Sugar Skull Tattoo Symbolism - Part One of Three

This is part one in a three part series on my most recent ink work. This particular piece is so very meaningful to me and I wanted to share the inspiration behind the piece. 
 

I have a wonderful psychologist that has been helping me through the healing process of the abuse I experienced during my marriage. He suggested I read a book about folktales and archetypes surrounding woman through the history of the world and how they grew from innocent little girls to wise old women. The following is an excerpt from that book (citation provided below):

- A Tale of the Inuit-

Skeleton Woman

She had done something of which her father disapproved, although no one any longer remembered what it was. But her father had dragged her to the cliffs and thrown her over and into the sea. There, the fish ate her flesh away and plucked out her eyes. As she lay under the sea, her skeleton turned over and over in the currents.

One day a fisherman came fishing, well, in truth many came to this bay once. But this fisherman had drifted far from his home place and did not know that the local fisherman stayed away, saying this inlet was haunted.

The fisherman's hook drifted down through the water, and caught of all places, in the bones of Skeleton Woman's rib cage. The fisherman thought, "Oh, now I've really got a big one! Now I really have one!" In his mind he was thinking of how many people this great fish would feed, how long it would last, how long he might be free from the chore of hunting. And as he struggled with this great weight on the end of the hook, the sea was stirred to a thrashing froth, and his kayak bucked and shook, for she who was beneath struggled to disentangle herself. And the more she struggled, the more she tangled in the line. No matter what she did, she was inexorably dragged upward, tugged up by the bones of her own ribs.

The hunter had turned to scoop up his net, so he did not see her bald head rise above the waves, he did not see the little coral creatures glinting in the orbs of her skull, he did not see the crustaceans on her old ivory teeth. When he turned back with his net, her entire body, such as it was, had come to the surface and was hanging from the tip of his kayak by her long front teeth.

"Agh!" cried the man, and his heart fell into his knees, his eyes hid in terror on the back of his head, and his ears blazed bright red. "Agh!" he screamed, and knocked her off the prow with his oar and began paddling like a demon toward shoreline. And not realizing she was tangled in his line, he was frightened all the more for she appeared to stand upon her toes while chasing him all the way to shore. No matter which way he zigged his kayak, she stayed right behind, and her breath rolled over the water in clouds of steam, and her arms flailed out as though to snatch him down into the depths.

"Agh!" he wailed as he ran aground. In one leap he was out of his kayak, clutching his fishing stick and running, and the coral white corpse of skeleton woman, still snagged in the fishing line, bumpety-bumped behind right after him. Over the rocks he ran, and she followed. Over the frozen tundra he ran, and she kept right up. Over the meat laid out to dry he ran, cracking it to pieces as his mukluks bore down.

Throughout it all she kept right up, in fact, she grabbed some of the frozen fish as she was dragged behind. This she began to eat, for she had not gorged in a long, long time. Finally, the man reached his snowhouse and dove right into the tunnel and on hands and knees scrabbled his way into the interior. Panting and sobbing he lay there in the dark, his heart a drum, a mighty drum. Safe at last, oh so safe, yes, safe thank the Gods, Raven, yes, thank Raven, yes, and all bountiful Sedna, safe... at...last.

Imagine when he lit his whale oil lamp, there she - it - lay in a tumble upon his snow floor, one heel over her shoulder, one knee inside her rib cage, one foot over her elbow. He could not say later what it was, perhaps the firelight softened her features, or the fact that he was a lonely man... but a feeling of some kindness came into his breathing, and slowly he reached out his grimy hands and using words softly like a mother to child, began to untangle her from the fishing line.

"Oh, na, na, na." First he untangled the toes, then the ankles. "Oh, na, na, na." On and on he worked into the night, until dressing her in furs to keep her warm, Skeleton Woman's bones were all in the order a human's should be.

He felt into his leather cuffs for his flint and used some of his hair to light a little more fire. He gazed at her from time to time as he oiled the precious wood of his fishing stick and rewound the gut line. And she in the furs uttered not a word - she did not dare - lest this hunter take her out and throw her down to the rocks and break her bones to pieces utterly.

