These are dark days in America. Dark days indeed. I vented some of my rage yesterday, but I have so much more bottled up inside. It’s not like I haven’t known since I was in my early twenties (so, thirty years) that my country did not want me. Not only does it not want me–it is actively trying to destroy me and others like me.
I know that I am ‘lucky’ to be living in a very progressive suburb with two blue cities nearby. I know that I am lucky (without the quotes) to not have to worry about making ends meet in a country that hates me. I know that I am ‘lucky’ that I can hide several of the parts of my personality that the right would target me for (gender as agender, which probably isn’t as egregious to them as trans or nonbinary, but probably just as befuddling and enraging. I clearly have lady bits! Big, honking lady bits! Really, you could not miss my tits if you tried. In fact, one of the reasons I got a tattoo on my left breast was the mentality of, “Right. If you are going to look at my tits, then I’ll give you something to look at.”
At first it was a small yin-yang in a sun. That was my first tattoo, and it was horrible. It was done by the nephew apprentice of the first tattooist in Minneapolis, close to midnight, and what he didn’t know (and I didn’t know) was that I got keloids (funnily, I’ve been saying I’m keloid for decades, but it’s the way a scar forms, not the person) whenever I had an injury on my body. In other words, I scarred twice as badly as other people. So when I got this tattoo, it scarred really badly. And it was just an ugly tattoo in general, I was deeply unhappy about it, and I knew I had to get it covered up.
It took me years to do it, but when I finally did, it was a thing of beauty. It was a lotus blossom with blue and purple petals, engulfed in flames. It took several hours, and it still looks great. If you look closely, you can see where the yin-yang is, but you have to know it’s there.
I’m thinking of getting another tattoo. It’s been decades since I’ve gotten a new one. I was planning on getting one a year-ish after getting out of the hospital. It was going to be the Firelink Shrine bonfire from Dark Souls III with my character resting at it. You see, that was my safe place in that game. That was where I went at the end of every session beacuse it was so comforting. Plus, of course, it has fire in it (which all my tattoos have–an element of fire, I mean).
That year turned into two. Then about six months later, my personal tragedy happened, and my soul shattered. I think I can say it now–no, wait. I can’t. I’m still not ready to talk about it.
Anyway, I have decided that the new tattoo I get will honor that tragedy. I have to find a new tattooist, and I’m pretty sure I know who I want to do it. I just don’t know if I’m ready yet. I haven’t had a new tattoo since I started Taiji so at least fifteen years. The thing I’m curious about is that I was not in my body at the time. I was so far out of it, I barely acknowledged that it existed. I hated my body for so many reasons. I viewed it as a meat sack in which I carried around the really important bit–my brain. I did not feel pain beacuse I disassociated so completely, and tattooing was actually soothing to me. I feel asleep while being tattooed. When I was awake, I found it vaguely erotic. The only time I almost could not bear the pain was when it was on my collarbone.
When I told my tattooist tihs, he was gobsmacked. He said he had to take a bunch of codeine before getting tattooed. He had other clients who found tattooing erotic, but he could not understand it at all. I got some of my best sleep whilst being tattooed.
Another thing that I’m doing as a soothing behavior is researching sabers and double sabers. Why? Because I only have a wooden saber and the flimsy wobbly double sabers. My sword, on the other hand, is solid. Is this retail therapy? Yes. Do I feel guilty about it? No. I need a real saber that I can use for the rest of my life and the same for the double sabers. I also want to teach myself the last row of the karambit form (finally) and then the guandao form. But I also want to teach myself the left side of the fan form and the left side of the double saber form.
In addition, my Taiji teacher came over today for my private lesson that was supposed to happen on Thanksgiving. We did some Push Hands, which I hated when I first tried it. That was a decade or more ago, and it just felt so…bad. I can’t say it other than that. My teacher felt the same way when she first started Push Hands. She had been so eager to do it (it’s why she was attracted to Taiji in the first place), and then she absolutely hated it for the first several months at least.
My first real foray into it was a class she taught called Push Hand for Women. She didn’t tell me I had to take it, but she emphasized that she thought I would find it useful. Also, that it was about time for me to get into Push Hand. I was glad that it was only women because there’s a level of ease that exists when there are no men around. Not that I was worried about anything sexual (because, obviously, that could happen with women and nonbinaries, too, obviously (and agender), but because there’s a tension there when it’s mostly men. Having it be only women was incredible.
This time, my teacher and I did a few rounds of a more difficult Push Hands that I had not done before. To my surprise, I fell into it easily once I realized I wasn’t supposed to resist what she was doing. It felt intuitive, fluid, and good. It was one person pushing the other, and the other using that energy to push back. I was the one pushing first on our first go-around, and when she pushed back, I tensed up so I would not be moved. That’s when she let me know that I was supposed to go with the push. Then we did it for several more minutes.
And I loved it. I did not feel defensive or squeamish, which were both things I felt before. I did not feel awkward, either. In short, it was everywhere I wanted to be at that moment.