I returned from the leather conference called Thunder in the Mountains two weeks ago, and since then, alert readers have been e-mailing me, asking, "Did you do the energy pull with Fakir Musafar? How was it?" They're talking about the piercing ritual I described in my May 1 column. If you get squicked by needles, you may want to stop reading now, because I'm going to describe it. Quick explanation of what an energy pull is: Participants get pierced with large-gauge needles, and then hooks are placed in the piercings. They then attach cords to the hooks and pull on them, frequently by having someone else hold the cord as they lean away. It's also common for two pierced people to hold each other's cords and pull simultaneously. In Fakir's rituals, there are a group of drummers making music, and the people who are pierced dance with each other, pulling against their hooks.
The "why" of an energy pull is harder to express briefly. You can say it's a pathway to higher consciousness, because it induces an ecstatic trance state. For me, it was also a question of pushing past self-imposed limits. I don't like hearing, "You couldn't do that," particularly when the voice is coming from inside my own head. I'm not a heavy masochist, and I'm not terribly spiritual.
So I knew this was going to be--pardon the expression--a stretch for me. But two years ago Max and I first saw one of Fakir's piercing rituals, and the pierced dancers were clearly on a trip of such joy and power that tears ran down our faces just watching it. Right then I turned to Max and said, "We have to do this."
Max and I were too busy with the rest of the leather conference on Friday and Saturday to be very nervous about the ritual. But I was definitely a bit sweaty-palmed when Sunday afternoon rolled around and the ritual participants gathered together in an enormous hotel ballroom for the big event. Fakir's partner, Cléo Dubois, led us through some grounding and focusing exercises. And then Fakir began to pierce people. I have a razor-sharp mental image of Fakir standing in front of me, holding a needle that looked like a fucking railroad spike, as he pinched up the skin over my breast. He smiled at me in a way that expressed nothing but the most affectionate and enlightened sadistic pleasure, and then he thrust the needle through my flesh.
Continued next week....