The man became drowsy, slid under his sleeping skins, and soon was dreaming. And sometimes as humans sleep, you know, a tear escapes from the dreamer's eye; we never know what sort of dream causes this, but we know it is either a dream of sadness or longing. And this is what happened to the man.

Skeleton Woman saw the tear glisten in the firelight and she became suddenly soooo thirsty. She tinkled and clanked and crawled over to the sleeping man and put her mouth to his tear. The single tear was like a river and she drank and drank and drank until her many-years-long thirst was slaked.

While lying beside him, she reached inside the sleeping man and took out his heart, the mighty drum. She sat up and banged on both sides of it: Bom Bomm!.....Bom Bomm!

As she drummed, she began to sing out "Flesh, flesh, flesh! Flesh, Flesh, Flesh!" And the more she sang, the more her body filled out with flesh. She sang for hair and good eyes and nice fat hands. She sang the divide between her legs, and breasts long enough to wrap for warmth, and all the things a woman needs.

And when she was all done, she also sang the sleeping man's clothes off and crept into his bed with him, skin against skin. She returned the great drum, his heart, to his body, and that is how they awakened, wrapped one around the other, tangled from their night, in another way now, a good and lasting way.

The people who cannot remember how she came to her first ill fortune say she and the fisherman went away and were consistently well fed by the creatures she had known in her life under water. The people say that it is true and that is all they know.

*

It's important to not romanticize the relationship between Skeleton Woman and the fisherman. We each have a masculine and a feminine nature; the man in this story could just as easily be a woman. It is the task of Skeleton Woman to initiate each of us into the deeper mysteries of relationship with the largesse of life but she can only come into the temple of spirit by our explicit invitation...

In the Inuit story of Skeleton Woman, a young woman has been thrown into the sea by her father, and in time has turned into a tangle mess of bones. She is hooked by a fisherman who thinks that he has caught a great fish. When he turns back from his net into her mossy bald skull terrified he starts out paddling for his life, he hits land, running until he reaches his village. Clutching his fishing pole the whole way he hears her at his heels. When he finally dives into his snowhouse he thinks that he is safe at last. But as he lights his lamp he sees that he has brought her home with him.

The story has progressed like many fairy tales from an untenable condition; in this case a masculine energy does not honor and understand the feminine and so throws her back into the primordial matter where her reality is dramatically altered. She becomes related to the sea world of the unconscious and it changes her and in turn will change him.

Note it does not destroy her although it may look like it from the old perspective.

In the Skeleton Women story we may well consider the question, who is the artist? Is it the lonely fisherman who, although he was originally terrified, entered into relationship by putting her bones right and covering her gently with sleeping furs. Or is it Skeleton Women herself who uses his heart to re-created herself? Of course, as with ourselves, it is both of them. We are the alienated masculine principle and the crushed feminine principle who together transforms the seemingly dead end into new life. They both risk. They both in their way draw from imagination and inner vision, all apart of the artist/shamanic skill of trusting in transformation through the greater cycle beyond death.

As the fisherman gets over his fright, for some reason in the soft light, he begins to set her bones in order and wraps her in warm furs singing as he works. He crawls into his sleeping furs and falls asleep. In the night, she comes close to him to drink his one glistening tear to satisfy her many years of thirst. She then reaches into his chest taking the drum of his heart to sing on her flesh, and "all the other things that a women needs". She returns his heart, undresses him and joins him as men and women do. They spend the night together and it is said that they were prosperous and happy together all their living days.

To untangle Skeleton Woman is the path of soul and to soul; the strengthening and nurturing of heart.  To be present in the moment means to surrender: not  to abandon, give up or give away, but to trust deeply yourself, NOW.   You may try to go from the finding of accidental treasure to love making, but you really cannot skip the chase, the untangling, the tear and the fleshing out through heart. You cannot go from concept to product without passing through the maturation of your history, vision and values. To enter breath to breath, skin to skin contact with loss, pain, disappointment and failure is the path of life and also the path to meaningful artwork. It is the story of Skeleton Woman. As the fisherman begins to trust in who he is and who she may be, he invites a genuine exchange.  The fisherman is our model of entering into relation with Lady Death to find right order. To do this we must stop reacting in blind terror fueled by fears of the past and future.

