Got my first Tattoo last night!
There is now a red and black Nautical Star on my left arm.
Been wanting this tattoo scheme for the last 20 years, so I have known I wanted it, I just kept setting points in the future, around diet and health, conditions for getting them, and the conditions were never met or I was just too scared.
Originally, I wanted them back in the days of Theresa, but when she left, I kinda fell off the Me-wagon for a while. Then, I wanted them for every 25 pounds I
lost, and since I've lost 140 pounds now, and my body is starting to make its approach to something resembling "healthy" and toned (thank you Yoga), the reason to not get them was only coming down to fear, and I hate to be controlled by fear anymore.
So, inspired by the fiery passions of the Beloved, a night of walking the streets during Bel Cheri, the turning powers of being so deep into my current story I am writing, combined with the Renaissance Magick I am deep into as of late, and it just had to happen.
I was staring up at the nearly full moon, over a live concert of jazz and blues, on the 5th floor of a parking garage, the mountains all around me going from green to blue to grey to deepest black, surrounded by people dancing, drunk, the misty streets below me as night was sweeping in, the mountain air overcoming the humidity of the day, and then the show came to an end, I was down amongst the people, drinking in the energy of women and the feminine Divine, wild on torn muscles from my Yoga practice that morning, a week back on my diet plan (proud of my powers to rebound), and I had been looking at this one Tattoo Parlor for the last two weeks, and everything just seemed right.
I stood in front of the store, looking at the artists inside for like 20 minutes, watching people go in and out, and I just wanted to walk in and be completely covered in ink, speak the language of symbol through my skin. The only reason to not get it would be the fear, and the fear had to go. I walked away, walked back, walked away, stood in the mist of the streets and the packed crowds, and then went right inside. This very cool tattooed guy smiled as I walked in (he had been looking at me when I was outside and he was outside talking to some friends) asked if he could help me. I said, "I want to get a tattoo tonight."
"What are you thinking about?"
"Nautical Star, left forearm."
"How big?"
I showed him how big. Covering the flat inside surface of my left forearm, about 3.5-4 inches in height.
"I'll do it for $90."
"Okay, let's do it!"
And it was on. I filled in the paperwork, paid him, tipped him before he did the work (not the best business move, but I wanted on the good side of my tattoo artist). It seemed like I waited forever to get back there into his room, but in reality it took about 20 minutes for the room to be set up and cleaned, paperwork to be done, and to get me back there and ready. The wait was the worst part. Once back in his room--which was covered in Punk Rock stickers and images from Japanese mythology--I watched him assemble the guns, very sterile, very methodical, and then he looked at me and said, "Tell me when you are ready."
"No turning back, my friend." I replied.
Outline was done first, colors second. The first touch of the needle revealed no real pain, not really anymore discomfort then when my cats kneed into me at night before bed, even less actually, and after his second line, it was actually a really enjoyable feeling. I didn't want to look at the work in progress. I kept my head focused to the room across from us, watching tattooed women coming in and out, occasionally circulating a deep breath before my breathing gave into enjoying the feeling of the needle digging deep into me, the knowledge of my blood spilling out right before me.
After the image was done by the lines, before the coloring, he started to talk to me and we had a great conversation about storytelling traditions in this part of the country. The power of story and fable and myth, the emphasis on storytelling overall, a great conversation. "This is storytelling country," he said, "aint nothing like this, 'cept maybe Africa, maybe remote parts of Asia. Most storytelling cultures are dying off. Here, we are keeping storytelling alive."
Then before I knew it, the tattoo was done. I looked down, it was BEAUTIFUL, a brilliant shining red and black star, one of the most ancient of Goddess symbols on my arm, the most trusted of traditions and messages in the symbology that inspired ships to sail the unknown seas and uncover the voids of ignorance, lay down their maps, chart their paths, brave their fears, and shape the destiny of the world. The message of the nautical star: "FOLLOW YOUR DREAMS!"
After the tattoo, they wrapped it up (I have to unwrap it now and wash it and set oil to it), I shook Cody's (my tattooer) hand, promised to come back for more ink, and then took to the streets again. I FELT WONDERFUL!
I then went to a BBQ joint, got "a couple" of Guinness (I always celebrate with Guinness), had a Vegan Po' Boy sandwich, some sweet potato fries, more Guinness, and then came home, all Dionysian and drunk and in Love and transformed.
The thought in my head all night, "No going back. This is real. This is on my body. No going back. I did it. I face another fear. I did it. I am transformed." I woke up a new person this morning. This is the best experience I have had, existentially and spiritually, in a LONG time.
Follow your Dreams!
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