Sweat Lodge
I was invited to a sweat lodge ceremony and it was not something that I wanted to miss. In fact, I had been wanting to experience this for a number of years.
The director of the holistic health clinic where I teach yoga, who is a friend of my boyfriend’s, knows a guy who tends the fire for these ceremonies. We went to this lady’s place in north Boulder. Chris came; we were to arrive no later than 10 am. on the winter solstice. Newcomers, I did not want to be late, and we were almost the first to arrive. Tony, the youngish fire tender, put us to work, clearing away the snow and the leaves from the round lodge and the circular altar with shovels and brushes.
It was barely zero degrees outside, the sun glimmering away like a golden jewel, hanging low in the sky. More people trickled in, bringing bouquets of flowers and pitching in. A couple of dogs sniffed around and played, I met our hosts, and the Mayan Indian who was going to lead the ceremony. Roatia is his name, but I heard “Well-wisher,” which is what he was in effect, and I called him this for the rest of this shortest day that we spent together.
The lodge was made out of a specific number of branches, looped together and tied with purple sashes. It was like a great spider. One by one, we lifted the lava rocks out of the middle, making rows on the outside of tens then four to collect exactly 64 stones. Tony built a wooden platform, upon which we stacked the stones. Roatia provided commentary. The women started the process; women, to whom was given a great honor by the leader of our ceremony, acknowledgment of our creative and destructive powers. The men were deemed the witnesses. The stones, Roatia said, were going to reflect back what we put in them. So, it might be best to leave them blank. However, he guided us to remember all the mothers, and grandmothers. One by one we stacked the lava rocks on the pyre.
The great pile of 64 stones was then wrapped from the south to the east by branches peaking like a teepee. Meanwhile, the alter was decorated by a large staff with a curved end. On this crest paraded a few feathers, below, an abalone shell with a blood red stone, a bowl of fruit: bananas, mangos, blackberries, which slowly froze, flowers, chocolate…
My feet were beginning to freeze in my thin-soled boots on the packed snow. I found a big piece of bark to stand on. I smiled broadly as Roatia caught my presence, and he held my glance, smiling back at me. Where had we met before? he asked. The lodge was covered by great canvases, and they were tucked in snug around the edges.
It was time to light the fire, and the women were given the task by Roatia. We were to ignite it, and the men took over the task of making it big and hot. Smoke wafted from it, as the water heated off the wood. We had a chance to snack and talk together. The fire nice and hot from the front, we alternated roasting our fronts and our backs. The great soft golden retriever Lucky greeted everyone, standing right on the alter and carrying away a flower.
In the freezing air upon the snow the thirteen of us stripped down then when we were given the go-ahead into bathing suits and sarongs, T-shirts/shorts and towels. Shoes off in the lodge, and bring “all the water in the world” to next to the lodge, where it was going to be added to a large wooden bucket. Down to bear feet, women first, we went around from the south to the west. We were smudged by the hostess, brushed down with two great big feathers and we filed into the lodge, one by one, sitting down on our towels in the sand in the lodge. My feet tingled thickly and numbly, I wrapped them in my yellow semi-fuzzy robe, and wondered if it did any good.
The men filed in, Elizabeth sat, Roatia sat, and Tony began to bring in the lava rocks, one by one, one pitch-fork at a time. Roatia held the fork with the glowing red-hot rock, said the first one was for the moon. He commented further, and then place the rock in the pit in the middle. One lady sprinkled juniper on it, and it sparkled like gunpowder. Elizabeth then sprinkled something that seemed to be some kind of golden resin. It melted and went up in smoke, releasing its perfume and blessing. Sometimes it even caught fire, and Roatia would go “mm hm,” and Elizabeth would say “mm hm.” The second rock came in, this time, for the stars, or the sun, or the people. Or the children, for Jeff, for a grandmother, and each time, the juniper and the resin sparkled, smoked and melted.
After ten or so stones went in the pit, Tony brought a bucket of water and some flowers, ditched his shoes, and came into the lodge too. By then, it was getting warm in the lodge from the beaming lava rocks. Tony was huffing and puffing from the exertion and the cold.
