Under my skin

September 11, 2001 was a traumatic day for me. I still cannot bring myself to watch very much of the images. Not that I have forgotten or denied what that day meant. Far from it.

Two (or was it three?) years ago I decided to make an addition to my tattoo.

The original was inked on me in 1993, one I created out of three images from the 9th century in Ireland, --a horse-like animal with a set of wings, holding a torque ring--when the country was ruled by the Vikings. It was homage to my Irish and Scandinavian ancestors. I had it done on my right shoulder and upper arm. Hurt like hell, but I have always loved it and would feel strangely naked and alien without it.

The addition was to mark the Jihadi terrorist attacks on my homeland. They are the unfortunately fuzzy images below, the ones inside the circle. (The tattoo itself is quite clear; my phone photo is not.)

The image as a whole suggests a cross. That is not accidental. At top and bottom are the mirroring Roman numerals IX and XI, which are 9 and 11. The transverse word is from Lord of the Rings, JRR Tolkien's tale of heroism and the battle between darkness and light. In the language and script of the Elves, it is dun-aden, meaning "man of the West." King Aragorn's battle speech inspired that choice.

"Men of Gondor, and of Rohan, my brothers! I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me. A day may come when the courage of men fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship, but it is not this day. An hour of wolves and shattered shields, when the age of men comes crushing down! But it is not this day! This day we fight!

By all that you hold dear on this good Earth, I bid you stand, Men of the West!"

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