Week IV: Ink

My real introduction to body modification happened when I was about thirteen years old. I was exploring paths to spirituality and self-knowledge outside the constraints of my religious upbringing, which forbade tattoos and piercings. I encountered the works of Fakir Musafar by way of BMEzine.com, which is the world's largest collection of images, stories, and history of body modification of every type, from the most mundane to the most extreme imaginable.

I read a lot about Fakir - his own writings and those of many who worked with him. I discovered the cultural heritage of body modification. I learned about the history of painful rituals as rites of passage. As I dove deeper into my reading, I became enraptured by the idea of decorating my body for the sake of the experience in addition to the end result.

Let's get this out of the way: I think that tattoos look really cool. I get them because I like to have art on my body. Are they a source of vanity? Sure. I'm happy to offer that explanation to most anyone who asks. I enjoy the aesthetic aspect of tattoos. I like to show them to people and chat with other folks about their body art. There's undoubtedly an element of exhibitionism in my decision to get large, visible tattoos.

I don't spend a lot of time telling people about my more personal reasons for getting tattoos, hence this week's blog entry. It's a lot more than skin deep. Culturally, we have little to nothing in the way of ritualistic coming of age ceremonies. We're taught to avoid pain. We're provided with a myriad of numbing agents to block pain when it inevitably comes. We're taught to abhor and defer pain as much as possible. I was never encouraged to hurt my body for the sake of art or self-discovery, but it has been the most essential tool in my life for building my personal philosophy. The experience of being tattooed takes me to a plane of thought and consciousness that I haven't achieved by any other means.

I believe that spiritual progress (define spiritual as you see fit) is impossible without pain. Being subjected to pain is an opportunity to explore and expand my body, my mind, my capacity for sensation. It happens that my favourite way to experience pain is through tattoos. Every session is an opportunity for me to meditate, to be completely connected to my body. I learn to manage hours of constant pain through deep relaxation. It gives me a chance to build empathy for people who are hurting. It provides a channel for psychological hurts to be healed by physical means.

I got my first tattoo the summer after I turned 18. I booked a session with Michelle at Ritualistics in Edmonton, where I would subsequently spend a lot of time. I had a star with a spiral in the background inked on my stomach and ribs. The idea that inspired it was "peace in the midst of chaos." The artist left town before our second session, and the tattoo remains unfinished. It's significant now for a different reason than when I first had it done - my closest friend in high school, Lisa Cirka, was with me when I got it. She died a few years ago, and I think about her every time I look at my tattoo. She held my hands and we grooved to the hip-hop on Michelle's stereo. I squeezed harder for the particularly painful spots and did my best to relax, breathe deeply, and sink into the waves of endorphins that rushed through my body in a way I'd never experienced before.

My second tattoo was also done at Ritualistics. I got it because I need at least one tattoo in my life that's completely silly and frivolous. If I ever decide that I don't like it, no worries, because I never have to look at it and it'll fade away in a few years. My friends Johnny and Brian got tattoos inside their bottom lips, and I wanted to be one of the cool kids, so I got "bite me" tattooed on mine. My mother reads my blog and will be finding out about this for the first time. Sorry, mom. But you've got to admit it's at least a bit funny.

My third tattoo, again at Ritualistics, was a rendering of this drawing by Brandon Boyd, the lead singer of Incubus. It's on my right thigh. The piece is called "there's never been a better time to be on fire." It wasn't executed particularly well but, as with every tattoo, the experience was overwhelmingly positive. I'll get it covered with something more professional eventually. For now I'm happy to have it as a reminder of the good times and the context that inspired it.

I had my fourth tattoo done with my partner. It was her first one. We had matching compass roses done the same day we got engaged. Mine was on my left calf. It's common knowledge in the tattoo world that getting a matching tattoo is a surefire way to guarantee the relationship won't be successful. It's the matching tattoo curse. It was hubris to think that mine would turn out otherwise.

My fifth tattoo was inked by Aza, also at Ritualistics. It was my big tattoo coming-out party - my first that's readily visible when I'm fully clothed. I found the original image in a textbook; it's on my left forearm and says "do not be distracted" in Sanskrit. A daily reminder to focus on what's important. Why Sanskrit? Because it looks badass, that's why.

My sixth tattoo will be the subject of a full 1,000 words after it's finished. It covers my fourth tattoo, and my left leg from the knee down. The experience has been among the most enlightening and enjoyable of my whole life. It's being done by Ian at Wolf/Sheep Arthouse in Victoria. It's been intense, and merits more than a paragraph in explanation. I'm elated with how it's turned out, and I've reached my word limit for the week.

I love tattoos. On me, on you. I'll be getting them until I run out of skin. Until then I'll be thinking about my next one. My body is a temple and I'm going to sanctify it inside and out with painful, beautiful art.

Word count: 1,056