Our wrinkles are as unique to us as our fingerprints. Instead of being born ready to touch the world, we die with all the world’s impressions. Our emotions are aging us, and if you live in California, the soft sun will reveal these grooves in beautiful and graceful ways – next to girlhood freckles, framed by yet another new strand of gray hair, washed clean by saline tears, deepened with the squinty eyes of discernment, and expanded by our belly laughs.
Our wrinkles, like our fingerprints, tell us something about nature, the phenomena of all living things in the physical world we observe and absorb, and the character that upholds our own body and breath, which we experience as merely a sense of self. Of course this relationship is remarkable.
Someone somewhere on the Internet suggested that a person’s purpose is hidden within their name and revealed by how they answer when called upon. Naturally, I’ve been examining my own name: Kristen, which some people spell Christen, and means “follower of Christ.” To christen, as in a ceremonial baptism, is to announce, anoint, and bless as holy, sacred, and welcomed.
Perhaps it is my nature to initiate the beginning of things, honor the origin stories inscribed in our fingers, and introduce the hard-earned wisdom that wrinkles across time. Have you ever seen a water-bearer’s hands, pruned from their pouring?
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