The hooks had been placed quickly and efficiently. A measured piece of skin pulled away from the body and the eight-gauge hook pushed through the skin until there was a pop. With it sliding cleanly through to the other side of the flesh, there is no blood, and the Shaman lays in a peaceful state. Eyes closed as she breathes in and out, no flinch from the hooks that are placed. A resurrection. Six hooks. Two on her upper chest, and two down each side of her stomach.

What had once started as an act in her performance to make her audience uncomfortable, had become a relaxation tool for her. A way for her to get into a meditative state. This was not spiritual for her, this was her therapy.

There was more attending this session then just her usual piercer. This session required a new rig to lift her, and someone else to keep an eye on this. The skin on her chest was thinner than on her back, so the risk of a hook tearing was higher. With assistance, she lowers her feet to floor from the table, her breathing calm as the hooks were attached to the rig, her eyes not watching, but focused elsewhere. She was going into her head, into that space that she reserved for these nights. Then a nod to him, she was ready.

Slowly, and carefully, she could feel her body begin to lift. The sensation from the new piercings were a mixture of fire and tension. Which dissipated after a few minutes, as it always did. Her breathing slow and even, her arms held out to her sides.

And then she was floating, about five feet off the ground. Blue eyes close once again as she enters into a meditative state. And sets to work on what had been bothering her.

Guilt over murdering people.

Guilt over leaving when she did.

Shame over her lack of confidence.

Sadness at how lonely it all felt.

After about ten minutes, she heard the voice, “That’s enough for now. Remember, new position require practice for longer sessions.” Eyes open and she nods, lowering her arms and feeling a wave of calm wash over.