of the mojo out of it, but it actually enhances the mojo. The conditioner helps the hair to hold ever greater amounts of mojo.

You know, our head hair is kind of like an organ, too. It’s the organ where we hold our mojo. Curiously, humans are always abusing their hair. They are dyeing it, washing it with toxic chemicals that leach the mojo out of the hair, and, worst of all, they cut it. The day the scissors were invented was a sad day for humankind. People suddenly started cutting their mojo off.

But I digress. We were talking about skin. A few years ago while I was on rainbow patrol in Serbia I met an extraordinary woman named Alexandra. I don’t know if she had a last name. Alexandra was all I ever heard. She spoke 14 languages fluently without any accents. No one seemed to know where she was from. To say that she was a tall white woman is only partially correct. Yes, she was white, as in Caucasian, but her skin was whiter than white. It was beyond white. It was translucent! I never would have believed it until I saw it with my own two eyes.

There were about twenty people in the room sitting in a semi-circle of chairs. Standing before all the seated people was Alexandra. She was wearing a bathrobe. And then the lights went out….

The room would have been utterly pitch black except for the fact that Alexandra had taken off the robe and was now standing naked before everyone. Her skin and her hair were actually glowing in the dark! It is just about almost the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen. Her skin and her hair were actually giving off light!

And yes, Alexandra was tall. Most everyone that I talked to said that she is 6 feet, 5 inches tall. I’m five-four with shoes on and I felt like a midget next to her. She’s also very, very skinny. She may be over a foot taller than me but I can guarantee you that I weigh more than she does. She was surprisingly waifish.

And her hair…. Oh, her hair! It was very long and very straight. It hung down a few inches past her ass. Out of doors she looked blonde but indoors with the lights off her hair glowed a soft white light. But her translucent skin and hair was not the most incredible thing about Alexandra. Not by a long shot.

After meeting Alexandra I took some time off from patrolling and traveled with Alexandra for a month or two. Alexandra was not a Rainbow Patroller but she had a calling that was similar in some regards. But to do what Alexandra does one must have a very special gift. As far as I know, she is the only human on the planet with her particular gift. It’s that bizarre!

It was on a moonlit beach on the Mediterranean coast of Tunisia where Alexandra explained to me exactly what it is that she does. Earlier, when we were inside, she showed me. She stood up and had me standing a few feet to her side. The lights were turned down low. She told me that she was going to prime the prism with her eyes closed and then when she opened her eyes I had to watch her eyes very closely.

I should point out that normally Alexandra’s eyes are blueish-purple but when she does her thing her eyes turn yellow. It’s weird and it’s true. I’m not making it up.

She stood upright with her arms to her side. She then lifted her forearms to where they were about at a 45 degree angle from her body. I could see two circles of white light developing on the palms of her hands which were facing outward and upward. Alexandra seemed to wave back and forth for a moment and then she opened her eyes. She said that she was going to cry and I needed to watch her eyes. Suddenly, I could see a tear welling up in her eye. And then abruptly the tear fell down her cheek. Just as the tear rolled down her cheek a small explosion of tiny rainbows came pouring out of her eyeballs. It’s like a hand-full of rainbow butterflies came shooting out of her eyes. The rainbows coming out of her eyeballs floated out into the air in front of her face and they would dissipate after going no more than about 6 or 8 inches. There must have been scores of little rainbows. Soon, they had all faded away.

And then another tear dropped down Alexandra’s face and, once again, a small burst of little rainbows came shooting out of her eyeballs. It is definitely one of the absolute weirdest things that I’ve ever seen. After a total of six tears Alexandra closed her eyes and lowered her head. She also lowered her forearms back to her sides. She took three very long, deep breaths. With her eyes open again, she motioned for me to follow her out onto the beach.

We were sitting on the beach, our bare feet digging through the sand. “So what do you feel?” I asked her.

“When I stand on the ground I feel all the sorrow that is attached to that spot and the surrounding land. I bring that sorrow in and I feel it with everything I can muster. I feel it as strongly as I can and that brings me to tears and when I cry, my tears carry that sorrow away. I am a crier. I cry in order to help heal the world’s sorrows. I go to places where there has been war and conflict like Serbia and here in Tunisia and I cry to help heal and release the sorrow. That’s all I do is cry.”

“If the tears release the sorrow, what do the rainbows do?”

“The rainbows are like the residual effect of love overcoming sorrow. With the sorrow gone a vacuum is created drawing in huge amounts of unconditional love. The rainbows happen when the light of the unconditional love hit the prisms of my eyeballs. Essentially, you can say that I am drawing in two things; the sorrow and the unconditional love. Unconditional love always transmutes sorrow. Always. So I draw the two things together. The unconditional love wins and the sorrow leaves by way of the tears and the rainbows are a celebration of that unconditional love. They are residual mojo going out to uplift the vibrations of the planet.”

“So basically all you do is cry?”

“Yup, that’s really all I do. I guess I’m just a crybaby,” Alexandra giggled like a school girl. It may seem odd for a six foot, five inch woman to giggle like a school girl but that is exactly how she giggled.

It wasn’t long before I got called off to Rainbow Patrol in the Azores. Now those islands can be a delightful little paradise. I’ll have to tell that story some day. Anyway, I haven’t seen Alexandra since although I’ve heard from her a few times. Like us Rainbow Patrollers, she doesn’t do cell phones. I got a postcard from her recently. It was from Turkey. Alexandra was thinking of sneaking down into Syria to do some crying. This frightened me. How does one sneak into a country with translucent skin?

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4 , Part 5 , Part 6 , Part 7

Copyright by White Feather. All Rights Reserved. This is a work of fiction. (Previously written under the nom de plume, Stella Knoxville.)