The small steps of transformation

Well, I've done it. I've taken the first step, a step I never thought I would take.

I've now joined the ranks of those sporting body art.

I've gone and got my own tattoo.

It's been a while coming. Back in June 2008 after a particularly vibrant Ayahuasca session I decided I would like to honour the spirits that teach and protect me by bearing them on my body.

I sat down with an American friend of mine who looks more gang than engineer, and who has many years of experience with tattoos. "Tattoo, eh?" He looked at me with a glint of the initiated. I explained I wanted full colour tattoos of the guardians of the realms, specifically Jaguar who has been there many, many times at my hour of greatest need. Jaguar needed to go on my right arm by the deltoid. No mistake.

And so we headed to a local tattoo parlour where he had had some spectacular work done, a beautiful design based on a South Pacific tribal motif, and some exquisite Chinese characters chiselled into one of his lower legs. "This guy is really good," he enthused.

We entered a well lit, clean, modern and - dare I say it - very funky shop, with eerie artifacts, swords, masks, buddhas, rows of bottles of colour ink. The photos on the wall attested to a tattoo artist with prodigous skill and talent. With full colour photos of full body tattoos of dragons and scenes from various Asian mythologies, I knew I was definitely in gangster land. The shop owner/tattoo artist welcomed us in and invited us to look at stacks of magazines and folders for ideas.

This we did but you have to believe me that choosing a tattoo can be an arduous process. After all it's not something you enter lightly into. It's a decision you have to stand by. No spontaneous drunken imprinting of, and subsequent lasering out of ex-girlfriends' names permitted. But finding the right image is tough. Sometimes it's made easier by the tackiness or sheer classlessness of the image, but sometimes the images were astonishingly beautiful even though not quite right for me. And then it was hard to find an image of a jaguar that really hit the spot. I trawled through nearly the whole stash before I found a small photo of a full frontal profile of just a jaguar's face. This was the one I wanted, and I'd return to get that one.

Unfortunately, when I did return about a month later I had forgotten where exactly I saw the image, and had to go through the magazines again. I kind of suspended the search because I didn't have the time needed at that point, but I got thinking about a plan B: my friend was on a definite timeline and was heading back home to the States PDQ. He had talked me through post tattooing care procedure, and I didn't want him to go without me getting some kind of image engraved upon my body. I don't know about you, but I hate loose talk. Word is mosdef bond. Once uttered, the talk's gotta walk.

My plan B? Well, it wasn't an image, more like text. In my readings I had come across the term, moksha - Sanskrit for liberation: the end goal of the spiritual search, the transcendence of duality. I figured that this was a perfect image to begin with, something small and compact, highly meaningful to where I am right now, and for what I'm committed to, and that I could get it placed somewhere relatively discreet.

So with this in mind, I accompanied my friend to the tattoo shop today for him to say a final goodbye to the artist before he left the country, and there and then I decided to go for it, to get it done. We printed out the Sanskrit word, enlarged it some, then the assistants traced it out, the artist primed the underside of my forearm by shaving it, applied disinfectant, applied the traced image to my forearm and somehow transferred the outline of the word. He prepped his tattoo gun; I lay down on the couch, and he put needle to flesh.

The worst thing about the experience was that initial moment of anticipation: just how much would this hurt? But in the end, the pain was only very intense initially. Since it didn't get any worse, I found making small talk, looking at the various objects around the room, and a good fan cooling my brow made the experience, while not exactly pleasant, quietly bearable.

He worked fast with a touch which spoke of confidence, experience and passion. Twenty minutes later it was all over, and I examined my new tattoo with great pride in the mirror. Yes, this was what I wanted, and I wasn't disappointed with the result.

Five hours later and I must say I'm still buzzing, and not a little proud of myself.

I'm looking forward to celebrating Jaguar spirit on my body sometime soon. It's going to be spectacularly beautiful. But funny thing is: I think it's shifted my perception of myself. Getting a tattoo is a real threshold experience. I now have to get used to myself as someone who has a tattoo, and maybe many more in the future - and that from someone who used to be very fuddy daddy and judgmental about those who celebrated their love of body art.

Some say that getting older often leads to becoming more set in one's ways and more and more conservative. I find the opposite is true for me: I find I'm changing constantly, and am ever more open-minded, progressive, curious and optimistic with each passing year.

मोक्ष

It may be one small tattoo, but it sure is a giant leap for me...