Skip to main content

Purged


Today, I ventured out to the greenhouse and worked in there for about 20-30 minutes. Even with the small box window airconditioner and the ocillating fan that belonged to my mother, the heat was intense enough that I was covered in sweat in about 10 minutes. Surprisingly, I did not mind it. I felt, in fact, vigorously alive, purged, and ... well, like I was having a spiritual experience. I understood what it might be like to be in a sweat lodge except my version is a small forest of green humidity.

I have been reading My Experience in an Inipi Native American Sweat Lodge Ceremony -- and learning. The author, Michael Chary, mentions the "bogus sweat lodge ceremony in Arizona" where people died:

"A new age group outside of Sedona was running a large “sweatbox” with 50 to 60 people inside – about five times the number of people normally welcomed into a lodge. The “ceremony” took place at a for-profit resort without native sanctioning or supervision. A clear example of what can go wrong when native culture is appropriated."




(painting by Ikce Wicasa, https://www.artmajeur.com/en/ikce-wicasa/artworks/10837756/sweat-lodge-inipi)

The true sweat lodge ceremony is an act of purification, a practice of being re-born and restoring strength. The lodge itself is made of willow trees covered with hides, and it is part of a specific landscape:

"On the outside, the formation of the site comprises an earth mound just outside the door of the sweat lodge, facing east, and a fire pit containing stones. The fire represents the sun. Another mound partially encircling the fire pit represents the crescent moon. This is the outer world or cosmos; the inner world is the sweat lodge. It represents the womb of the universe from which souls are created anew." (Inipi)

Prayer is an important part of preparation.

Entering my greenhouse door seems to me to be a prayer. I invite all that is good, healthy, and plentiful to join me there. And anything I bring with me that is negative, I hope to let it go. Whatever my strong emotions may be, I hope to use "compassionate abiding" (thank you, Candace Chellew, for introducing this term to me) --- to sit with them until they subside or make more sense. If you don't know Candace, she's the pastor at Jubilee Circle, where I actually attend church when I'm not keeping church at home with dirt under my fingernails.

I've been watching her services online, and today she reminded us how kind it is to give ourselves a cold cup of water (literally and spiritually). When I'm in the greenhouse sweating, I know that when I leave that sacred space, I can go to the kitchen and quench my thirst, and it is a gift. 

If you want to get up close and personal with a glass of ice water, take a look at James Gurney's video Painting Ice Water.

Chardin has also given us this marvelous still life, if we are willing to get still and truly see it:




"Chardin always looks at the world as if he is seeing it for the first time. The intensity of his vision focuses on the beauty of the everyday objects that surround us - a beauty that we take for granted as we are often too close to see it. From Chardin we learn that there is hidden character on the charred surface of an old coffee pot, or a jewel-like radiance in the crystal clarity of a glass of water. Like all good art his paintings open our eyes and teach us to see afresh." Glass of Water and Coffee Pot

So... where are we looking for beauty, power, and strength? A friend shared with me that years ago she participated in a true sweat lodge ceremony, and  it was an exceptional experience, one she probably won't repeat, but she understood the power of it. The thing she wanted most at the end was a big glass of water.

What are you thirsty for? Come by the greenhouse, and I'll pour you something. Be prepared to sweat a little first.

Tamara



Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Snow Crocus

Friends, I haven't been going out to the greenhouse much for the past few months. It's been rainy and cold, and while last year I had a working heater in there, it's a no go this year -- electrical issues. Almost everything in there was dead or dying, just like the rest of the plants in the yard, and boo hoo, it just wasn't the same. But this morning I went out there, and what did I find? Pot after pot with bulbs popping up (yes!), and yep, still a huge mess to clean up. I needed a pair of scissors to start chopping away and clearing out the dead plants, and I started heading out the door when I spotted something orange blooming. I stepped closer, looked down, and the orange snow crocus introduced itself. Crouching down, I felt the most wonderful promise of spring coming, and blessed those delicate blooms from my deepest heart.  I've never had a snow crocus before, but I've got more that should bloom soon in the kitchen, along with my beautiful red and pink tuli...

Rise of the Elephant Ears

 Friends, you wouldn't believe how tall the elephant ears are. They've risen to the height of the gazebo and are not showing any signs of slowing down. The three amigos in their bed have had several seed pods, to our delight, and now we've got baby elephant ears going nicely in the greenhouse. I admired them on my walk around the yard this morning in my ruby red belted robe, harvesting beans and green tomatoes, a cucumber, and stashing them in my pocket. Now I'm on the swing listening to "The Sound of Sunshine" as performed by the band at Jubilee Circle. Elephant ears love the sunshine --- we just have to keep the water coming to the roots, stand by and let them spread outward and upward. This photo is from earlier in the summer, and you can see the seed pods. Having never had any before, I didn't know how the process worked --- the pod becomes a pale yellow bloom, and only when the bloom dies do the berry-like seeds emerge, looking like corn on the cob, o...

A Mercy Emanating

  The House at Night with Palmetto The other night, I made my way out to the pool while David had a friend over to watch a game. The dogs trailed along, of course, and we sat at the edge. I put my feet in. They watched over me, anxious for me to get in the water and equally anxious that I should not. I felt the same -- it's still too cold in April. I prefer the warm bathwater of July and August, when I can get in without the shiver or sharp intake of breath. It's been a long time since I got in the water, and a longer time since I wrote in this blog, but the whole time the palmetto has been growing taller, and the sky has waited for me.  For the past three years, I have been the president of the Poetry Society of South Carolina, and it has taken a great deal of my time. At first I was a whirlwind, riding the streets and acting as advocate for the society and for poetry itself. Year two, I slowed down a bit, and last year, I really felt myself coming to an end of it. I'm gra...