Fine line black lettering reading mind above matter, split by a horizontal line, on the lower abdomen below the navel.

Mind over matter fine line lettering

Fine line · Other · Black and grey · Photo

A close-up of a torso showing a small tattoo on the lower abdomen, below the navel. The words mind and matter are written in a thin, neat script, with mind above a horizontal line and matter below it. The ink is solid black on light skin, and the text sits centrally in the frame with the navel and a dark waistband visible around it.

Fine line Lettering Other Word Script Text

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The anchor had lain in the harbour mouth since the winter the Gull went over, and nobody in Porthcarrow could shift it. Eli Tregarthen said it was only a matter of wanting it more than the sea did. Sarah Quick, who kept the tide slate at the chandlery and had never once been wrong about a sum, said that was nonsense. She chalked a figure on the board: a ton and a half, give or take the weed. Eli took the chalk off her and wrote beneath it, in his careful schoolroom hand, a line with mind above and matter below, and said that was the whole of it.

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He sat on the quay three days running with a coil of hemp, a flask of cold tea and a notebook full of sketches of levers he had never built. The gulls learned his face. The fishermen learned to step around him. On the third morning the ebb went out so far that the anchor's crown broke the surface like the back of a grey dog, and Eli went down the steps with his rope and his jaw set.

He hauled until his palms were raw and the hemp sang. The anchor did not stir. He hauled until a boy from the net loft came to watch and then went off to fetch his father. Then, without anyone pulling at all, the flood came in under it, lifted it a finger's width, then a hand's, and set it rolling up onto the sand with a long wet groan. Eli sat down hard on the bottom step, laughing, and Sarah Quick came along the quay with her shawl pulled tight.

She looked at the anchor, then at him, then at the slate. Under his line she wrote one of her own: the sea, over the weight, equals one anchor on dry land. "You'll owe me a pint," she said. He never did pay it. He said the sum wasn't finished, and she said that was the first honest thing he'd ever told her.