The Endless Knot

I was an artist monk but I gave it up for gentle Helena.

Love should be enough, it should be enough, but I ached for the meditation of ink on velum, ink on skin. I longed for it.

Day and night I complained to Helena, mourning my loss, bemoaning the fact that I gave it up for her. She seemed to bear it.

She seemed to bear it until one day she snapped back at me.

“Stop it Tomas.”

And the fire was burning in her. The fire was transforming the softness of her. And she became a force, a force in this world, a force that I could not contain. The fire was radiating off her and I could not contain it, I could not even meet her gaze.

“Stop it Tomas.”

She had not raised her voice but there was a hurricane behind it.

“You gave away the monastery for me and I claim you; and I claim your art.”

Then she gave me what I needed. She gave me the silky skin of her left shoulder. She bared her shoulder and I engraved the Celtic circle. She gave me back my art.

I became a tattoo artist and she was my fierce Helena; my force in this world.

The Endless Knot

Matthew Dalton

Joined June 2008

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