The Day I Was Reborn

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Renacimiento Personal I remember the day that I was re-born. It was the day that I declared my freedom from my past, the day that I got my first tattoo. A dark day, driving home from dropping off my aunt at the San Jose Airport, windshield wipers angrily wiping at the relentless rain, which was emptying the sky. Then I saw it, through the gloom, a bright beacon, and a symbol of freedom to me that night. It read, “Graven Visage Tattoos,” in flaming purple neon, and I was drawn to that place as if by a force outside of myself. Entering the parlor was like entering a new realm; my ears were immediately assaulted by loud, angry heavy metal music. The tattoo artist was big and burly, an intimidating presence. Two hours passed as quickly as it took a raindrop to fall upon the cold concrete, time was skewed that way. The sketch of my tattoo was finished, symbols of rebellion against familial values commingled with new symbols of freedom and re-birth. The time had come. My heart pounded as I lay down upon the tattoo table; I felt my life was ending. I saw a drawing of a Navajo man on the wall, and my mind flashed to tribal days, when young ones were ritually tattooed to signify their rite of passage into adulthood. This is the image that I held onto as Paco (that was the artist’s name) placed his needle into my flesh for the first time. As each moment passed, the pain intensified for me. The burning of my flesh as the needle delved deep into my skin transported me to a new place, somewhere I had never been before. I felt my death overcome me, the death of my self. I was no longer Angie Johnson, age eighteen, social security number 555-33-4498. In truth, at that time, “I” was no more at all. For “I” was afraid of needles, “I” was a Johnson, and Johnson’s don’t mar their bodies like that. But “I” was not “I” any longer; “I” was re-born through the pain. I was a new creation; I was a tattooed goddess. For a moment, I transcended the pain and was giddy; I had found paradise. No longer need I worship

2 at the feet of a dead God, for I had seen Heaven, at the point of a needle’s prick. Adrenaline coursed through my veins, blood boiling, breath quickening. It was better than any prayer group I had ever been to, more thrilling than a Gospel Revival! I-had-found-God. This was my religion; my every moment of pain was my prayer. Paco, the tattoo artist, was transformed into my priest, as he blasted Black Sabbath from his cd player and meditated on the art on my spine. It was awful, the enduring of the pain. It was “mysterium tremendum,” the “awe-inspiring mystery,” that which I had searched chapel and temple for, that which had remained elusive (Eliade, 9). Then it was over, Paco had finished with the outline of my tattoo, and I was free to leave. My hands were shaking as I paid him for his work, and I felt like my payment was too cheap, for what I had experienced upon his tattoo table was worth more than a monetary sum. I said goodbye and left the shop, blood still coursing through my veins, heart still pounding loudly in my chest. How does one recover from such a transcendent experience? How does one go on, knowing that they have been reborn into a new identity, a new life? That night, at the tattoo parlor, I was like a mature Mormon woman, given her first ritual garments to wear, a rite of passage had occurred (McDannell, 198). Like Sarah, a young Mormon woman interviewed in McDannell’s work, Mormon Garments: Sacred Clothing and the Body, who described the wearing of the garments as “one more layer between me and the world,” I felt that the wearing of my tattoo made me somehow different as well (McDannell, 198). I now had a secret, a wonderful secret on my lower spine. According to sociologist, Georg Simmel, who has researched secrets and their societal role, “…Our bodies are our primary property. To cut, scar, or in other ways remodel the body inscribes secrets on the person and thus dedicates that person to the elders and the dead” (McDannell, 220). After my tattooing

3 experience, my enlightenment via ink, I felt what McDannell, describes as “empower[ed] and embolden[ed]” (McDannell, 220). Like the garments, which “tell believers that you are ‘one of us,’” my tattoo signified that I too now belonged to a new community of believers, those who worshipped the tattoo (McDannell, 220). Some people do not understand tattooing and its significance within society, and especially, a reference to “worshipping the tattoo.” But, this is just one of the many faces that popular religion manifests to its believers. Maybe you are a baseball “believer,” like Annie Savoy in the movie “Bull Durham,” who says, “I’ve tried them all [religions]…and the only church that truly feeds the soul, day in, day out, is the church of baseball” (Chidester, 747). Perhaps you subscribe to the “civil religion” of nationalism and war making, where the bloodshed of young soldiers is likened to Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice his own son to Jehovah, a worthy sacrifice (Marvin and Ingle, 769). Or possibly you make a pilgrimage to the Mecca that is Disneyland every year, to worship at the Pearly Gates of Walt’s version of Heaven, “At a time when some proclaim that God is dead, North Americans may take comfort in the truth that Mickey Mouse reigns at…the Magic Kingdom and that Walt Disney is his prophet” (Moore, 216). Whether the popular religion’s focus is on a tattoo, baseball, garments, or Disneyland, the critique of popular religion is easily made. What are the ethical ramifications of having a popular religious belief system? Is there a revelatory period that a believer undergoes that transforms them into a new creation, as it typically goes in traditional religions? If there is such a revelation, then what exactly is the “new creation” which emerges after such a transformation? While, for example, I am a “tattooed goddess” now, with a “secret upon my spine,” does that change me as a person, really? Will I wake up in the morning, confident that the world is a better

4 place, that the war against evil will be waged for another day—merely because I paid seven hundred dollars for art on my back? Even I, who worships the tattoo, have to say no. I will not help an elderly lady across the street today because I have a tattoo; I will not grow ethically as a result of enduring the pain of a needle. Those who drink only Coca-Cola, while refreshed and full of vigor, will not donate more money to charity as a result of their imbibing this brand of soda. And lastly, for those who dedicate their every Saturday afternoon to baseball, hot dogs, and Cracker Jack (you folks may want to leave the room), you will not see God if you catch a stitched baseball today in your commorative glove. You will only have a used ball and an overpriced glove. But for those who are believers, for whom religion is more about comfort and ritual and the static predictability of popular religious beliefs, these beliefs are not only valid, but important and personal as well. Just ask any Trekie what happened when Star Trek TNG was moved to a different time slot; it was like moving church from Sunday. Such is the power of religious belief, and such is the power of what is called popular religion. Whether it is called religion, spirituality, or just obsession, the result is the same. This form of belief, and the activities that go along with the belief, are a benefit to those who hold them, and a comfort for their long drudgerious days.

5 Works Cited 1. Chidester, David. “The Church of Baseball, the Fetish of Coca-Cola, and the Potlatch of Rock ‘n’ Roll: Theoretical Models for the Study of Religion in American Popular Culture. Journal of the American Academy of Religion, Vol. 64, No. 4, Thematic Issue on “Religion and American Popular Culture” (Winter, 1996). Oxford University Press: Oxford pp 743-765. 2. Eliade, Mircea. “Sacred Space” The Sacred and the Profane: The Nature of Religioin (trans. Willarad R. Trask), Harper Torchbooks, New York, 1961 3. Marvin and Ingle. “Blood Sacrifice and the Nation: Revisiting Civil Religion Journal of the American Academy of Religion, Vol 64, No. 4, Thematic Issue on “Religion and American Popular Culture” (Winter, 1996). Oxford University Press: Oxford pp. 767-780. 4. McDannell, Colleen, “Mormon Garment: Sacred Clothing and the Body.” Material Christianity: Religion and Popular Culture in America, Yale University Press, pp. 198-221, ISBN 0-300-07499-9.

5. Moore, Alexander. Walt Disney World: Bounded Ritual Space and the Playful Pilgrimage Center. Anthropological Quarterly, Vol. 53, No. 4 (Oct., 1980), George Washington University Institute for Ethnographic Research pp 207218.

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