When the canvas came down over the small, rounded door, it was pitch black. Roatia said some things, invited us to sing, pray, ask for healing, etc. He began dumping water from the bucket by dipping the flowers. The steam was instantaneous, HOT HOT HOT! I breathed through only my mouth, and joyously letting it envelop me, welcome sweat percolating on my face. My nose started running, it smelled SO GOOD! I huffed and puffed like Roatia and Elizabeth and the others, entering in to the chants and the songs, but mostly huffing and puffing and hooting and wooting. Some of us sat in silence in the pitch-blackness, in the sweat-lodge. NOt me, this time. I’ve been to a healing ceremony before, and although prayers and requests for healings were encouraged, I had sat silent. I didn’t waste much time, and I asked, out loud, with my voice, for healing my tummy.
The door opened, and the short little solstice sun greeted us with cool, crisp winter air. Tony went and got more rocks, pitch-fork by pitch-fork, the ladies sprinkled their medecine. Tony got more water, and a fresh collection of sprigs of flowers.
The second round, Roatia said, was for me. Wow. A whole round just for me. I resolved to welcome it, all the extra special attention, because I deserved it, instead of being mortified. Roatia prayed for all the best for me and my belly, because I deserved it. We all deserved the best. After all the rocks were in place, and Tony was seated back in the sweat lodge with us, the canvas came down again and it became pitch-black, and the steam started again as Roatia poured it on the nearly red-hot gleaming rocks with the flowers, and his chanting came on full force, and he reached over and beat me with the flowers, and I was sopping wet. Ashley squeezed my hand from one side, Elizabeth, the woman with the red healing hands, as Roatia said, squeezed my hand from the other.
We did a total of five “doors,” Roatia quite excited at the best positioning of the door, perfectly letting the sun peak in a little lower each time. The last opened up right after the sun disappeared behind the mountains. Glowing red hot like those lava-rocks, we filed out of the hut and replaced our clothes which had been layed out and piled on benches, drifts, and tailgate. As I replaced my layers, my wool hat was one of the first things on, and by the time I zipped up my boots, the ends of my hair were frozed stiff! Roatia, still barefoot and bare-chested, walked by and gave me some chocolate and a big smile. Big smiles all around, as we rejoined by the ends of the big fire, surrounded by love, loved ones, and the setting sun, and a lumbering fire.
I felt as fresh and clear as a daisy, content and calm.
King Brit played at the Shelter tonight. I did not work my Friday lunch shift, so I was able to go out after the dinner one. Instead, this morning I went to train for my new part part time job, receptionist. I’ll be filling in for April we she can’t be at the Executive Suites in Denver West. I can do my homework there while I answer phones and transfer calls and so on. This is exactly what I needed. My goal was to work my way slowly out of restaurants, and this is a step. I’m working on getting Turtledove yoga going. So I made a point in going out and seeing my friends and there was no not dancing. I was going out tonight. I’m so glad I did.
I wrapped my bandaged hand into my scarf, and danced. I love going out and there, dependably, are dear friends and great music, body-penetrating sound, and mesmerizing lights. The connections are WONDERFUL. After the attitude adjustment that came that night, the dancefloor crystalized around me. It is a matrix, a shifted reality, there in front of the speakers in front of the house dj, with others; between the dynamics of the dj and the crowd, inter-crowd interaction; simply the bio-chemical reaction that happens in this particular being-in-the-world, which is at times being-in-another world. It’s like a puzzle of energy with individual sentient beings coming together to participate in something greater then themselves. Dancing, being there in the Love: the art that is humanity at its finest. 
I am acting on my intention to avoid Crohn’s and go another route. My spiritual life is augmenting. I pay attention as often as possible to mindfulness techniques. I begin my day opening myself up to love and light, and plan my day. I invite my higher self, legions of angels, the Great Spirit, and engage my subconscious, the little girl in me to support me and one another in healing this body. I pray the Daily Word and the 
N. Lois Turtledove is a graduate student at the University of Colorado at Denver obtaining a Master's Degree in Humanities. She teaches yoga inside and outside the home, and is an apprentice in the ancient therapeutic art of shamanic practice. She understands that the only real enemy is the self, and the Self is the deepest source of nurture. She wishes freedom from suffering for herself and for all sentient beings.