I had a dream last night. It was disturbing. My identity had been stolen. All of my personal information was gone. My purse, license, bank cards. I was left with nothing. Not even clothes on my back. I must have been knocked out because when I came to conscience I was naked, in a fetal position in a squalor of debris and mayhem. Nothing was familiar too me.
I pulled myself up and found a garment to cover myself. It was damp and rain was falling, a light misty rain.
I walked out into the street. Many persons were milling about. I decided I would find a police station and file a report. Without any means of identification on me they told me they could post a picture. They inquired if I had any marks or tattoos that a person might recognize. Perhaps they could acknowledge that I was who I said I was.
My name and Social Security number seemed to be of no importance too them.
I told them of my tattoos and they took photographs and posted a bulletin.
This dream validated the purpose of my inks.
In this scenario, it was used to validate who I was.