Tattoo Story

I am a hula student, as well as a student of the culture in general and an activist for Hawaiian independence. In the second halau hula where I studied, many students and dancers had tattoos. The students and dancers came from all kinds of ethnic and cultural backgrounds, and the tattoo designs most often favored were Tahitian. I did not have any tattoos, and that was okay. I really wasn't planning on getting one.

However, one summer I treked for over 60 miles on Hawai'i island, on a Huaka'i (journey) with some cultural practitioners. It was an amazing time in my life. I have now crossed on foot over a great deal of 'a'a and pahoehoe lava, and had many adventures along the way. When I came back to California, I realized that I needed to tell the story of my journey in a tattoo on my left ankle. There was something about the walk, and the events, and the completion of that journey that begged commemoration in this way. I had been very strongly connected with the 'aina during that walk, and a tattoo would be a way of thanking the cosmos for that great opportunity.

Tricia Allen, an expert in Polynesian tattooing, heard the story of my journey and came up with a design. Our beginning, on the summit of Mauna Kea, was there. The dive for sea urchins was there. My feelings about the goddess Hina were there. There was a lot of kaona in the design, which I know Tricia wasn't aware of, but it was all very clear to me.

After that tattoo, I thought I was done. After all, I could not hope for a second epic overland journey in my lifetime, and I could not conceive of a second tattoo without it having very special meaning. However, a couple years later, I was moved by spirit to commemorate an important lucid teaching dream -- one which was also very Hawaiian in its meaning and symbolism. This meant another tattoo, this time on my right ankle. This was appropriate, because Ku, the god, rules the right side of the body, and my dream was "heaven sent" -- in fact, the whole message of the dream was "as above, so below." I had more of the idea of the design, but Tricia Allen refined it for me.

When this tattoo was done, I told Tricia that I could now die happy, because my body was the way it was supposed to be. That was an odd feeling, but very profound. I felt very complete.

Having these two tattoos on my ankles means that I have to have greater consciousness about how I stand and walk in the world. I have to live up to them, keep a promise to them. They remind me of the greater huaka'i that I am engaged in, every day.

However, I am aware that having Hawaiian style tattoos on my legs can be considered a form of appropriation. I remember one man in Puna, staring hard at me one day, at a flea market. I felt he was objecting to the tattoo. If he had asked me about my tattoo (at that time, I just had one), I would have told him the story of my journey. Even then, he may not have accepted my having it. And this is indeed something I have to "walk with" too -- the implications of the long, sad, suffering history of the islands and their people, due to U.S. imperialism and conquest.

My sweetheart, who has a tattoo up the length of his left leg, done in the traditional Hawaiian manner, with traditional tools, has told me he would "give me" one of the elements from his tattoo. This is a great token of his affection for me. However, I would have to have it done in the traditional manner too, by the artist who created his tattoo. I would be prepared for this, I guess, though the thought scares me a little.