Debating Locks

Once upon a time I had dreadlocks. The story of my locks went something like this: On a motorcycle trip across the Western states I stopped in the middle of the rockies to see a lover. He happened to be shaving a mohawk into his girlfriend's son's head, and I had just had a disappointing experience based on traditional concepts of beauty at a photo shoot, so I asked him to do mine as well. I spent that summer with a mohawk that changed colors, but hovered between blue and pink most of the time. At the end of the summer I went to Burning Man and ended up bringing a new friend home with me. One night, in our basement apartment on haight street, I asked her to dread my hair. We bought a jar of bedhead wax (Which I STILL have quite a bit of), a metal comb, and a package of small rubber bands. She spent hours backcombing my hair into poofy pink dreads, and at the end I looked like a very disappointed side-show-bob. I then spent the next week freaking out about how hideous my dreads were, and applying wax liberally. Eventually the dreads started to calm down, and to even lock up a bit. I went surfing and snorkeling in the pacific ocean and the salt did wonders for the locks. Then, one day at summer camp my campers got bored and decided that they were going to decorate my hair. They put all sorts of ribbons and string in the dreads, lengthening them down my back. I absolutely loved the look that they created and I started regularly adding bits of different colored yarn to my hair:
For several years I kept the mohawk with dreads going. Sometimes I added yarn. Sometimes I dyed the dreads strange colors. It was quite easy and satisfying to bleach out a dread and add blue, or green, and for the first time in my life I felt like I had control over how my hair looked, and I thought that it looked rather good.

Regarding the question of spirituality and dreads or fashion and dreads I really could not have cared less. Of course dreads only became an option because of the community that I was part of. Within the burning man community dreads were not just an acceptable style, they were often times desirable. I was more or less oblivious though, and so my dreads were more for me than for anyone else. I was also minimally aware of the spirituality connected with dreadlocks:

Now, I was not a rasta, and I am not even sure what a rasta is. I did not smoke marijuana, and I did not feel like my dreadlocks somehow connected me to the earth in some powerful, mystical way. I also did not feel like "god," wanted me to wear dreadlocks, and I did not care about spiritual leaders wearing locks any more than I cared about the fashion of it.

Eventually I left the bay area, where shaved heads were somewhat sexy, and moved to Arizona where I lacked a roommate to help me shave, and I started applying for more grown up jobs. I started to grow out the hair beneath my dreads to have less of a drastic appearance. When I got my acceptance into peace corps it was stated, rather murkily, that I should attempt to have a more conservative style. Since the tattoos were not going anywhere I decided to compromise by combing out my remaining dreads. Five years later they had still not locked completely, and they combed out. Not easily, but I was able to save most of my hair and did not loose any length.

I loved my dreads, but I did not think that I would do them again. They are a lot of work, and a lot of commitment. However, recently the desire to dread up has been returning and I thought that I should at least look into it. Now the idea of natural dreading (or locks by neglect) is a lot more appealing to me than it was back then. When I first wanted dreadlocks it was an immediate decision and I wanted immediate gratification. After reading some material on the internet today ( http://www.naturaldreads.com/ ) I am much more drawn to the spiritual discipline required to grow natural dreads. I am figuring that with my history and the current length of my hair it will take over three years for me to achieve actual dreads. It is a huge commitment, but undertaking it as a spiritual path rather than just a fashion journey, makes that time commitment much more appealing.

Here are some of the ideas that I gleaned, and hope to consider with the growth of my new dreads:

1. Growing natural locks is a practice of non-violence. I know, it might sound ridiculous that we can even be violent to our hair, but I think it makes sense. I am very violent to myself in the name of beauty: I dye my hair, cut my hair, force my breasts into uncomfortable bras, wear jeans that are a tad too tight, wear high heels, pierce myself and tattoo myself. All of these are ways that I express my will or my desire and attempt to assert control. Some of these habits are violences that I am aware of, like the tats and piercing, and some of them are so culturally ingrained that I do not even recognize them as forms of violence (Bleaching hair). By allowing my hair to grow the way it wants to, at the pace it wants to, and not cutting it or combing it, I am practicing an extreme reminder to remain aware of these violences in the name of beauty. It reminds me to be kind to myself, and to others, and to put love into the world instead of adding to the heap of power struggle and violence. 
2. Growing locks is a practice in patience and commitment. I tend to get enthusiastic about an idea, and then to loose interest suddenly. This can most often be seen in my hair, because as soon as I get the itch for a change it is usually my cut or color that changes, and then eventually other areas of my life. Yes, I can suddenly back out of the dreads, and I am leaving that option open, but I know that once they get going it will take a long time to get back to that point, and so I feel like it will raise my awareness in the area of patience and commitment. 
3. I am looking for a new spirituality that is more connected to the earth, and to my body. Some form of shamanism. Because hair holds a person's history, including the ingestion of substances and being around toxins, I feel like dreads are a great reminder of that earthly connection, and a motivation to remain more pure. 

So... will I do it? Not sure still. But, in case I do, here is me on dreads #2, the nonviolent way, day 1: 

God is Love

I spent the weekend with my friend. Technically we were supposed to be having my hen party, but for me that basically means doing all of the things that I love doing as a single woman... wine, dancing, and long conversations... one of the questions fell to religion and spirituality, which is a conversation that I actually enjoy and do not get enough of since I left the bay area, which was a land of spiritual wanderers, floundering through ethics and philosophy, drowning in the possibility of their lives and decisions. In Arizona I fell into another type of contemplation, which lasted well enough, for enough years, and I still grew. But then I joined then peace corps and the growth was in a very subconscious, physical manner. I feel that I learned a lot about humanity, life, love, living, and the body in those two years, but I did not have many opportunities to orally contemplate religion and the meta-living of life. It was the physical understanding of sunshine and tomatoes, of language and interaction, that did not require process for achievement. But there were a couple of people who shared their perspectives on religion with me in a non-threatening, non-judgemental manner, which I appreciated.

