Well, this one is for the “bucket list” although it wasn’t on mine, I must admit. Not that I'd ever really thought about it before heading out to live on a reservation.
One of my new coworkers is a delightful Native American woman named Leanne who is an alcohol and drug counselor. She has enthusiastically welcomed me into her world which included her invitation a couple weeks ago for me to attend a small “sweat” at her home. We sat at my home while she answered my many questions about it. I probably won’t have this all correct, so don’t go quoting me without making caveats, please.
Sweats are an Indian religious phenomenon, one where prayers are said. There may be other things that happen at a sweat, but this one that was the focus. First a sweat is built – hers is in her yard and surrounded on three sides by a wooden fence. She explained the sweat is made from hickory branches, then covered with blankets. It looks a little like an igloo…
(Please forgive photography skills...I must enroll in photography 101! But for now, please bear with me...)
Seven rocks are selected and placed at the bottom of a pit, a fire is built which heats up the rocks to “high” (my word, not theirs). Someone elects to remain outside to assist with bringing the rocks in and closing and opening the door.
I was a little anxious about all this, ok, a lot, but I really wanted to understand more about the people I serve so I swallowed my rising fear and crawled in behind Leanne. Inside there was a nice carpet around another earthen pit. Leanne’s daughter and her boyfriend crawled in next. As we sat we each tucked a stalk of dried sage behind our ears, not sure why this is. But I did as they did. First Leanne sprinkled some dried sage into the pit. Next, her grandson then brought each rock in on a pitchfork and the rocks were gently rolled into the pit. As each one was added, Michelle, Leanne’s daughter, sprinkled a little sage onto each rock. Soon we were ready and Duanne (grandson) closed the door. It was black. Very black.
Did I mention I am somewhat claustrophobic? I found that out when I needed to have an MRI.
Can you see what’s coming???
Anyway, Leanne explained as we went along and prayers were shared and some lovely Indian prayer songs were sung. Leanne has a lovely voice. I was in awe at the same time as I was starting to cook, it is called a sweat after all, and my anxiety was starting to rise. Leanne had also told me if I needed to leave or have the door opened, I could say “all my relatives”. Being the stubborn individual that I can sometimes, well oftentimes, be, I was working hard not to wuss out and use my escape option.
Somewhere in this process small amounts of cold water were added to the rocks to create a steam, like in a sauna. Have I said that sauna’s aren’t my favorite either? Actually, being hot and sweaty are both not favorites. Which may be why I am a fan of winter, crazy as most folks think this is.
After what seemed like forever since I was really working on not wussing out, it was time for the door to open. Thank you Lord…
Indians have more than four directions, I think it might be seven, but heaven and earth are also considered directions. The door opening represents opening to one of the directions. To me it represented heaven…
A ladle of water was passed, to each person in turn, to drink out of and sprinkle over your face, arms and any other hot spot you wanted cooling. Since this was apparently a break, I finally let my wussing get the best of me and asked if I could sit near the door, so everyone moved around to accommodate me. Thank you Lord again.
Soon it was time for the door to close again. There was a small crack which I found comforting, but Michelle spotted it and told Duane to fix it…but his fixing wasn’t too perfect and there was a little, tiny crack of light I could see…Thank you Lord some more…
This time we each said thanks for any and all things we wanted to give thanks about. Me too. More water and more steam, more singing and then the door was opened again – halleluiah.
I will say being next to the door and focusing on the little crack of light did help and I was now merely anxious instead of warding off panic. More water all around and then the door was closed again. More thanks all around, more singing and the door was opened for the last time.
Now this is the really great part! I smoked a peace pipe! Well, it’s not really a peace pipe, probably one of those things misunderstood by the white man or misrepresented in all the cowboy and Indian TV I watched as a girl. The pipe smoke apparently represents releasing the prayers up to the Heaven, sending them upwards. If I have this understood correctly…
The pipe is filled with red hickory chips and I was to go first, whether it was because I was a visitor or whether it was because I was sitting where I was, I don’t know. A lighter was used and I had to puff and puff until the pipe hickory got red. Then it was the next person’s turn to do several puffs and so on. Not being a smoker I was bad at it and if I got too good at it I would start coughing. But it was definitely one of the most unique experiences of my life.
I guess sweats are a regular occurrence for the believers and followers of the Indian way. Many are large and incorporate more rituals than what I experienced, but I have to say, for me, this may be a…one of a kind unique experience for this gal and her…little house on the res...
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