Sak Yant and Discovering My Courage

by Bonnie Zinck (United States of America)

Making a local connection Thailand

It was with a level of trepidation I boarded the plane on a dark, early morning; a layer of foreboding was lying under any feelings of excitement that may have resonated within me. Twenty-six hours later, I found myself alone in a foreign country for the first time, staring at a myriad of airport signs in an alphabet I didn't recognize, surrounded by a language completely unfamiliar. It was a trip I never imagined would happen. Yet, here I was, staring up at the arrival sign of Chiang Mai International Airport, swallowing the pending panic welling in my throat. Jolted, jetlagged, and as of days prior, jobless, I embarked on my solo adventure. I arrived in Thailand late at night, managing to catch a cheap taxi to my hotel before letting the exhaustion wash over me. I knew, if nothing else, what my first experience in Thailand needed to be. When dawn arrived, I was picked up in a simple sedan by a Thai man named Nikhom - my first true step into Thai culture. I was both surprised and comforted by his broken English, but still anxious for what was to come. We arrived at a small house with lights that glowed softly in the early morning sun. It consisted of a single room, the bathroom outside being a simple hole in the ground. Approaching the house, I stopped short as I finally lay eyes on the reason I was here. Sitting, perfectly poised, on a small wooden stool, was the first Buddhist monk I've ever had the pleasure of seeing. Draped regally in orange cloth, he accepted my offering of fruit and flowers before having me kneel before him. Gifting me a smile, but no words; I'd been previously informed he was not allowed to talk to me, but would kindly accept my offering. His hands, strong though worn, were clad in skin-colored gloves, as touching me was not permitted as well. The tradition of Sak Yant, or 'magical soul tattoos', have been practiced by Buddhist monks in multiple countries for thousands of years. In extremely traditional cases, one could not choose what or where their “rod-given” tattoo was or went. I preferred this option, having the Monk choose for me. This trip was one of faith and chances. Throwing caution to the wind by having something tattooed with no idea what it would actually be when it was over was pretty much the theme. The metal rod that pierced my skin was painful, but the Monk was quick with his work. Only thirty minutes later I was kneeling in front of him, holy water sprinkled over my new tattoo and being adorned with chanted blessings. I felt proud; the red-rimmed black ink was a symbol of what I was doing, where I was going, and what I was hoping to achieve, being here. I thanked the Monk in poorly pronounced Thai, my first time speaking it since arrival. The Monk turned to my guide and spoke, words calm and slow. I couldn't understand, but found myself latched to every word before turning to my guide for interpretation. "Your tattoo gives you luck and blessings for the future. He says it will help guide you on your new journey." I looked over the dark black etchings, painfully poked into me over a thirty-minute timespan; each box had a blessing, each line a different meaning. I felt suddenly empowered. Even without knowing the language, I could feel the symbols across my skin, each throb of pain seeping its meaning into my soul. My fear that had been so encompassing was gone. I was blessed. I was protected. I didn’t feel alone in my journey anymore. I felt brave, and hopeful, stepping out into the wild Thai jungle that awaited me. This was my time, my adventure, and my discovery. Blessed and already enchanted by everything I had yet to experience, I wasn't going to let anything stand in my way.