My conversation with my friend this weekend made me realize just how much I will miss her when she heads back to the states, because she is one of the few people that I have in my life that is on a similar level of exploration as me. Whenever we talk I feel regenerated, and back on track in my life, as if she inspires me to be a better person who questions things but also actively lives the decisions that I have made with passion and conviction. This weekend we started talking about religion and somehow got to the topic of, "God is Love." It is not a conversation that comes up with many of my Christian friends in the manner of God being love. Usually it somehow becomes translated to, "God loves you," which is subtly different and yet very far from being the same thing. For the first time in YEARS I felt a rush of understanding and thrilling acceptance. God is Love. I could contemplate on that for years. Just one simple sentence inspires so much interpretation and thought.

God is Love.

It makes me feel small and insignificant and yet large and part of something. It seems to be a very important truth, if it is a truth, and worth investing some time and energy in. However, I do have one problem with that from the Christian perspective. If God is Love, then where exactly does the knowledge of good and evil fit as a sin? Because now knowledge is a good thing, and even Christians are encouraged to learn and process and seek knowledge about the world and their religion. So, once that original sin of disobedience was breached, was a decision made for all humanity? Is the knowledge not so much the sin as the disobedience? As in, humanity as a possibility made the choice to live in this kind of world where we would thirst and hunger for understanding, and so here we are, and now knowledge is necessary and not the sin? Was the sin just choice different of God's? It doesn't seem particularly loving. I wish that I had more time to contemplate these issues with my friend, but for now a quiet meditation on a slow rocking train will have to be enough.

The time has come... part III- jealousy and rings

One ring to rule them all. What is a ring? In my paper on the symbolism of modern weddings I am briefly examining the modern abstraction of the ring. I take the ring off my finger and lay it on the table next to me. My finger feels naked without it, eveen though I have only been wearing it for a couple of months.
The ring is gold. I know this because it doesn't leave green marks on my finger, and because of the little number printed on the inside of the ring. It is light, and makes a delicious sound when placed on a hard surface. Although it is light and delicate it seems to also be indestructable. I know this is not true. Gold has a relatively low melting point compared to other metals. How did it get its shape in the first place?
Shape. It is perfectly round. Japanese monks spend a lifetime trying to draw a perfect circle. No, they do not try. Perhaps they try in the beginning, but eventually they learn to let go of the trying and to allow a circle to express itslef through them. I never finished that story- do they succeed? Can perfection be obtained? A circle is mathematical. Goldsmiths have moulds that have been designed by computers. They can make a perfect circle. The ring really has no beginning and no end. It hardened into existence complete.
The stamp tells me the value of the gold. Its purity. I have no idea how to read the stamp. Purity and value are foreign languages to me. I would rather wrap my tongue around whispered "I love you"s than to spend my time learning the symbols of every jeweller. I have no idea how to buy a ring.
It is his mother's ring. A symbol of family, that he handed to me. I took it with a cuirious furrow of the brow aand chewed on it for over a week before I burst with the question of whether he knew what that means to a girl. He knew.
Now we are getting rings of our own. His will return to his mother. My mother is bringing my grandmother's ring. It is another symbol of family. It is also a symbol of lasting, as my grandparent's marriage lasted until death did them part. It feels very different than the symbol of his family, and part of me wants to have a symbol of our family. But heirlooms are made through generations, not on arbitraty whims of the now.
The ring means forever. It is a sign of ownership, like the peircings and collars of slaves. It is a sign of fidelity. It is a sybol of wealth. It is so mixed up in history and society that I am uncertain how I actually feel about it.
We decided to get tattoos instead of rings. Tattoos are forever. You can not take them off. When a marriage ends and the ring is removed there is a period of aa tanline, perhaps, but it fades. We do not want the possibility of fading. Forever is something to be taken seriously.
Most of all, rings are a symbol of the modern christian monogamy. I am not a christian and neither is he, but he tells me that I am his only and I believe that he honestly is monogamous to the core. I wonder if that will change in time, and I want, most of all, to let him blossom without corruption. The thing is that he put the ring on my finger and he called me his, and he did so without the slightest hint of jealousy. How can a person be possessed without jealousy? What is possession? The modern feminist argues that we are all our own and no one can be possessed. Cyrano took ownership to mean a responsibility to the other. "The things you own end up owning you," is not far from the truth. So then, possession, the naming of something or someone as yours, is really a surrender to the desire to care for them, and take responsibility for them. It has nothing to do with jealousy and status. That came later. Love begets possession, and it feels beyond great to be possessed.

Sunday Morning

Sunday morning I decided to go to church. Of course, I don't really go to church as I don't practice a religion, but I decided that I needed some private time to concentrate on my insides. So I went down to the waterside with my guitar and a book, and I spent all morning in the gentle sunshine and wind, playing guitar. It was the most pleasant morning that I have had for some time. People came and sat close to me for a song or two, then meandered on, never actually interrupting me. Then I finished reading, "Invisible Cities" by Calvino, which is overly appropriate for starting as exploration of a city as multi-faceted as Istanbul. For awhile I watched the spray from the waves made by ferries crash against the docks, and then I watched the people around me: young couples, old women with and without dogs, with and without roses, young men, old men, boys selling nuts. No one had anywhere to be or anything to do. I loved it.

But the thing about this park that struck me as most queer is the variety of trees: pine, palm, birch, oak, and others that I cannot recognize, all in the same park- growing in clumps together. It is like the diversity of this city cannot be stopped from even permeating the flora.