October 13, 2014

My Sweat Lodge Initiation.

0 Boost Score Narelle Hill (1,510,185)

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This week I went to my first ever sweat lodge.

Here is what I thought:

1. It was really, really hot in there.
2. Seriously. Hot.
3. The feeling of acceptance and belonging that comes from a close, supportive community is incredibly healing.
4. Refer back to point 1.*

Indulge me while I elaborate.

I’ve been invited to this particular sweat lodge several times over the last year, but I have skittered around the idea, a little nervous and unsure about the unknown: potential nudity, a fear of not belonging and the trepidation as to whether or not my body and respiratory system would stand up to intense heat.

I found excuses not to go. Some of them were valid, like helping my Mum host one of the first family dinners since my Dad had died. Some of them a little less so: “I’m sorry, I can’t join you, as I desperately need to groom my nasal hair tonight.”

This time when I was invited, I said, “Yes.”

I’m not sure why, but I didn’t even really think about it. It just seemed natural and the right time.

So I went.

It was a little bit of a trek to get to where it was held, on a farm property about half an hour’s drive out of my home town.

In a steady fall of rain, I followed my friend Polly’s small white car down dirt tracks riddled with puddle filled potholes and mud. I took pause to wonder if this was a one way thing: that I might get bogged and not get back.

The hosts greeted me warmly. I had only once met them in passing and now they walked me through the preliminaries—they told me the tips and tricks I should know and asked that I sign a form acknowledging self-responsibility for my health.

“Now it’s okay if you die in there,” one of my friends laughed.

I’m glad it wasn’t until after this experience that I read about the deaths of three spiritual seekers in a Sedona sweat lodge back in 2009.

Some of the tips and tricks they told me, if you were wondering:

1. Don’t wear any metal jewelry as it could heat up and burn your skin. At this point I felt a prickling wariness that maybe, just maybe, it was going to be a tad warm in that tent.
2. Do not wear contact lenses. Unless you want them melted on to your eyes.
3. Drink at least two litres of water the day of the sweat. Oops.
4. Focus on the breath and if the heat feels overwhelming, breathe from the sacral chakra or abdomen.
5. If you feel you absolutely must leave the tent before it’s over, ask the leader and they will let you out.

My understanding is that the structure and format of the sweat lodge ceremony can vary depending on the leader and their training.

This was a more conservative scene where we all entered the dome in sarongs or towels and then once inside the dome-like tent in the pitch black darkness, we were free to drop them if we so desired.

The lodge was covered in thick tarp and blankets. It was big enough to squat in and constructed over a freshly brushed sand surface. In the centre there was a metal crate of hot rocks that was periodically dowsed with water by the leader to create the steam. At intervals, the tent flap was opened briefly to let in fresh air.

Everyone’s experience varies but, one thing is for sure: it’s really, really hot in there.

I thought my face might melt off like something out of Return of the Living Dead.

My hair was so hot to touch I thought I might come out with third degree burns on my hands when I tried to smooth it down.

We sat on sand so I had it all over me, stuck to my skin like fur.

My sarong was completely drenched in sweat and gritty with sand.

Make no mistake, this was no beauty contest.

Prayers were offered to the elements and the four directions, and then a final open prayer round at the end. The rocks were dowsed with water each prayer that was offered and the steam and the heat increased.

I struggled to take in what people said, unable to think anything else but how hot I was and actually found myself thinking “No more prayers! Not one more word out of anyone.”

When I started to feel nausea and light-headedness I wondered: At what point do I say I’ve had enough? Do people actually enjoy this? How much longer can I take this? And more importantly: Is it over yet?

The final round of prayers was announced and I had to resist the urge to offer my own prayer: “I’m grateful I am soon going to be getting out.” The longest minute of my life was the one between when the leader announced the ceremony closed and the time to exit the lodge. I resisted the urge to propel myself out the door like a banshee, no mind of who or what got in my way.

Instead, I pretended with great nonchalance that I was totally fine and calmly and slowly crawled my way out.

No matter how much people told me I would love how I felt afterwards I was not prepared for the almost hallucinatory effects of emerging from the intensely hot dome in to the cool evening mist.

I was light-headed, and if I’d not sat down in the damp grass beneath the blossoming fruit tree I think I would have passed out. The cool, dewey moisture from the grass against my hot skin was like elixir while I gazed out at the green pasture, farmland and bush in the distance and regained my balance.

It was just before dusk, overcast and a light blanket of misty rain coated the landscape like some kind of mystical world. The leaves on an old, tall tree in front of me seemed to glow vibrant and full of life, the trunk of the tree like a body standing tall and proud.

I felt alive with creativity, inspiration and a belief in the sacredness of the land.

My companions emerged from the sweat behind me to flop on the grass and take in the cool air before we headed one by one, in silence, back up the hill to the house where we cleaned ourselves off of sweat and the sand that clung to our skin.

Cleansed, purified, refreshed and ready to share food, banter and gentle laughter, we broke our bread and over cups of tea and water shared stories on the sweat experience, prayers and life. I drank in the care, companionship and love in the room like medicine. I felt welcomed and cared for. It was a magical thing.

We ended early, with hugs and good wishes and traipsed out in to the now dark night to our cars and like a caravan made our way down the long driveway through the gate and out of the property.

Days later, my skin is still smooth, like a deep clean has taken place. I’m not sure I’m in a hurry to experience that heat again, but that deep sense of community and belonging? I’ll take that any day.

*Did I happen to mention it was hot?