I’m not exactly sure how I managed to get Rara (as in Rarasaur — yes, the Rarasaur) to contribute a guest post. It may have something to do with an old, fossilized blog post of hers about hating dinosaurs I discovered that I’m using to extort her. Either way, today’s post is about practicing misogi, and you’ll have to keep reading to find out what that is… Note: Misogi is not the ritual public humiliation of people who can’t use chopsticks like I thought it was. Enjoy!
The Modern Misogi
It was years ago when I realized that, without conscious choice, I had become a modern-day misogi practitioner.
Misogi is a Japanese ascetic practice of ritual purification. This may be undertaken through exhaustive activities such as extended periods without sleep, standing under waterfalls, or other such methods.
It started the day that my alarm clock broke.
Of course, as alarm clocks are inclined to do, it died quietly in the middle of a night preceding a big day, without any sort of notice or fanfare. I woke up late and had to perform my morning rituals quickly instead of slowly easing into them as usual.
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Some tools of the trade…
I went about things, the same as usual– just faster. I rubbed at my skin with rough rocks, poured cold water over my head, chaffed my skin with blades, and blew a powerful stream of burning air into my face as I held my breath. I lifted a torch contained in a rod of metal and bravely scarred my hair. I took a stick of charcoal and crushed its ash into my eyelids. I gulped a few spoons of burning liquid into my mouth, and locked myself in a room with the suffocating presence of chemicals.
I contained my body at all angles– ropes and elastics, welting themselves into my skin. I slipped my feet into vice-like traps, teetering on their stilted bottoms as my toes adjusted to their new forced form. I used cold sharp metal to pull hair from myself– one follicle at a time– and held my face in a the traumatized pose of a stroke victim as I painted my warrior colors on.
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As far as makeup faces go, this one is pretty suave.
I am a practitioner of misogi, and if you understood why I did those things– then you might be one, too.
What I described is just a normal morning ritual for most women on their way to work, though we use softer words more often than not. If you asked me how I started my day, I’d say I washed up, prettied up, and waltzed out the door.
That morning, though, thanks to the perspective gained from the death of an alarm clock, I saw it all so differently. My face was tired. My skin was aching. I couldn’t breathe or walk, or smile, nearly as well as I could only minutes before– but I felt beautiful, confident, and at peace.
No.
I was beautiful, confident, and at peace.
People often ask for the point to all the suffering inherent to this ascetic, aesthetic practice. They want to know if it’s a sacrifice to the gods of patriarchy, or a phoenix’s screech of vanity, or the mimicry of a false idol, or a lure to bait an unsuspecting target.
For myself, I don’t see it as torture and it certainly isn’t done for anyone else. The exhaustive activities dig into me until I find a sort of comfort in the uncomfortable. It reassures me that I can find my balance and grace in swampland just as easily as in a flowered meadow.
It is not the form of the ideal human that I am trying to mimic– it is the clarity. My rituals cloak me in the goodness of my own strength. I want friends to see the colors of my heart, so I paint them on. I want strangers to see how tall I am inside my heart, so I wear heels. I want everyone to know the volume and brightness of my mind, so I jangle and shine with baubles.
My strength is not a secret to be kept– it is a warning to predators and a love call to the like-minded.
I am a zen master, standing under an ice-cold waterfall.
I am a free spirit, researching the body that holds my wild soul.
I am a warrior, painting on her stripes.
I am a samurai, practicing misogi.
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– a warrior at peace – (though I couldn’t find the source for this fan art, I loved it too much to not use.)
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Do you use an alarm clock? Why do you (or don’t you) wear make up?
Are you a practitioner of misogi in other ways? (Don’t shake your head too quickly. I’ve seen you shivering in freezing temperatures just to see a man throw a ball, and letting your skin burn to watch Mickey Mouse wave, and suffering much discomfort just to see someplace different. Are those ascetic practices done for the sake of love of an activity, or because you find clarity in the acts themselves?)
Filed under: Etc., Guest Bloggers Tagged: blogging, guest post, makeup, misogi, rarasaur, women, writing Image may be NSFW.
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Image may be NSFW.Clik here to view.
Image may be NSFW.Clik here to view.
Image may be NSFW.Clik here to view.
Image may be NSFW.Clik here to view.
Image may be NSFW.Clik here to view.
Image may be NSFW.Clik here to view.
Image may be NSFW.Clik here to view.
