Friday Night and you’re out and about in a foreign country, the lights blaze, eager voices beckon you into the multitude of bars and restaurants, the exotic smells of freshly cooked stir fries and the interesting mix of the open drain sewage system waft about you. You’ve no-one to answer to, the air balmy and a contented excited feeling of expectancy envelopes you.
This is what I was feeling moments before my feet found themselves marching down one of the streets behind Phuket beach. I’d been thinking deeply about my personal transformation, of the decisions I now made to guide my life and of the commitments I entrusted within the universe. I knew I needed a symbol to cement these decisions and was unsure exactly how that would transpire – perhaps an ornament for a shrine at home? ( nah – would get dusty and ignored.) A tattoo. Something permanent and with me at all times. It was so perfect. I’d wanted a tattoo of some sort for years – maybe even 20 years – but have been so scared of needles and pain, I’ve put it off. I have had countless designs and chucked the lot – nothing seemed right or relevant and I was so aware of having something was significant and not ‘age’ – it all seemed too hard… till now.
I have been exploring the depths of mothering and the feminine spirit and now knew I needed a symbol to signify this path. As a traditional thing, we have had an ivy plant on the tank stand – which was from the past generations tank stand etc… it popped into my head that this was what I needed inscribed on my skin.
I have been concerned too, about the energetic exchange which goes on between the tattooist and the subject. Impressing a permanent image onto someone requires a certain level of creativity and the energy flow from that person, for me, needed to be in accordance with mine.
No kidding – along the streets at Phucket you get – bar, a seven eleven, a tattooist, a massage shop, a junk t-shirt shop and then a dentist… and then it goes bar, seven eleven.. etc etc.. I found myself outside a very small shop – the size perhaps of a bathroom. Heart hammering, I pushed the door open and was greeted with the sunniest smile I’d experienced. Although he had limited English, he almost intuitively understood what I wanted and sketched up a few things for me immediately. I am a shameless negotiator, but didn’t quibble or change the price he named. ( well under half what it would cost in Australia) Lek asked me to come back in half an hour and he would have everything prepared.
I dropped my shopping back to the hotel and wandered about, had some fruit and nibbly things from street stalls and came back to Leks shop. He was so precise and pedantic with the placement of the transfer – asking me to walk up and down several times to ensure it was placed exactly right. He must have replaced it three times before he was ready to start.
I was a bit nervous about the energetics as I glanced around the room. Flaming skulls, death on horseback, all that sort of thing. I was given a comforting glow – a feeling I had begun to associate with the divine saying it was totally fine.. just go with it.
He gave me that big grin as he set about his work and I took a deep breath. I entrusted the feelings to the divine and asked for a message or guidance through the time. I had been told that getting a tattoo was worse pain than having a baby. I’ve had two with no pain relief and if getting a tat was anything like the first one…..I was prepared for screaming torture. I nearly laughed when Lek asked me if everything was ok. I asked him if he had started – and he just giggled and showed me my leg.
I understand that getting a tat on certain parts of the body is more painful than others. Certainly over boned areas and where there was little fat under the skin would be more painful. I was not prepared for the nothingness I had. I gift part of that to the link I had with the divine during this time, but also that it actually didn’t hurt. More like an annoying scratch. I admit too that the colouring in over the boned area got to a point that I thought hummm you could stop that now – in a min it might actually hurt… but that’s as far as it got.
As Lek worked I breathed in my gift – that this was a symbol of my commitment to beauty – inner, outer, spiritual and to grace, gracefulness and graciousness. Almost as an afterthought I was told it was a symbol of forgiveness and that needed to start with me. ( yes and I am still working on that one.... and the others....)
I love love love my tat. Its so beautiful, so delicate and feminine and yet so grounded, strong and beguiling.
Almost as he finished, I began to wondered what tat I might next get… I had heard this from many of the bikies I know – but never really understood it till now…. Once you have one – you can’t stop.. and its true….
I was comfortable with Lek as a tattooist – he was careful, very tidy and meticulous with his gear. I had the niggling feeling about the energetics again as I stared at a devils hand crushing a hapless sinner. I asked Lek about the tattoos he had on his arm and in his halting English we worked out that it was sanscrit. Through pointing at pictures in magazines and goodness knows how else, I worked out that he had been a Buddist monk for seven years in the mountains. He taught himself to tattoo using the bamboo sticks and then himself. He was then told to go into the city and work amongst the people using his gift.
You’ve no idea what a chill I got when I heard this. He was exactly the right person to have done my tattoo. How blessed is this symbol?!!!!
I felt like a princess today – chauffeured around visiting gem and jewelry shops. I was totally aware that the places I was being taken woudl have had kick backs tothe taxi driver and was incredibley overpriced... but it was a fun day to be out of the terrible weather.
