Tramp Stamps, Religion, and My Sacrum

It came up the first time on Monday in the tattoo studio. I was in getting my latest ink scripted on my right arm. The tattoo artist asked about my previous inkage, and I explained the infinity symbol on my left wrist, and the Sanskrit-in-English lyrics over my heart (warning: old blog link there).

And in ‘fessing up to my lower back ink, I said:

Yeah… and I did the whole tramp stamp thing when I was 19.

Spider – my amazingly fascinating artist – sat up straight in her chair, shook her head, and setting the record straight, she explained how in ancient tribal cultures, the sacrum was thought of as a place of power, of life, and that the men of the tribes would get their tattoos there as a symbol of strength, pride, and power.

When I told her that my sacrum tattoo is of the “Jesus fish” or Ichthys (warning: yet another old blog post on another old blog, be nice), she exclaimed,

“Well what a statement of POWER to have there!”

I took that to heart, understanding that my tattoos represent a number of world religions, and in retrospect are pretty indicative of where I’ve found myself on my own spiritual search at the time of each tattoo.

The Ichthys was my first tattoo, and I was nervous. Not only about the permanence, but about picking something that would be as relevant at ninety as it was at nineteen. I was born and raised a Memphis girl, who grew up in a Southern Baptist Memphis church. This Bible Belt/Sunday School upbringing would be a part of who I was as it was a part of my childhood – and no amount of time or learning of other religions would change what my initial thirteen years had instilled in me.  I have a special place in my heart for hymns and holidays, among other things.

The infinity symbol is a mostly mathematical, philosophical symbol which I’ve taken to remind me that everything is connected, and we’re all a part of it. The lyrics on my chest attribute honor and praise to “heavenly teachers,” the deities as well as the divine and the teachers in all of us, and in everything (namaste). The still-healing ink on my right forearm is the Sanskrit word for “truth” and is the second of Patanjali’s five Yamas as expressed in the Yoga Sutras.

My tattoos represent Christian, scientific, Buddhist, and Hindu philosophies that basically start to sum up my world view: everything is connected, every person and situation is our teacher and should be acknowledged as such, and while we can talk another time about my thoughts on “organized religion,” the structure and framework of Christianity that shaped my childhood has left me with a deep appreciation for having something – a group, a place, a practice – to call my sanctuary, to feed and nourish my soul and connect me with something bigger than myself.

And then there was yoga

I’ve craved yoga in these last couple of weeks, and I’ve honored that and have put it back into my routine. I’ve been so in my head lately, so scattered, but so present in the experience that is uncomfortable and undesirable emotions, even as imperative as they were to feel and go through.  Regardless, intense emotion is exhausting when kept solely in the mind.

I was initially frustrated.  When I want structure and familiarity, I attend CPY’s level 1 classes – this is what they teach us to teach in Teacher Training, so it’s a sequence I know and love dearly. Tonight, I went to the level 2 class instead. As I understand it, instructors are given a little more artistic license and the sequence can be a little more challenging, a bit more unpredictable. I was frustrated at first, not knowing what to expect, what posture would come next.

Until I realized that’s exactly what I’d asked for. I’d commented to Grace only hours earlier that I was in desperate need of something I could focus on outside of my own thoughts, something that would get me out of my head. Being forced to focus on the words of the teacher along with the movement of the muscles in the body – I didn’t have room for distracted thoughts. I was 100% present, even if my legs were shaking from fatigue and sweat poured out of my skin (which we can tack metaphors onto until we’re blue in the face, I realize this).

Towards the end of the practice, our instructor was walking us through some final postures, all of which include lying on our backs. He spent a few minutes talking about the significance of the sacrum and it being a place of power and of life.

The sacrum is the last bone in our bodies to decompose after we die.

Let that sink in.  That is significant.  IMPORTANT.  That is one POWERFUL skeletal structural piece.

Today, that connection meant something.

It meant power and pride, and it was a reminder of this sacred place holding our own precious life forces. How beautiful is that? And yes, the word sacred actually comes from the root Latin word sacrum. Not word for sacrum. The word sacrum. Which referred to the gods or anything in their power. YEAH. That’s not light stuff.

It is not an accident that this is a sacred place, and it’s no accident that I learned this lesson this week.  And I don’t intend to take that lightly either.

Tagged as: sacrum, tattoos, Yoga