I plunge into the material world of clothing and design, decorating my body, adorning my limbs with art, embellishing my very being with the accessory of the day. I derive pleasure not from the idea of fashion and statement itself, but from my own feeling of seeking and finding some element that embodies my expression that day. I find myself constantly reaching for my cross necklace; a piece of boldness, richness, and drama. The cross is one of the most eclectic symbols in the history of mankind used by an array of people, regardless of faith. This jewelry piece feels most familiar to me. It reminds me of myself. I grab the thin long chain and unclasp it, anointing myself with power, each limb of the cross reaching out to me and the world. The ornate filigree filling the corners are molded to perfection, alluring me, the crimson blood of Jesus’s crucifixion to drip and twirl along my chest, the rubies in the center, like eyes, go before me through my day. The red pigment glares back at you, not in anger, but rather in sorrow. I wear this cross because it reminds of this sorrow, the fragility of human nature.
And so I look upon the delicately intricate edges of the cross as they stab and poke, the glistening gems that string from my mind, through my heart, into my necklace and out into the world. This piece becomes an embellishment of my being and though it is grand, it is also elegant: a symbol both of authenticity and pride. When I wear my cross, it starts to imbibe and emulate all of the sincerity and truth I have to offer—the symbol awards those that search for it, those who look for divinity in a world of anarchy. How divine the perfect accessory can make one to feel! A confidence, a livening of self invoking your truest emotion, thought and representation. The eyes of my ruby cross stare like the amethyst of the Attallah; it is a piece of art, a piece of myself. The frailty of Jesus’s hanging figure on the cross pierces my chest, archiving my fragments, contradicting every natural thought that tells me not to parade this brutality on my neck. I reject the offer to be partisan and so I choose to recognize that tempestuous thought to simply blend in, to ignore the death that is put to creativity and expression of art when we choose to blindly adhere to trends—the latest craze.
I wonder if I am worthy of wearing such a piece. Me? I am vain and grotesque and human, and in my very nature is the questioning of my very own intention. Do I dress up? Do I will myself to beg for attention when I step out into the world? Am I begging for mercy from others? Do I waltz into every room wearing a crown of privilege and beauty? Or do I divert and wear the jewels that are mine, and allow them to show to the world what I cannot, the beauty that still exists in the world, relationships, self-confliction, transformation? I choose to wear my jewelry and whatever decor I wish, and draw the eyes of those approaching me not to my own display, but a display of the world and the fragile artistry in being alive.
Created from the most delicate of images is the powerful display symbolism—the death of a man, a sinless man who had to die. It is a symbol that welcomes the whole world into the height of human frailty, of a life holding on by the metal nailed through his flesh. But in my contraction to religion, is the truth of my existence and the existence of those around me. In our destruction, impurity, hideousness as humanity is the glory, the beauty of being, the sensitive self with intuition and irrevocable emotion. I wear a symbol of my beauty, but not the beauty that is presented to the world. I become beautiful in thought, in articulation, in projection, in love. I wear a figure that is of love, of the dedication to hope to humanity. I wear it because it makes me think of love, and how love can look so gruesome and distorted and dismembered. Love is painful, burning. I am not beautiful in the moment, but rather I am beautiful in time, in the consciousness that exists in love and representation. Love traces the arms of the cross into my bloody twisted ventricles, its beauty flowing into my soul.
When I put this cross on, I will myself to a world that is painful, destructive and raw, but I ground myself in the presence of our love. I abide in a world filled that chooses to continue. I reside in the beauty that is human frailty, that is the way I and my friends and family choose to show up unguarded and fully committed to love. I walk through the terror of suffering in a world blinded by our menace, and I think of all the ways in which my existence works to dissolve my humanity. Yet in my own dissolution, my heart is weathered, conditioned and polished to love. I defy who I wish I was, and blossom in the truth that is my own selfhood. How stunning you are when you show up for love and authenticity, refusing to be hardened by our expectations and comparisons. What a peculiarity it is, the way humanity can breathe into your soul and one can choose either to harden, fasten the floorboards and cement our facet, or they can choose to exist purely in themselves, allowing the walls that protect your heart to fall apart and wither, each shriveled petal waving through the air as it falls weightlessly to the ground. We choose to dissolve ourselves so that we may love; in the fragility of humanity is our ability to continue in tenderness, acceptance, kindness and hope. Only then may I be free. So then I must wear my necklace. I must be okay with my fragility as I dive head first into the world, a world that abounds in experience, emotion, conflict and death. In my necklace is the ability to love and to accept love because we are able to exist in a bruised world. In our pained existence is our uniform commitment to persist.
For without the pain of living, we must never know how much we need to love. If I depart from this emotion, I depart from humanity and life itself. There is a language of humanity and we find those who understand ours best. In this love is the blossoming of relationship, the soft and gentle resonance of friendship, a dedication to live in kindness. I find romance in the way the sun rises, casting shadows that crawl across the day's time. I love the smell of my friends' apartments and the swelling within me when we are together. I fall in love with change and transformation and who this love might lead me to become. I find love in places it was once devoid of. I chase the tingling sensation in which I will love so much that my heart hurts. I look at the people around me, the kids who mumble and giggle to each other, the flower petals outside my window that shutter in the wind, and I commit to love, I plunge into it, full fledged. I risk all of my being for this feeling that is everything. What a beautiful moment it is when you realize your capacity to create love and feel the love of others. What a joy to abide in divine love, one that is not wanting or possessive, but one that is raw, feeling me back layer by layer. I give myself willfully away to love, carried away in a glistening outpouring of immaculate tears. The more I give of myself to love the more it expands and swells within me, without exception I commit to an eternity of love.
When I get up in the morning and remind myself of this piece around my neck, I am reminded of my faith in love. I hope you have the chance to truly love life and find your deepest self within it. I hope that you may love life deeply even when society sometimes persecutes such affection. I hope you connect to pieces and style and visual representations of life, refusing to adhere to the brutality and cynicism of life. I hope that through the connections you form, you blossom in life and believe in love. I hope you never fret over love, and parade around with your heart on your necklace, refusing to spoil and become sour, continuing to be enthralled by life and people. A heart worn out of love is the rarest and finest of earthly possessions—it is a symbol of a person who has lived in love—and that is what I choose to wear around my neck everyday.