In this stage in creative process we must surrender our innocence to be renewed. Sleep in fairy tales represents trusting in the deeper meaning. Things change in sleep. We can rest assured that things take care of themselves; we do not have to track and translate anything. Sleep is a practice for death, the place of no time, dreamtime. It is a return to innocence or to the deepest level of being. In the process it is a turning off of the conscious mind to be present in another way. Sleep is rebirth. You can not fall into sleep on demand but must release unto it. This stage of the story calls for letting go to what may be. Slumber, bound up with innocence, requires trust to sleep in someone's presence. It is the same in love, without surrender there is holding back and being held back. This is an important aspect of the creative process.

Authentic emotional freedom is to no longer need validation and agreement from another to be who we are. We have such profound yearnings for closeness and yet hesitate to be closer to ourselves.

As the fisherman sleeps, a tear is released from the corner of his eye. Skeleton Woman spies it, is filled with thirst, and awkwardly crawls to him to drink from the cup of his eye. What, we ask, could he be dreaming that would cause such a tear to come forth?

When one has ventured this far into relationship with the Life/Death/Life nature, the tear that is cried is the tear of passion and compassion mixed together, for oneself, and for the other. It is the hardest tear to cry and especially for men and certain kinds of "street-tough" women.

This tear of passion and compassion is most often wept after the accidental finding of treasure, after the fearful chase, after the untangling - for it is the combination of these that causes the exhaustion, the disassembling of defenses, the facing of oneself, the stripping down to the bones, the desire for both knowledge and relief. These cause a soul to peer into what the soul truly wants and to weep for loss and love of both.

As surely as Skeleton Woman was brought to the surface, now this tear, this feeling in the man, is also brought to the surface. It is an instruction in loving both self and another. Stripped now of all the bristles and hooks and shivs of the daytime world, the man draws Skeleton Woman to lie beside him, to drink and be nourished by his deepest feeling. In his new form he is able to feed the thirsty other.

This is the man healing, the man growing in understanding. He takes on his own medicine-making, he takes on the task of feeding the "deleted other." Through his tears, he begins to create.

To love another is not enough, to be "not an impediment" in the life of the other is not enough. It is not enough to be "supportive" and "there for them" and all the rest. The goal is to be knowledgeable about the ways of life and death, in one's own life and in panorama. And the only way to be a knowing man is to go to school in the bones of Skeleton Woman. She is waiting for the signal of deep feeling, the one tear that says, "I admit the wound."

The weight of our cultural media seems bent on giving us the ‘quick fix’ or the solution to our problems as fast as possible; in such a worldview it is not encouraged to take the time and sit down to ‘untangle the bones’, we are encouraged instead to look elsewhere, ‘find another relationship’ etc.  It is the ‘inability to face and untangle skeleton woman that causes many love relationships to fail.’

In the Skeleton Women story she is the disused and misused Birth/Death/Birth force. In her vital and resurrected form, she governs the intuitive and emotive ability to complete the life cycles of birthing and dying, grieving and celebration....She can tell when it is time for a place, a thing, an act, a group, or a relationship to die..." She knows of endings and beginnings of life.

The above writing was taken from a combination of the book Women Who Run With Wolves by Clarissa Pinkola Estes and various commentaries she wrote on the folktale.

I read this on the plane to Hawaii and was very moved by the tale and the concept within. It reminded me of the wonderful men who have not been afraid to reach out and help me untangle my bones. Who have given me their compassion and heart. Who have helped me return to warm whole flesh after being discarded from the cliff by my alleged protector who was in actuality, my abuser. 

It was after reading this story and the next one I will share that I knew I must have a skull incorporated into my next piece of work. Part Two of this blog series will share the other story involving a skull that went hand in hand with this one and solidified my decision to use the symbol of the skull.